“Well, not exactly.” Anxious and excited, she pulled out a chair and shoved me down in a way she obviously took to be endearing. “The thing is, Bex… I actually got the two of us a gig. But it has nothing to do with hot ranch chicks.”
“Really? That’s wonderful.”
“It is, and it isn’t.”
I cocked a brow. “What do you mean?”
“Well, we don’t get paid like normal.” She grinned as I frowned. “But it’s great for our image. And we have the potential to meet some big names. And we can earn a big bonus by mentioning the agency. If we bring in work, we get a big, fat bonus. Think of this as fun work. We’re going to a party! And it’s tonight!”
“A party?”
“Who doesn’t want to party on a Friday night? I’ll tell you more at the salon,” she said. “They’re getting us all fixed up!”
“Who?”
“You just got to trust me. Now come on, girl. It’s time to go primp! Of course, after we eat this wonderful meal I got us.”
I laughed. “We’re not eating on paper plates, so that’s five star dining to me.”
“Not to mention, we’re not using plastic forks.”
Chapter 4
“You know, I can’t begin to tell you the hypocrisy of what’s happening right now,” I said.
Amanda and I were sitting in a hair salon in Beverly Hills, getting prodded and fussed over by an army of gay men and one heavily primped woman. The acrid smell of nail polish remover was enough to make me almost light-headed. But I stayed carefully on guard as Pa
ulo came at me with a dozen different aerosols and one or two lethal-looking instruments I believed were modeled after something used in the Spanish Inquisition.
I momentarily vanished into a sticky fog as he let loose with one of the bottles, and emerged a second later, stiff and sad, feeling like an unfortunate Botox survivor.
“There go the Wetlands,” I muttered, wondering how many pounds of toxins we’d just released into the atmosphere.
Amanda twisted awkwardly to look at me, her head trapped beneath something that looked like it was attempting to harvest her brain. “What are you saying?”
“Nothing.” My chair tilted back of its own accord, and suddenly I was looking at the ceiling. “Was that supposed to happen?” I asked nervously.
“Silencio!” Paulo commanded, rushing forward with another comb. I closed my eyes with a grimace as he pulled and twisted and corralled whatever was left of my hair into a tight knot on top of my head. When he was finished, he shot me upright again and disappeared into the back to get more supplies.
I sighed. “So tell me a little more about this party. But first let me tell you, I’m having a great time already—just with the prep.”
Amanda snorted, waving her nails to dry their thick, gold-dusted polish. “I heard about it at that casting—you know—the one where my entire life changed for the better?”
“The dystopian Western?” I guessed. I’d been hearing about it quite a lot, actually.
“Yeah, well, Billy asked me to go. Said that the agency needed some representation at this playboy trillionaire’s house party.”
“Right. The trillionaire. Is that even a word?”
“Of course it is.”
“You made it up!”
“I so didn’t. I heard his name is Marcus Taylor, and he’s fucking gorgeous! I wish I could land him. But from what I hear, no woman can. He’s untamable.”
“Hmm. Untamable? Is that a challenge?” I asked. “I mean, I did tame our mean cat.”
She laughed. “I bet you could lasso in the wild buck.”