Authors: India Lee
Chapter 1
As the town car
rolled up to the front of the iconic building on Fifth Avenue, Amanda felt her
eyes widen, her awe just about equal to her embarrassment.
“
This
… is all for me?”
Last year, she
had celebrated her birthday at her modest shared apartment in St. Louis.
Her guests were mostly coworkers and
her outfit for the night had been borrowed from the closet of her then roommate
and best friend, Megan, who was about three inches taller and two sizes
narrower.
She had insisted Amanda
wear the slinky black thing but after a few too many drinks, giggled in front
of the party of ten guests and described Amanda’s look as “sausage-y.”
The highlight of the night had ended up
the slice of birthday cake that Amanda enjoyed solo on the fire escape.
It was a red velvet cake that she had baked
herself, that no one had touched because they’d forgotten about cake after too
many of Megan’s famous jello shots.
Singing “Happy Birthday” had slipped even the mind of her then
boyfriend, Brandt.
But to his
credit, he’d purchased the cheap sparkling wine that Amanda ended up enjoying
her cake with straight out of the bottle.
It was his birthday gift to her, along with a vending machine necklace
and Starbucks gift card, both purchased directly before the party from the mall
that he worked at.
That day felt
like eons ago as Amanda gaped out the window of the ridiculous black Bentley
she rode in with Wendy Krentz, blinking at the scene of flashing lights and
cameras outside of Flatiron’s new hotspot, Agno.
That birthday
last year hadn’t even been one of the
bad
memories.
A bad memory was
catching Brandt cheating on her with Megan five months later.
It was being banished back home to
Merit, Missouri, to a life of small town monotony where her days and nights
revolved around moderating HDU and spreading anonymous vitriol about a
Hollywood playboy and “womanizing douchelord” whom she really only hated for
being Megan’s favorite actor.
The
rumors, the bad press, the unflattering stories — she’d posted them
solely out of bored, spiteful bitterness.
And because that kind of indoor hobby nicely complemented her only other
hobby of avoiding nosy neighbors like the plague.
How was that my life just six months ago?
Amanda wondered as she smoothed down the front of this year’s dress.
It was black like the one she’d worn
last year, but that was about the only similarity since this time around, the
dress belonged to her and rather than cheap lycra and spandex, it was
constructed of beautiful jersey and lace — halter neck and floor length
with a lace panel down the front and subtle but daring slit up the side,
reaching just above the middle of her thigh.
It was a show stopper plucked straight from the Spring/Summer
collection by Thierry Marc, one of the many designers now represented by Wendy,
who since leaving her post as editor-at-large with June Magazine had started
her own quickly thriving PR firm.
While there had been no contract yet, her role as Amanda’s publicist was
assumed and all but officially signed.
Amanda laughed
to herself.
Truly, the color of
her dress was just about the only similarity to her entire birthday in St.
Louis last year.
Because now, she
lived in New York as a television writer and the girlfriend to that very
Hollywood playboy whom she used to personally slander as a “womanizing douchelord.”
Liam Brody was her boyfriend.
Their relationship was no longer the
product of a contract or publicity stunt.
They were an actual couple now.
It had just yet
to feel that way.
But from what
she understood from Wendy about Hollywood romances, there was often a whole lot
of not seeing one another.
Relationships developed at the speed of light and then slowed down to
the pace of a snail thanks to the ridiculous amounts of work and travel.
With Liam finally coming home, Amanda
hoped that they could find a happy medium.
She was ready to get to know him beyond the drama of the
past six months.
It had struck her
that the drama was really all they’d shared together — that the most
personal thing she even knew about Liam was that he had a brother whom he
deeply admired.
That was it.
They’d been through chaos together and
thanks to it, there hadn’t been time to get to really know each other, to spend
quality time with one another.
More than any other birthday gift, Amanda wanted that.
As corny as it was, she wanted to
understand Liam, to hear about his friends, his family, his past, his hopes for
the future.
And she did want
to have sex with him already.
But
that decision was hers to make — whenever she was ready.
“I feel horrible
for that boyfriend of yours.”
Wendy clucked with a giggle as she snapped a picture of Amanda on her
iPhone, promptly posting it to Instagram.
“It’s bad enough that he had to go this long without seeing you.
Now he’s gotta see you for the first
time in ages wearing this hot little number.
Poor thing.”
Amanda
laughed.
You have no idea
, she thought with more guilt than amusement.
After flying
into New York to personally save Amanda in March, Liam had been due immediately
back in Nebraska to continue shooting
A
Soldier
the following day.
Once that location wrapped, he’d had just two nights of down time before
shipping off to Jordan, where his six weeks of shooting turned into eight
thanks to an on-set injury that Amanda could only worry about from nearly six
thousand miles away.
So despite
the fact that they’d been technically together for months, Amanda had yet to
see Liam for more than three days straight – a schedule that didn’t allot
much time for any real couple activities, such as having dinners or double
dates or movie nights.
Or sex.
Don’t
, Amanda warned herself as the
driver opened her car door.
Now
was not the time to recall the last incident during which she’d blue-balled
Liam.
The memory always made her
cringe and right now she had a responsibility to smile for photographers before
the white backdrop splattered with the logos of all the party sponsors —
Wendy’s handiwork, as were all the solid B-list stars in attendance, whom
Amanda had never met in her life.
She assumed that Wendy had rounded up enough press for them to find her
birthday worthy of attendance.
“Just pretend
you know everyone, ‘kay? Like you all go way back,” Wendy giggled as they
emerged from the car.
“So… lie?”
“Yes.
Lie.
Lying is good,” Wendy nodded.
When Amanda snorted, she gave her a playful jab with her
elbow.
“I’m in PR, Amanda, I’d
know.
Dishonesty is the only way
to get ahead in Hollywood.”
I guess I have a good start then
, Amanda
mused to herself as she approached the red carpet milling with TV actors and
talent show winners whom she had only ever seen before on television and
HDU.
And yet, they all uttered
variations of, “
So happy to be here with
Amanda on her special night!
” The phony phrases were certainly good for
making her genuinely smile — or rather, laugh — for the
cameras.
It ended up taking a
solid ten minutes before she spotted someone whom she actually knew.
“
Ian
.
Where the heck do you think you’re going?”
Jogging awkwardly
in the four-inch heels that Wendy had gifted her, Amanda chased a navy blue
suited Ian down the carpet and to the arched stone entrance of the
restaurant.
On his arm was the
wild socialite-turned-health guru-turned restaurateur, Harper Gunn, daughter of
the famous Hudson Gunn, who owned Lilac, Amanda and Liam’s go-to date spot in
the West Village.
Ian grinned at
Amanda’s hobble, brushing the dark mop of hair from his eyes.
They were bright again, in every sense
of the word — slightly nervous, probably from being out at night for the
first time since rehab, but still more green and awake than they’d ever looked
since Amanda had known him.
Healthy, apparently, was a better look on Ian than anyone could’ve imagined.
Harper Gunn and rehab diaries aside, Amanda
couldn’t help but wonder if Hollywood was taking it slightly easier on him
post-rehab because he now looked movie star handsome.
“Help me, he’s
doing the night time anxiety thing,” Harper heaved a sigh.
“And he’s already talking about
leaving.”
Ian laughed.
“I just don’t want to bring down the
stock of your party by blatantly showing my face.
It’s nice enough that you invited me at all.”
Amanda
groaned.
“Ian! Shut up.”
It felt as if she had to say these
words constantly lately, the way she used to when Megan would call herself
fat.
The difference now, however,
was that Ian wasn’t just fishing for compliments.
The industry was mercifully leaving him alone for the most
part but that certainly didn’t mean that they’d accepted him.
He was still a leper.
The tabloids still itched to vilify him
and often, they tried.
But it was
simply too hard with Ian now so mild-mannered and well-behaved.
He hung out strictly during
daytime.
When spotted out and
about, he was usually practicing Pilates or meditation with Harper, who served
almost as his shield to bad press, having become a media princess since her
stellar foray into the New York restaurant scene.
As much as they wanted to, gossip rags couldn’t find good
enough material on Ian for a juicy story, so they ignored him — so long
as he didn’t do anything to pique their interest like go out at night, and to
his first star-studded party since the last one that he’d infamously crashed.
“Seriously.”
Ian’s nervous laugh wound down.
“I know this sounds dramatic but you’re
sacrificing the quality of your crowd by having me here,” he said, wrinkling
his forehead and prompting Harper to press between his furrowed brows till he
stopped frowning.
“But Harper’s
here.
And we’re at Agno.
This is your favorite restaurant.”
“Yeah, and you
totally bummed Wendy out enough by choosing this place for your party.”
Harper smacked
his shoulder with her studded McQueen clutch.
“Hey.”
Opened by
Harper, Agno was a raw vegan and booze-free restaurant that had miraculously
been awarded two stars by the New York Times.
To Wendy’s chagrin, Amanda had chosen the spot to
accommodate Ian.
To Wendy’s
delight, however, the media interpreted the move as Amanda’s decided choice
between him and Casey.
Because of
the rivalry between
Leadoff
and
Casey’s show,
Legacy
, the girls had
had a big falling out.
The
entertainment news programs had assumed this much, anyway, and Wendy and Tom
Vogel took no issue with that.
Casey’s diabolical publicity stunt with Ian had skyrocketed her show to
enormous popularity well before its premiere.
Meanwhile,
Leadoff
was being regarded as the “old, slow-paced” one between the two and the
production was in desperate need of publicity — even if it had to come in
the same breath as Casey’s show.
“Also, in case
you forgot,” Ian started, stepping into a shadow as Harper volunteered herself
to pose for the cameras, distracting them from his anxiety.
“Everyone’s waiting for me to get
punched in the face tonight like I deserve.”
“What?”
“I haven’t seen
Liam since the… thing at the Critic’s Choice after party.”
“Oh.
Right.”
Amanda twisted her pursed lips.
“Well, if there’s one thing I can guarantee, it’s that Liam
isn’t punching anyone at my birthday party.”
Ian shifted
nervously, offering a weak, polite smile to a guest who passed them and stared
at him before offering Amanda a look that asked,
Are you okay?
Once the guest had gone, Ian groaned.
“See? People are looking for me to ruin
this party, Amanda, I can see it in their eyes and I don’t want to be that kind
of distraction at the first event that’s all yours.
This is like your coming out party to Hollywood.”
“We’re in New
York.”
“Shut up.
You know what I mean.
The industry.
The culture.
The people.
You’re an
official part of it now and you need to play by their rules sometimes.”
“Ian.”
Amanda heaved a sigh, grabbing hold of
his shoulders.
“I may be letting
Wendy throw me this huge, insane party where I know maybe five people but I
draw the line at not inviting my closest friend because it might rile up the
industry.
I’m not that
Hollywood.
I’m not Hollywood at
all,” she laughed.
“Besides, if
it’s Liam you’re worried about, you shouldn’t be.
He told me that he’s looking forward to seeing the new you
tonight and he’s proud of the progress you’ve made.”
She smiled as Ian blinked with surprise.
“I mean I wasn’t supposed to
tell
you that he said that, but he did.”