Rapture(3)

“That’s what you think,” Marlene said. “Her agent didn’t want to discuss it over the phone, but apparently, there’s been a recent development that needs to be nipped in the bud. You’ll find out the details when they get here.”



Lauren’s eyes widened. “You want me to take over as her publicist?”

Marlene nodded calmly. “Yes.”

If the other PR consultants found out that their firm was now representing Grace Durand, they would fight over the account like sharks over a piece of meat. Why was Marlene handing it to her? She couldn’t shed the feeling that she was being tested, and she didn’t like that feeling. In her eight years with Chandler & Troy, she had proven herself time and again. There had been talk of promoting her to account supervisor when she got back from touring with Crashing Guitars, the new, hip girl group. Instead, she was now back at square one.

“Do you feel up for it?” Marlene asked.

Lauren’s spine stiffened. “Of course.”

“Good. I scheduled a meeting with Ms. Durand, her agent, and her manager for ten.”

Lauren glanced at her watch. That would give her just enough time to change into a clean blouse and get herself another coffee. She had a feeling she’d need it.





CHAPTER 2

“Is this really necessary?” Grace asked when she met her agent at the address he’d given her. “Why do I have to meet with a new publicist? I already have one.”

“No, you don’t,” her mother said as she climbed out of the SUV. She frowned back at Grace’s Ford Escape as she did every time she had to get into that vehicle and shouldered her purse the way a soldier shouldered his rifle. “I fired Roberta.”

Grace whirled around. “You did what?”

Katherine raised her chin. “I fired her. She didn’t do a good enough job as your publicist. Otherwise, your last movie wouldn’t have flopped at the box office.”

Thanks for the reminder. Grace bit her tongue. A sarcastic comment like that would serve no purpose and only hurt her mother. “It wasn’t Roberta’s fault.”

“Your mother is right,” George said. “Roberta wasn’t bad, but she doesn’t run with the big dogs, and these guys do.” He pointed at the high-rise building next to them, built of white travertine marble. “In fact, they eat other big dogs for breakfast. They’re one of the top damage-control firms in town.”

“Damage control?” Grace repeated with a frown. “You think I need damage control, just because of what Tinseltown Talk wrote about me and Jill? No one takes a tabloid rag like that seriously, right?” She looked back and forth between her mother and George.



“Probably not, but what if other, more widely read magazines or blogs pick up the story?” George ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “You can’t afford headlines like that. Not this close to the premiere of Ava’s Heart.”

Grace sighed. Maybe they were right. Better safe than sorry, right? It couldn’t hurt to at least check out the new firm before making a final decision.

The three of them walked past a glassed-in outdoor workspace, where employees sat, drinking coffee and typing away at laptops.

Grace whistled appreciatively. Nice workplace.

They crossed a plaza between two buildings that looked almost identical, except for the fact that one of the towers was a little higher than the other. Palm trees swayed back and forth in a light breeze like kelp in the tide, and the water in a long pond rippled as several orange and white koi drifted close to the surface. A few employees sat outside on benches, enjoying their coffee break in the sun.

Grace wished she could join them and just sit under one of the palms with a good book for an hour. It had been a while since she was able to truly relax.

But even if she’d had the time, it wasn’t meant to be. Heads started to turn as she walked past. If your face regularly graced the big screen, you couldn’t fade into the woodwork. Grace straightened and put on an automatic smile when she felt gazes on her.



Right before they could escape into the building, a young woman in business attire stopped her. “Oh my God! You’re Grace Durand, aren’t you?”

Her mother tugged on Grace’s arm. “Let’s go in. We don’t have time for this.”

But Grace had promised herself that she would always make time for her fans and not become one of the arrogant divas who thought talking to ordinary people was beneath them. Gently, she pulled her arm out of her mother’s grasp.

“Yes, I am,” she said to the young woman, giving her a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you.”

Red-cheeked, the young woman shook Grace’s hand with a little too much enthusiasm. “I’m a big fan. I’ve seen all of your movies.” She jumped up and down and waved to three of her colleagues, who sat on the raised marble edge of the pond. “Come here, guys! It’s her!”

The woman’s colleagues and other passersby joined them. Soon, Grace was surrounded by people. It always amazed her how fast a crowd could gather. She wondered if all of them even knew who she was. Several people took out their phones and snapped photos while others handed Grace scraps of paper to get her autograph.

Grace gamely signed her name, laughing when one young man bared his biceps and had her sign it.

Finally, the crowd dispersed, transforming from excited fans back into serious-looking business people.



Her mother pulled her into the building before new people could walk up to them.

Grace paused in the lobby for a moment to get her bearings. The interior of the building was as impressive as the outside. The lobby, with its shiny floor, was clearly designed to wow visitors. To the left, the clinking of porcelain came from a café, and to the right was a fitness center for employees. Grace scanned the directory listing the companies housed in the building—mostly real estate agents, investment bankers, and lawyers.

The PR firm really had to be a big dog to afford renting space in this building.

George herded them to the elevators and pressed the button for the twelfth floor.

A short time later, the elevator opened into the PR firm’s reception area. Wow. Chandler & Troy Publicity seemed to occupy the entire floor. Soft recessed lights reflected off a marble-topped desk and several leather lounge chairs. Tasteful works of modern art hung on two walls while a flat-screen TV filled the wall opposite a designer couch.

A frosted glass door opened and closed to their left as someone entered, revealing a large room with cubicles to the left and right.

Grace followed George and her mother across the cushy, burgundy carpet.

The young brunette behind the reception desk smiled at them, obviously used to people pausing to take in their impressive reception area. “How may I help you?”



“This is Grace Durand,” Katherine said before Grace could introduce herself. “I’m her manager, and this is her agent.” She pointed at George. “We have an appointment with Ms. Chandler.”

The receptionist’s smile didn’t waver. She never even stared at Grace. In her line of work, she was probably used to dealing with celebrities. “I believe your appointment is with Ms. Pearce, one of our senior account executives,” she said without consulting an appointment book or her computer. “She’s expecting you. Let me take you to her office.”

While they followed the receptionist, Grace glanced at her wristwatch and winced when she realized they were late. Her encounter with the fans in front of the building had held her up longer than she’d realized. Maybe her mother was right and she did have to learn to say no to her fans sometimes. Being almost fifteen minutes late wasn’t the way to make a good first impression.

The receptionist knocked on a closed door. When no answer came, she knocked again, hesitated, and then opened the door to peek in. “Oh. Ms. Pearce must have stepped out for a moment. Why don’t you wait in her office, and I’ll let her know you’re here.” She opened the door wider and let them enter. “Please have a seat. Can I bring you anything?”

“No, thanks,” Grace said before her mother could bother the receptionist with an extravagant coffee order.



“All right. Ms. Pearce will be with you in a moment.” The receptionist closed the door, leaving them alone in the office.

Grace looked around. The office wasn’t overly large, but the panorama window behind the desk made it look bigger. It offered a great view of Century City, West Hollywood beyond, and the Santa Monica Mountains in the distance. The large desk took up one entire side of the room. It was covered in stacks of papers and files, yet didn’t look messy at all. Quite the opposite, actually. The papers were neatly stacked and the folders sorted by color into piles of red, yellow, and green.

Did the colors mean anything? Maybe they symbolized the importance of the clients or how difficult they were to handle. Grace wondered what color she rated.

The office revealed no hints of the occupant’s private life—no photographs of family members, no personal knickknacks, not even framed diplomas. Instead, autographed photos of celebrities lined the walls, probably famous people Ms. Pearce had worked with.

Grace turned and stepped back to take a closer look at some of the photos next to the door.