Under the Lights

“I swear, people have no sense of humor. You’d think they’d be more immune to innocent actor shenanigans, given that Transformers filmed there. I’ll read it anyway — I’m sure they’re over it by now. Probably. I paid for the fire damage, anyway. Or maybe it was the water damage. Whatever it was, I threw money at it.”

Holly exhales sharply. “Meanwhile, everyone seems to think I’m also your publicist and manager. Have you thought about getting an actual publicist?”

“And suppress his natural charm?” Vanessa says sweetly, laughing when I give her the finger.

“Whatever gets me fewer e-mails. Dylan Mackenzie wants to make sure you’re still in for the celebrity golf thing next Sunday.”

“Tell him I wouldn’t miss it, and ask if his girlfriend will be back in that little argyle skirt.”

“I’ll be sure to. Glory Thompson called to confirm your radio interview tomorrow—”

“Reschedule for Thursday. I’m back on set tomorrow.”

“And I confirmed your dentist appointment for Thursday as well.”

I shudder. “Can we reschedule that one for never?”

“Joshua.” Vanessa fixes me with a look. “She’s not your assistant.”

“Neither are you,” I remind her, “so unless you’re going to be helpful…”

She rolls her eyes and leaves, and Holly walks in, closing the door behind her. I still need a shower pretty badly, so I’m hoping we can wrap this up soon. It’s hard to get whipped into a frenzy about picking up yet another job with early call times or…anything having to do with Philadelphia, really.

“Any word from Val at Aspen on the fragrance shoot?” I ask.

“I called her this afternoon. She says they’re still looking for a female model to pair you with. The one who did their last denim campaign has a fragrance non-compete.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. Your mother called. Twelve times. Which is why I’m here.”

Shit. “My mother called you?”

“Apparently at least one of you thought it was relevant to tell me that you’re signed on for a reality show.”

“I’m not,” I assure her. Not until I get desperate.

“Well, she seems to think that you are, as long as you’re living in their beach house. You are still living there, aren’t you?”

I don’t say anything. She already knows the answer.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this, Josh? I’m your agent. Dealing with your work is my job.”

“Because I’m not doing it, and this doesn’t count as work. She’s just desperate for attention now that her show’s been canceled, and this is the only way she can get it. They won’t give her the show unless I agree to be on it.”

Holly raises an eyebrow. “Really.”

Statement, not a question. Which means she definitely has a very bad idea brewing right now.

“Don’t even think about it, Holly.”

“You need to work, Joshua. If you can line something else up, fine, but until you start taking your auditions seriously, I don’t know what else to do with you. If you want to keep me on as your agent, you’re going to need something to show for your efforts. Even if it’s reality TV.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Or, you know, you can just read the Wings script and call me when you’re done. You nail that audition, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Ugh, so that was her plan — blackmail me into the stupid audition. I should’ve guessed. “Yeah. Fine.”

She heads out, but stops in the open doorway. “And Josh?”

“Yeah?”

“Get a publicist.”

* * *

It’s always been one of my biggest fears that one night I’d be out at a club and realize I’m completely over this shit. I’m not quite there yet, but right now, buzzed on drinks I’ve had a billion times before, chick in my lap who looks exactly like the last three who’ve been in my lap, I’m pretty fucking bored.

I have to adjust the girl to reach the phone in my pocket, but I’m pretty sure she’s too blitzed to care. She’s been alternating between touching my junk and tossing back shots for I don’t even know how long, and if she’s noticed that I’m not paying her any attention, I can’t tell.

Of course, Holloway’s not even here. He’s off at James Gallagher’s in-fucking-credible estate in Napa, getting wooed for yet another huge-budget movie. Because locking in the Lassiter role wasn’t enough. For someone who hates attention, he’s getting a shit-ton of it all of a sudden; I can’t even remember the last time I saw him for more than five minutes. I know he’s just keeping himself busy to keep his mind off the fact that Ally’s gone, but fuck, where did my best friend go?

I whip out my phone and text him. R u back yet? Bored.

His response comes back thirty seconds later. No, I’m not back. I’m in the Gallaghers’ guest house, hiding.

Well. Whatever’s going on there sounds more interesting than my night. “Sweetheart, time to go,” I tell the chick in my lap, pushing her up lightly. Then I flag down the waitress, tell her to surprise me, and text Liam back. Imma need more than that.