Five minutes earlier, Lauren had been sitting behind her desk, drumming her fingers on a stack of files. Every few seconds, she glanced at her watch.
Grace Durand was late. Fashionably late, some of her colleagues might have called it, pointing out that no one was on time in Hollywood.
Lauren didn’t care about that. She hated when her clients were late for appointments. It didn’t bode well for her working relationship with Ms. Durand. You don’t have to like her, she reminded herself. You just have to make sure everyone else does.
A few more minutes ticked by and still no sign of the famous actress.
Huffing, Lauren grabbed her empty mug and stood to get herself another cup of coffee. Of course, as soon as she had entered the kitchen and was about to press the button for a cup of strong, black coffee, Carmen, the firm’s receptionist, stopped her cold.
“Oh, there you are,” Carmen said from the doorway. “Ms. Durand is here. She’s waiting in your office, along with her manager and her agent.”
Figures. Her caffeine fix had to wait. “Thanks, Carmen.” Lauren put down the mug and headed back to her office. Before opening the door, she glanced down at her unstained blouse and the dark gray slacks, making sure she was presenting a professional image. When she was convinced that she looked fine, she swung the door open—only to be met with resistance.
The door hit something or rather someone, she realized. And not just any someone. She had never met her newest client in person, but she had seen her a million times before, on TV and celebrity blogs, in magazines and newspapers. The golden locks cascading halfway down her back, the contrasting dark eyebrows, and eyes as blue as a sunlit ocean were unmistakable. Lauren had just hit Golden Globe-winning actress Grace Durand.
The actress’s full lips formed a startled “oh” as she stumbled back, rubbing her arm.
Still gripping the door handle, Lauren stood frozen in the doorway. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… I thought you’d be…” Uncharacteristically rattled, she gestured to the visitor’s chair in front of her desk, where she’d assumed the actress would be sitting.
Grace Durand directed her world-famous smile at her. “It’s all right,” she said. “Despite reports to the contrary, I’m not made of glass.” Her voice was husky and melodic, with faint undertones of a Southern drawl, which, as Lauren knew, were holdovers from portraying a character from Georgia in her last movie.
Lauren had never found a Southern accent all that sexy, but now she instantly changed her mind. She couldn’t stop staring at the actress’s classically beautiful face and her eyes. She had always assumed that those blue eyes she’d seen in movie posters were photoshopped, but up close, the color looked real. The rest of Ms. Durand didn’t look as if it needed airbrushing either. She wasn’t exactly a size zero like most other actresses in the business, but Lauren had never liked stick figure women anyway. She much preferred Ms. Durand’s luscious curves.
Yeah, okay, she’s gorgeous. So what? Each and every one of the women Lauren worked with was beautiful, but she had never let herself be impressed by their beauty. Much too often, the gorgeous shell hid a bitchy attitude, egoism, or shallowness. Reality never matched their kind, sometimes heroic on-screen personas, and this time wouldn’t be any different. Besides, growing up around celebrities had made Lauren immune to being starstruck.
Oh yeah? You sure aren’t acting like it. She gave herself a mental kick and moved forward, holding out her hand.
Grace Durand readily stepped forward. Her handshake was unexpectedly firm, and she looked Lauren straight in the eyes, although she didn’t quite match Lauren’s five foot ten.
Even up close, Lauren could detect no trace of makeup—not that Ms. Durand needed it. Admittedly, she was even more appealing off-screen, if that was even possible. “Good morning, Ms. Durand. I’m Lauren Pearce, senior account executive here at CT Publicity.”
“Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice. And please, call me Grace.”
Lauren nodded, even though she would have liked to keep a little more professional distance from this client. But the customer was king, so she said, “Call me Lauren, then.” She realized she was still holding the actress’s hand and quickly let go to greet the other two people in the room, George Benitez, an agent she’d dealt with before, and a peroxide blonde she guessed to be in her fifties. Lauren had done her homework, conducting some research while she waited for the actress and her entourage to arrive, so she knew that the older woman was Katherine Duvenbeck, Grace’s mother. A quick search on Wikipedia had revealed that Katherine had been the one who had encouraged her daughter to go into acting, taking her to her first audition for a diaper commercial when Grace had been just six months old.
At least my folks never did that.
“This is my mother, who’s also my manager, and George Benitez, my agent,” Grace said.
They shook hands, and Lauren gave them polite nods. “Mrs. Duvenbeck, nice to meet you. George, it’s great to work with you again.”
Katherine Duvenbeck’s eyes, not quite the same startling color as her daughter’s, widened when Lauren addressed her with the correct name.
Lauren smiled faintly. “Can I get you anything before we start?”
Grace started to shake her head, but her mother said, “That’d be nice. If you have it, I’d like to have a freshly pulled espresso with steamed low-fat milk that forms a foam cap, no higher than half an inch.”
Lauren nodded, but Mrs. Duvenbeck wasn’t through yet.
“It should be flavored with just a hint of sugar-free vanilla syrup and garnished with a sprinkle of cinnamon—organic, of course.”
Years of practice enabled Lauren to keep a straight face, even though she was inwardly cringing at the culinary crime Mrs. Duvenbeck was committing on a perfectly good cup of coffee. “Of course,” she said calmly.
Grace sent her an apologetic gaze, surprising Lauren.
Since Grace had been a child star, Lauren had expected her to be just as spoiled as her mother. Lauren pressed a button on the office intercom. “Carmen, can you do me a favor and get Mrs. Duvenbeck a coffee?” There was a moment of silence when she repeated the woman’s coffee order, but then Carmen gamely promised to deliver the coffee in a minute.
Lauren rolled her desk chair toward a small, round table and nodded at the three chrome-and-leather chairs surrounding it. “Why don’t we get started by talking about where you want to take your career and what, exactly, you feel your brand is? Or is there something in particular you wanted to discuss?”
Mrs. Duvenbeck gingerly settled herself into the chair next to Lauren instead of reserving that seat for her daughter. “Oh yes, there is.” She rummaged through a giant purse that probably held half the product line of Lancome and finally flung a magazine onto the table. “We need you to make this go away!”
Lauren read the sensational headlines and skimmed the article, managing not to raise an eyebrow at the mention of a gay tryst. She peered over at Grace, who met her gaze with an anxious expression. The actress didn’t set off Lauren’s gaydar, but then again, Tabby Jones hadn’t either, and the photo of Grace with Jill Corrigan looked awfully cozy. “Mrs. Duvenbeck,” Lauren said, deciding to be straightforward. “I’m a publicist, not a magician. I can’t just make this go away, especially not if there’s any truth to it.” She looked back at Grace. “If this is just news you weren’t yet ready to put out, you should realize that the reporters are going to find the truth sooner or later. You might want to bite the bullet and—”
Grace, George, and Mrs. Duvenbeck all spoke at the same time, with Mrs. Duvenbeck’s enraged voice drowning out the others. “My daughter isn’t gay!”
There was no way they could have a productive discussion like this. If there was any truth to the gay rumors, Grace certainly wouldn’t confirm them while her mother was in the room. Ignoring Mrs. Duvenbeck, Lauren turned toward Grace. “Maybe the two of us could go over to the conference room to talk while your mother enjoys her…coffee in peace.”
Mrs. Duvenbeck’s makeup-covered face flushed. “I’m perfectly capable of talking while I enjoy my coffee.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second,” Lauren said, managing to hide any hint of sarcasm. “But the thing is, if I want to represent Grace to the best of my abilities and handle this situation as efficiently as possible, I need to get a good feeling for who she really is as a person, and I can do that better if we’re alone.”
Grace got up and put one hand on her mother’s shoulder. “She’s right. We’ll be right back, I promise.” As soon as the door closed behind them, she lightly touched Lauren’s forearm. “I’m sorry. My mother means well, but sometimes, she can be a little…”
Lauren said nothing. She’d learned the hard way that it was best not to comment on things like this. The loyalty of celebrities could be fickle and change faster than wind direction. Pulling her arm away from Grace’s touch, she pointed down the hall. “This way, please.”