Damage Control (The Hollywood Series Book 2) (18 page)

“Just some voice-acting for an animated movie, lending my voice to a little piglet.” Jill let out a series of loud oinks.

Not exactly a dream role. And on bad days, the MS made it hard for Jill to speak clearly, so voice-acting wasn’t the ideal job for her. “Do you want me to ask around and see if—?”

“No,” Jill said and then added more softly, “Thank you. I know you mean well, but this is something I have to do on my own.”

Grace could respect that, even if she worried about her friend.

Banging and clanging sounds came from the kitchen.

“I’d better go before my mother destroys my smoothie maker,” Grace said. “They have an ongoing feud.”

“Who’s winning?”

A loud cracking noise drifted over. Grace grimaced. “My mother.”

“All right. Talk to you soon.”

“Take care.” Grace ended the call and hurried to the kitchen.

Elbow-deep in Grace Durand posters, Lauren realized she’d again skipped lunch when her stomach made itself heard.

“I like that one.” Zachary, their newest intern, pointed at one of the posters spread across the large table in the conference room.

I just bet you do.
Not that Lauren could blame him.

In the movie poster he’d pointed at, Grace was standing in the middle of a cornfield with rain pouring down on her, her off-white sundress clinging to her curves.

“It’s good,” Lauren said. “But don’t think about what you like or don’t like. Think about what our target audience—”

“Lauren?” Carmen, their receptionist, called from the doorway.

Lauren turned.

“This was just delivered for you.” Carmen held out a big, white box with a red bow and a little envelope.

Frowning, Lauren rounded the conference table. She wasn’t expecting anything. It didn’t look like a PR-related delivery. Who else could possibly be sending her something here? Even when she’d been dating, her girlfriends had always known better than to send gifts to the office. “Who is it from?”

“I have no idea. The security guard brought it up. All I know is that it smells heavenly.”

It smelled heavenly? Had someone sent her flowers?

One of the interns giggled. “How sweet. You have a secret admirer.”

Lauren ignored the girl’s comment and took the box from Carmen. “Thanks.”

Instead of returning to her desk, Carmen lingered in the doorway, clearly waiting for Lauren to open the box or at least the envelope.

Oh, no.
Lauren had no intention of letting her co-workers see whatever was in the box. “Why don’t you take your lunch break now, and we’ll meet back here in an hour?” she said to the interns. With the box in her hands, she squeezed past Carmen and went to her office.

Once she had settled in her desk chair, she removed the envelope that was taped to the box. Lauren’s name was scripted across the front in black ink. When she opened the envelope, a small card slid out.

Thank you.

G.

That was all the card said. Lauren mentally leafed through the women in her address book. If she left out business contacts, it was a rather thin book, and no woman whose name started with G came to mind.

Maybe the contents of the box would give her a clue. She removed the red ribbon. Carmen was right. Whatever was in the box smelled heavenly, but not like flowers. More like some kind of baked goods. She opened the lid of the box.

Muffins?

There had to be at least half a dozen different kinds: blueberry, chocolate, banana, lemon/poppy seed, corn, and one that Lauren couldn’t identify by sight alone.

Her stomach loudly growled its approval.

She glanced at the card again. A vague idea began to form in her mind. Had Grace sent the box? It couldn’t be, could it?

As if on cue, the phone rang and the display revealed that it was Grace calling.

Laughing, Lauren lifted the phone to her ear. “Muffins? You’re sending me muffins?”

“I thought everyone liked muffins. Don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” As if to prove it, she picked up one of the muffins she hadn’t yet identified and bit into it. The taste of cinnamon, apple, and a subtle coffee flavor exploded on her tongue. “Oh my God.” She moaned into the phone.

Grace cleared her throat.

“Sorry,” Lauren said and quickly swallowed. “I just discovered the cinnamon/coffee ones.”

Grace chuckled. “I thought you’d like those.”

Lauren popped another little piece into her mouth. “I do. But I thought you wanted us to stop eating junk food?”

“I said that
I
shouldn’t eat it, but you’re not on the Hollywood diet. Besides, I thought sending flowers to another woman might not be the best way to follow your order and lay low, so…”

“So you sent me muffins,” Lauren said, still a little puzzled.

“I wanted to say thank you.” Grace’s voice had gone serious now.

Lauren dusted a little cinnamon off her blouse and shook her head, even though Grace couldn’t see it. “You don’t need to thank me. I get paid to do my job.”

“I’m not thanking you for getting me out of the hot water with the media, although I’m grateful for that too. This is for what you did on Sunday.”

“Oh.” Lauren rubbed her cheek with her free hand. So Grace had heard that she had accompanied Jill to the LA Gay Pride. A little uncomfortable with Grace’s gratefulness, she said, “Well, I got paid for that too. I’m Jill’s publicist, remember?”

“I’d bet my salary from
Ava’s Heart
that the time you spent marching in the parade won’t show up on the bill your company will send Jill,” Grace said.

Damn. She’s beautiful and perceptive.
A dangerous combination. “I have a confidentiality clause in my contract, so I can’t discuss what I might or might not bill another client for,” Lauren said, trying for a dignified, businesslike tone.

Grace laughed. “That’s a ‘no comment,’ right?”

Lauren just chuckled and said nothing.

“Seriously, though, thank you,” Grace said. “It meant a lot to Jill—and to me.”

“You’re welcome.” Lauren eyed the muffins and picked a banana one.

Before she could take a bite, a knock sounded at the door and Carmen poked her head around the doorjamb. “Sorry for the interruption. Sheryl Blackstone-Wade is here.”

Lauren frowned and covered the receiver with one hand. “She doesn’t have an appointment, does she?”

“No, but she’s wondering if you have a minute.”

So much for her lunch break. Lauren suppressed a sigh. “All right. Give me a minute, then send her in.”

“Will do.” Carmen turned away.

“Carmen?”

The receptionist showed up in the doorframe again.

“Catch.” Lauren threw her the banana muffin.

“Ooh, thank you.” Beaming, Carmen caught it and hurried back to her desk.

Lauren took her hand off the phone’s receiver. “Grace? I’m sorry, but I have to go. Duty is calling. I’ll contact you later this week to go over movie posters, okay?”

“Okay,” Grace said. “Enjoy the muffins.”

“I will.” Lauren ended the call, closed the box of muffins after one last, regretful glance, and put them in her bottom desk drawer, hoping there would be time to indulge her sweet tooth later.

CHAPTER 13

Lauren was in the conference room, showing two of the interns how to put together EPKs—electronic press kits—when Carmen burst into the room. With a sense of déjà vu, Lauren hoped there wasn’t another box of muffins waiting for her or her team would start to think that she had a new girlfriend.

“Mrs. Duvenbeck just called,” Carmen said. “She wants you to call her back right away.”

Lauren frowned. In the three weeks that she’d been Grace’s publicist, Mrs. Duvenbeck had never called her before. “Did she say what she wanted?”

“Just that she has an assignment for you.”

An assignment? Lauren didn’t like the sound of that. She enjoyed working with Grace, but her mother was another story. “I’ll call her back when we’re finished here.”

Once they had chosen the music clips, bios, and interviews for the press kits and she’d sent the interns off to work on other things, Lauren went back to her office and reached for the phone. “Mrs. Duvenbeck. This is Lauren Pearce. Our receptionist said you were trying to reach me?”

“Finally! I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

Lauren was used to exaggerations from the Hollywood divas she worked with, so instead of reacting to the implied complaint, she asked, “What can I do for you?”

“My daughter’s birthday is July 3. It’s her thirtieth,” Mrs. Duvenbeck added in a whisper, as if giving away a national secret, “so I’d like to do something special and surprise her with a party.”

Lauren relaxed a little. “That’s a great idea. I’m sure she’ll love that.”

“Yes, but the thing is, I can’t plan the party without her finding out about it ahead of time.”

It couldn’t be that hard, could it? They didn’t even live in the same house. The tiny hairs on the back of Lauren’s neck stood on end as she started to suspect where this was going. “So you’re calling me because…?”

“Because you’re her publicist, of course. You could put together a wonderful party, invite all the guests, and—”

“I’m a publicist, not a party planner.”

“For three hundred dollars an hour, I’d think you’d do whatever I wanted.”

Lauren bit back a sharp reply at the last second and abstained from telling her that it was Grace’s money, not hers. “Mrs. Duvenbeck,” she said, trying for a patient, calm tone. “Grace is my client, and I doubt she’d want me to waste my billable time on—”

“Ms. Chandler already okayed it,” Mrs. Duvenbeck said, stopping her midsentence.

Dammit!
That manipulative witch had gone straight to Marlene, who had okayed it, of course. If Lauren took over the party planning, it meant more billable hours for the firm. “With all due respect, but maybe my boss wasn’t the right person to ask. If Grace is going to have to pay for it, she should be the one to okay it.”

“You want Grace to okay the surprise party we’re planning for her? That would defeat the purpose.”

For once, Mrs. Duvenbeck was right. It still irked Lauren that she was spending her daughter’s money as if it were going out of fashion, but if Grace didn’t rein her in, it certainly wasn’t Lauren’s place to do so.

“So,” Mrs. Duvenbeck said, “are you going to take over the party planning?”

There was no way she could refuse. Not while she was still on thin ice with Marlene. But she didn’t want to give in without at least trying to appeal to Mrs. Duvenbeck’s sense of reason—if she had any. “Do you really think this is the best use of my time, just eight weeks before the release of your daughter’s new movie? I should be focused on promotion right now.”

“Who says you can’t do both? You haven’t given me a chance to explain what kind of party I want.”

That you want? Shouldn’t it be about what Grace wants?
“I’m listening,” Lauren said, even though she wanted to hang up.

“I’ll send you a list of producers, filmmakers, directors, and actors I want you to invite,” Mrs. Duvenbeck said. “That includes my son-in-law, of course. And I want you to invite selected members of the press—the ones that’ll give us the best exposure.”

It finally dawned on Lauren why Mrs. Duvenbeck wanted her to plan the party instead of doing it herself—Lauren had better connections to all the right media people.
I can’t believe that she seriously wants to turn her daughter’s birthday party into a promo event.

“I’ll leave the choice of venue and food up to you, but please make sure that no alcohol will be served,” Mrs. Duvenbeck continued.

Well, at least she had that much consideration for her daughter. “I’ll make sure of it.”

When Lauren didn’t question the reason behind the order, Mrs. Duvenbeck noticeably paused, probably astonished that her daughter had trusted Lauren with that secret. “One more thing,” she finally said. “It might be better not to invite Jill Corrigan.”

“What?” Lauren thought she hadn’t heard correctly. “Why? As far as I know, she’s Grace’s best friend, so why wouldn’t we invite her?”

“You should know better than anyone that it’s not in my daughter’s best interest to be seen with Jill all the time,” Mrs. Duvenbeck said, her voice as cold and cutting as steel.

“Mrs. Duvenbeck—”

“I expect you to honor my wishes.”

Before Lauren could think of a reply that wouldn’t put her job at risk, Mrs. Duvenbeck said good-bye and ended the call.

Lauren smashed her fist onto the desk, making her pens rattle in their holder. “Goddamn bitch!”

A gentle knock on the door interrupted her cursing.

“What!”

The door was opened, and Grace peeked into the room. “Um, is this a bad time? I thought I’d drop by to see the posters you were talking about, but it sounds like this might not be the best time.”

Lauren’s anger subsided. “No, it’s fine. Come on in. Sorry you had to hear that.”

“Don’t worry. I heard it all before. When they have to do thirty takes in the pouring rain, even the most well-bred actors start to curse like sailors.” Grace smiled as she walked toward Lauren, casually dressed in a pair of formfitting black jeans and a sleeveless cream top. “But maybe I should have brought muffins. That sounded like you’re not having the best of days.”

It just got a lot better.
At the mention of doing thirty takes in the pouring rain, Lauren’s mind flashed to the poster of Grace in the nearly see-through wet dress. She gave herself a mental slap and got up from behind her desk. “No, I think I should lay off the muffins. They go right to my hips.” She patted the body parts in question.

Grace’s gaze swept down her body and then back up to her face. “Nonsense. You look fine.”

Lauren blinked. Heat crept up her chest.
Did she just check me out?
She imperceptibly shook her head at herself. Even straight women could look at other women. It didn’t mean a thing. “Come on. I’ll show you the posters.”

At least she wouldn’t have to deal with the guest list for the party while Grace was here.

Sometimes, Grace thought that her mother must have cameras installed in her living room. Every time she sat down to read one of the scripts George had sent her, her mother showed up or called. Sighing, she put the script aside and answered the phone.

“Are you doing anything important?” her mother asked.

“Reading a script.”

“Oh, good. Then I’ll pick you up in half an hour. We’re going shopping.”

Grace groaned. “Shopping? Now?”

“Yes. I saw this exquisite dress in one of the boutiques on Rodeo Drive. It will look marvelous on you.”

Rodeo Drive meant the paparazzi would be there within seconds, following them from store to store. “Mom, I’ve got two closets full of dresses. I don’t need a new one.”

“Trust me, you do,” her mother said firmly.

Something about her tone made Grace suspicious. Why would she need a new dress even though the premiere of
Ava’s Heart
was still nearly eight weeks away? “You’re not planning on throwing me a birthday party, are you?”

“What would make you think that?”

Grace switched the phone to her other ear. “I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you want me to buy a new dress? Or that you’re answering a question with another question?”

“Can’t I want to spend a nice afternoon shopping with my daughter? I miss spending time with you.”

Shopping on Rodeo Drive with a horde of paparazzi following them around wasn’t Grace’s idea of a nice afternoon, but she had to admit that she hadn’t spent much time with her mother lately. “All right. We’ll go shopping. But you’ve got to promise me, no party.” While she appreciated the effort her mother put into planning parties for her, Grace knew she’d have to attend countless parties and red-carpet events to promote her movie very soon. She didn’t want to spend her birthday holding on to a glass of champagne that she couldn’t drink, making small talk with the movers and shakers of the entertainment industry. “Please, Mom.”

“All right. I promise that I won’t plan a party. Happy now?”

“Yes. Thanks, Mom. See you in half an hour.” Grace got up and went to get her credit card.

Lauren sat at her desk, clicking through possible venues for Grace’s birthday party. They were all equally luxurious, impressive, and high-priced. Any of these Michelin-starred restaurants and glamorous ballrooms would probably make Mrs. Duvenbeck happy, but Lauren kept hesitating. Was this really how Grace would want to spend her birthday, a milestone birthday no less?

When the phone rang, she bookmarked the websites and accepted the call. “Chandler & Troy Publicity, Lauren Pearce speaking.”

“Do you ever sleep or go home?” Jill’s cheerful voice came through the phone.

Lauren glanced at the clock in the task bar of her computer and realized that it was after nine. “Every once in a while, when you Hollywood stars don’t keep me too busy.” She swished her chair from side to side. “How are you doing? You sound good.”

“Thanks. I am. No complaints at the moment. Well, maybe one,” Jill said. “I hear there’s going to be a surprise party for Grace, and I have no idea what to get her for her birthday.”

Lauren froze mid-swivel. “Where did you hear that?”

“Russ told me,” Jill said.

Thanks a lot.
Now she had a problem. Of course Jill assumed she was invited, and Lauren had to find a way to politely uninvite her. She felt like such a traitor. Jill didn’t deserve this. “Sorry,” she said lamely, “but I have no idea what to get her for her birthday either.”

“Actually, I do have an idea. Instead of a present, how about we throw her a party she’ll never forget?”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.”

Jill made a tsking noise with her tongue. “Not one of those awful parties her mother usually throws for her.”

“Grace doesn’t like them?”

“She hates them!”

Lauren stared at the open tabs on her computer screen. “She does?”

“Oh yeah. For once, I would like her to have a party that is really for her, not for publicity’s sake. That’s why I’m calling you.”

“Me? I hate to point it out, but I’m the publicity gal.”

“Yes, but you’re also the person who’s putting together this year’s party, right?”

“Uh, yes. But—”

“I have a fun idea for where to have the party.” Jill’s enthusiasm was unstoppable. “It’s a bit crazy, but…well, it’s been a crazy year, so maybe it fits. I think Grace will love it.”

Lauren’s gaze lingered on the gourmet restaurant on her screen, which had been her top choice so far. Now was the moment when she had to tell Jill that she had already put together a plan for the party—and that she wasn’t on the guest list. But then a mental image of Grace’s face as she bit into the hot dog flashed through her mind. She still vividly remembered how much Grace had enjoyed such an ordinary thing, probably because she didn’t get to experience it very often.

Her middle finger hovered over the right mouse button. Two clicks and she would delete the bookmarks for the restaurant and hotel websites.
No, don’t do it. That’s career hara-kiri.

“Lauren? Are you still there?”

To hell with it.
This was Grace’s birthday, not Katherine’s. She deleted the bookmarks and closed her browser. “I’m listening.”