“What?” Colton demanded. “I’m Colton Farr. I wear what I want.”
“You’re a young actor with public relations problems,” Daniel corrected him, “and you look it. If you want to keep your emcee job for the Hot Choice Awards and land an A-list movie role, you need to look like that. Never dress for the job you already have. Dress for the job you’re trying to get. At this point, it wouldn’t hurt for you to act like you’re trying.”
Colton nodded shortly. “I get it.”
Daniel picked up his glass, drained it, and set it back down with a bang carefully calculated to startle Colton while not quite denting the table or shattering the heavy tumbler. “If you’re going to this party, we need to agree on three things.” He counted them on his fingers. “You will not get too drunk.”
“Agreed.”
“You will not piss anywhere except a urinal.”
Colton laughed until he saw the serious expression on Daniel’s face. Colton’s smile fell away as he repeated, “Agreed.”
“You will not call Lorelei names.”
“Of course not,” Colton said. “I told you I wanted her back, didn’t I?”
Daniel almost felt relieved at Colton’s genuine reaction, and sorry he’d brought it up again or ever mistrusted the actor. But that was just it—Colton was an actor.
Daniel stopped himself just before he reached for his empty glass on the table. The bar was here in the room with him. It was tempting to drown this job in alcohol. But he’d always been able to resist. He wouldn’t make an exception for Colton, Lorelei, and Stargazer PR.
Unless they truly sent Wendy Mann. That woman might drive him to drink after all.
3
Wendy sat up—she’d given herself one hell of a crick in her neck from bending over her computer so long, poring over the files on Lorelei—and pressed her forehead to the cool window as the plane circled Vegas. The Strip was gorgeous at night with every casino outlined in glowing color. The hotels looked so tiny from this altitude that she could hardly imagine how vast they really were, even though she’d lived in some of them for weeks at a time. Her heart beat faster in anticipation. After many missions to pull celebrity addicts out of poker rooms and bordellos, she should have been jaded. She was a little jaded, actually. But Vegas still held much of the charm for her that she’d felt on her first business trip here years ago, as excited at the idea as her assistant had been earlier that day.
She loved the luxury the casinos offered to everyone, not just the high-born. She loved that the seedy part of town was around the corner from the luxe side, so she could lean over and peek into the sort of life she’d left in Morgantown without actually taking a step in that direction. She looked forward to the excitement and noise and music and fashion and lights, blinking like a beacon below her. New York got on her nerves sometimes, Chicago was cold, Los Angeles smelled, but Vegas was still magic.
She grinned again, no longer faking her positive attitude but really feeling optimistic that she would figure out Lorelei soon enough. Lorelei might not need money, but surely she cared enough about something to rein in her bad behavior. Her silver-screen heartthrob dad might have pressured her to hire the agent who had placed her on a teen TV show, which was where she’d met Colton. But six years of experience in this business told Wendy that Lorelei herself had formed her new band, secured a recording contract, and arranged for a tour. And she’d asked for Wendy’s help when ticket sales were so disappointing that the tour was threatened.
So Lorelei cared about her music, or her father’s approval, or living up to the legacy of her dead rock icon mom, or what Colton thought of her after all. Or possibly about the drummer from her band, with whom she was alleged to have had an affair. Everybody cared about something. All Wendy had to do was tease out what that thing was, and then yell at Lorelei until the sinking starlet realized she was throwing that thing away. Except this time Wendy was banned from yelling, damn it.
The plane touched down smoothly in the black night and taxied toward the terminal. It was midnight in New York—Wendy could vouch for this by the itching of her contacts—but only nine in Vegas, and Lorelei’s night of partying would just be getting started. Before the flight attendant had finished announcing that passengers were allowed to use their electronics, Wendy clicked her phone on and checked Lorelei’s various social media accounts. Most of the star’s messages that day had been innocent enough, complimenting the other artists scheduled to perform at the Hot Choice Awards, expressing her excitement. Wendy wasn’t ready to sigh with relief, but at least she knew Lorelei could act like a normal person when pressed.
However, Lorelei’s most recent message gave Wendy pause.
Heard Colton Farr punched out his new PR guy. Sounds about right.
“Ha!” Wendy shouted, drawing the attention of the other businesspeople pulling their bags down from the overhead bins. She’d wanted to punch Daniel Blackstone herself many times in college. She was only sorry that Colton had beaten her to it.
That was her knee-jerk reaction. Then she realized the news wasn’t what she’d initially thought. The Blackstone Firm hadn’t sent Daniel after all. Daniel would never allow anyone to punch him. He would keep much tighter control of the situation than that.
She hurried down the aisle to exit the plane, mentally skipping through other men the Blackstone Firm might have sent. Her disappointment disgusted her. Surely she hadn’t been looking forward to seeing Daniel Blackstone. Did she want to get fired? The fact that he wasn’t on the case was good news. The fact that Colton was going around punching people was good news, too, because it made him look negative and Lorelei look better in comparison.
It could also be bad news. Lorelei and Colton obviously weren’t done with each other, and the last thing Lorelei needed was a volatile—even abusive—boyfriend. Wendy had had one of those herself, and she wouldn’t wish it on anyone. The sick feeling that she had another Rick on her hands crept into her stomach.
As she pondered the possibilities, watching the screen on her phone, a new post from Lorelei popped up with a link to a photo. Wendy followed the link and came face-to-face with a full-screen image of Lorelei’s cle**age, if one could call it that. The br**sts were so diminutive that cle**age was an optimistic term, implying that there were two separate objects and a clear division between them.
On second thought, Wendy puzzled over the picture, not absolutely sure anymore what part of the body it showed. She turned the phone this way and that, frustrated when the photo turned along with the device. Finally she read the caption. Yep, it was Lorelei’s cle**age all right.