Not quite so easy to endure was the situation at work. With Saskia flouncing around in triumph and Vivienne having wrested back control of her clients, Alice was left to face her contract work again and sift through the familiar stack of assistant applications.
“Man, no wonder Patricia hasn’t booked any jobs lately, she must have put on thirty pounds!”
“Mmm-hmm. And that bad Botox isn’t helping either.”
Alice finished her glass of champagne and shot Tyrell a disdainful glare. It was the annual agency party, hosted on the back terrace of an expensive French restaurant, and clients and co-workers alike had turned out for the chic, black-tie affair. The evening was warm and sunny, with alcohol flowing at a generous rate, but some of the guests were more concerned with sniping at their compatriots than celebrating.
“I heard she got turned down for a Febreeze ad,” Saskia announced, her red curls gleaming as she leaned closer to Tyrell. “I bet Vivienne will drop her soon. It’s just an embarrassment to have clients like that hanging around.”
Alice followed her gaze. A middle-aged blond woman was chatting to Vivienne—a little curvy, yes, but elegant in a cream shift and tasteful gold jewelry. Alice recognized her immediately as Patricia Houghton. Not because she was enjoying great fame or critical adulation, but because she had once featured prominently on Alice’s most-wanted list of fading, yet prospective, clients.
Alice turned back to the drinks table with a sigh. There was little point her attempting to woo anyone; Vivienne would only snatch them back. No, her agenting ambitions were securely on hold for now, the more pressing issue being whether she could find work as a contracts manager elsewhere and perhaps escape the delightful camaraderie of Grayson Wells with her sanity intact.
Saskia let out another squeal. “Oh my God! Do you see what Parker Gilford is wearing?!”
Alice swiftly left the patio, circulating with smiles and small talk for a while. There were plenty of clients who were happy to see her, and while Julia and Kieran seemed nervous—awkwardly apologizing for not having been in touch—Alice couldn’t hold it against them. Vivienne could be persuasive when the mood took her and was doing excellent work on their behalf, now that she had a little motivation. Maybe that was her calling, Alice mused: selecting overlooked clients to work with so that Vivienne would start paying them attention again. Who knew, perhaps if she waltzed over and handed Patricia her card, Vivienne would actually acknowledge her existence for a change.
“Alice Love!”
As if hearing her thoughts, Vivienne’s voice suddenly rang out through the party, and Alice looked up to find her boss charging in her direction, her black satin cocktail dress looking remarkably like armor, edged with silver cuffs and a fearsome belt. In fact, as Vivienne parted the sea of guests and stalked across the lawn toward her, Alice could see that her face was glowering angrily.
She took a step back in fear. “What…What’s wrong, Vi?” Alice asked, thinking in horror of the break-in, and police questions, and the swift end to her secure, if sedate, career. Nobody would hire a lawyer with a criminal conviction to her name!
“You know very well what’s wrong.” Coming to a halt not two feet away, Vivienne jabbed one polished fingertip toward Alice’s collarbone.
She took another step back, stalling for time. “No, no, I’m not sure.”
Vivienne gasped theatrically. “And to lie to my face, after everything I’ve done for you!”
Alice glanced around. The party was silent, all eyes on them. Saskia rushed to Vivienne’s side, glaring at Alice with identical disapproval.
Oh God.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s happened?” Alice tried to keep her voice from trembling. It all came down to how much Vivienne knew: just her occasional impersonations or the whole messy affair? She gulped, reaching out to guide Vivienne away from the crowd. “In fact, let’s go talk about this inside, so we don’t interrupt—”
“Hollywood!” Vivienne announced, shaking off her hand. “You thought you could just up and leave? Taking all my clients with you!”
Alice stopped.
“That’s right,” Vivienne scowled. “Although why you think they would follow you when you have no connections or experience…”
So this wasn’t about her crimes? Alice felt a great sweep of relief, but it was soon tempered with new confusion. “Vivienne.” Alice’s voice dropped, as she looked helplessly around. “I really don’t know what you mean.”
“Like hell you don’t!” Vivienne drew herself up and glowered at her. “I’ve heard all about your little plans. An agency, in Hollywood? I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous. Oh, don’t play the fool with me,” she snapped, taking in Alice’s bewildered expression. “I know everything.”
“Rupert called,” Saskia piped up. “He’s in L. A. He heard you were setting up over there, and wanted to get hold of you.” She folded her arms smugly.
“But…I really don’t…” Alice didn’t understand. “He must have been mistaken,” she insisted.
“Ha!” Vivienne snorted. “I’ve been asking around, I know everything. The Angelique Love Agency, indeed. Did you really think the name would keep me from finding you out?” she jabbed her finger again. “What were you planning—to stay here long enough to steal all our information, tempt the clients away?”
“No, no!” Alice shook her head, still not grasping what on earth—
Ella.
Alice realized the truth in a flash. It was Ella! She must be in L. A.—using Alice’s identity to pass herself off as, what, an agent? Or had that just been a random lie that had somehow found its way back to Rupert?
But it was Ella, after all this time.
“I just don’t understand.” Vivienne was clearly through the anger phase of her tirade and into wounded indignation, playing for the rapt crowd. “This is the thanks I get, for taking you in and nurturing you, like my own child! And when I think of the favor I did your poor father…” Vivienne held one hand to her forehead, as if she were about to swoon. Alice rolled her eyes,
“That was years ago,” she replied, impatient. She just wanted to know what Ella was doing out there!
“So you admit it?” Vivienne gasped.
“Well, it sounds like the proof is pretty damning.” Alice was already thinking of her passport, and plane tickets. She glanced at Vivienne, standing imperiously in front of her flock, awaiting some sort of apology—a grasping, groveling plea for forgiveness.