Rapture(2)

Just as she lifted the paper cup of black coffee to her mouth, a car crossed into her lane without signaling, forcing her to stomp on the brake to avoid a collision. Coffee dribbled down her chin and soaked her blouse.



Great. This day was getting better by the minute. Lauren hurled a curse at the reckless driver in front of her while putting the coffee into the cup holder and dabbing at her blouse.

Her cell phone rang through the car’s speakers.

She didn’t even have to look at the number on her dashboard display. She had gotten two calls in the last five minutes, both of them from Ben Harrison. She pressed a button on the steering wheel and accepted the call. “Hi, Ben,” she said in a pleasant, upbeat tone, forcing herself to be a professional and forget her shitty day. “Don’t worry. I’m almost there. We’re now going almost thirty miles an hour, which is practically a high-speed race here in LA.”

Ben didn’t laugh as he usually did when she made a quip like that. Only silence filtered through the line.

“Ben?”

“No, it’s Marlene.”

Of course. She should have expected it on a day like this. A call from Marlene Chandler, founder and president of Chandler & Troy Publicity Inc., usually meant one of their clients had gotten into trouble and Lauren was expected to handle the resulting PR nightmare.

“Sorry, boss,” Lauren said. “I thought it was Ben Harrison. He needs a lot of hand-holding.”

“I’ll let Judy know,” Marlene said.

“Judy?” Lauren frowned. Why did one of her colleagues need to know about Ben’s jitters?



“There’s been a change of plans. Judy will take over as Ben’s publicist.”

What the hell…? Was this supposed to be another punishment for the Tabby Jones disaster? “But Ben has an interview in half an hour, and he’ll be a nervous wreck if I’m not there to field questions.”

“Judy is already on her way.”

“And he’s got a photo op scheduled this afternoon.”

“Judy will handle that too,” Marlene said. “I need you in the office right away.”

It irked Lauren to hand over a client just like that, but she knew protests were futile. She made a quick right turn into Vine Street and headed toward Santa Monica Boulevard, which would take her to the CTP offices in Westwood.

“What happened?” Mentally, she went through her client roster, searching for the most likely up-to-their-necks-in-trouble candidates. Her money was on either Brittany posting R-rated photos of herself on Twitter again or Leroy being caught cheating on his wife with the au pair.

“We’ve got a new VIP client,” Marlene said.

Lauren braked at a red light and eyed the cement truck in front of her. With the kind of luck she was having today, being behind that thing made her a little nervous. “I thought Ben was VIP.”

“Well, if Ben is VIP, this new client is VVIP.”

Despite her curiosity, Lauren knew better than to ask who it was. They never discussed the names of their VIP clients on insecure cell phones. She’d have to wait until she got to the office to find out more.



“We need absolute discretion,” Marlene said, emphasizing every word.

In the PR business, the need for discretion went without saying. Having her boss remind her of it was unusual. When the light turned green, Lauren sped across the intersection and switched lanes, leaving the cement truck behind. She couldn’t wait to get to the office and find out what was going on.





Lauren pulled into her spot in the office’s underground parking garage and got out of her car. She waved at the security guard in his booth and marched past him to the employee elevator. A quick swipe of her ID card and the elevator doors slid apart.

When they opened again on the twelfth floor, the controlled chaos of a typical Monday morning in the PR business engulfed her. The phones were ringing; people were tapping away at their keyboards, and someone was humming a song that sounded like “Rehab” by Amy Winehouse. She weaved around the desks of hard-at-work publicists, careful not to collide with the interns running around, asking questions, and putting together press kits.



As she passed one of the desks, someone grabbed her arm.

Lauren turned.

Tina, one of the account executives on Lauren’s team, looked up at her with a desperate expression. She was on the phone and now pressed one hand against the receiver, covering it. “It’s Mark. He called me twice already because he wants to go on Ellen. Should we try to get him a spot?”

“God, no.” Lauren firmly shook her head. “Ellen is perfect for a witty client with a good sense of humor, but Mark is about as funny as going through a bout of norovirus with no toilet in sight.”

Still covering the phone, Tina chuckled before her expression switched back to panic. “You’re right, but I can’t tell him that. How do I talk him out of it? He thinks it’s a genius idea.”

Knowing Marlene was waiting for her, Lauren didn’t have time for long explanations. She waved at Tina. “Give me the phone.”

Tina handed it over with a sigh of relief.

“Hi, Mark. This is Lauren Pearce. How are you doing?”

The actor paused for a moment. “Oh, hi, Lauren. I’m fine. Did Tina tell you about my idea? I think it’ll really boost the DVD sales of my last movie.”

His last movie had been a laugh-out-loud comedy, and if his audience realized Mark was funny only if he had a script, they’d be disappointed. Few things were worse than disappointed fans. “Ellen is a great idea.”



Tina stared at her as if she’d grown a pair of green antennae.

“See?” Mark said. “I told Tina you’d think so too.”

“Yes, but the thing is, you don’t have enough movies out yet to secure the lead guest spot.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Mark was silent for a moment. “Doesn’t matter. The second guest spot is still great, right?”

“Depends on where you want your career to go,” Lauren said.

“What do you mean?”

Lauren grinned. She had him now. Like all of her clients, he, of course, wanted his career to go all the way to the top. “Well, if you always accept the second guest spot, people will begin to think of you as second-best. I really think it’s better to pass and hold out for the lead guest spot.”

“Oh.” Mark sounded like a little kid who’d just learned that Santa Claus didn’t exist. “I guess we should wait until I have a few more movies under my belt.”

“Definitely.” With any luck, Ellen would have done the Oprah thing and retired her talk show by then. “I’ll hand you back to Tina. I’m sure she can find you another great interview opportunity.” Preferably one with a reporter who would send them the questions beforehand so they could go over the best answers with Mark.



Tina took back the phone and mouthed, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Lauren nodded and walked past her in the direction of her office. She needed to change into a new blouse, one without coffee stains, before meeting with Marlene.

But luck wasn’t with her today. Marlene’s office door opened just as Lauren walked by. Marlene crooked one finger at her.

Sighing, Lauren changed course, feeling like a child being called to the principal’s office. She had always liked working for Marlene, but since she’d been taken off the Tabby Jones account, she wasn’t sure where she stood with her boss anymore. Reluctantly, she entered the corner office.

“Close the door, please,” Marlene said.

Lauren did.

Marlene rounded her large desk and sat in her executive chair. The black leather almost seemed to swallow her diminutive five-foot frame, but Lauren knew that appearances were deceiving when it came to Marlene Chandler. She might look like a fragile toy poodle, but she had the attitude of a pit bull. “Have a seat.”

Lauren walked past Marlene’s freshwater aquarium, peeking at the Siamese fighting fish, a male and his harem. Some of her colleagues said that the fish became aggressive whenever Marlene was in a bad mood. If that was true, Lauren wasn’t looking forward to the conversation with her boss, because the male flared his fins and gills.



Lauren slid onto the visitor’s chair in front of the desk and waited for what Marlene had to say, knowing better than to ask and hurry her along.

For long moments, Marlene sat there without saying anything, just studying Lauren. She raised a brow at the coffee stains on Lauren’s blouse.

Well, nothing she could do about them now. Lauren managed not to fidget under Marlene’s disapproving gaze.

Finally, Marlene returned her attention to Lauren’s face and leaned forward. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Grace Durand.”

“Who hasn’t?” She wasn’t too fond of the type of movies Durand starred in, but Lauren had to admit the woman was hot.

Marlene nodded. “Right. Well, her mother—who is also her manager—just fired her publicist and wants us to take over.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Lauren said. Unlike many other former child stars, who had become tabloid fodder, ending up in rehab, prison, or reality TV, Grace Durand had avoided any scandals so far. Other than attending the occasional red-carpet event with her husband, Nick Sinclair, the golden boy of action movies, she’d stayed out of the limelight and hadn’t created any PR nightmares for her publicist to clean up.