Luxe Glamour (The Glamour Series Book 5) (3 page)

“Oh. My. God.” Choo shook his head and waved his hand in the air. “This wedding is
killing
me. The location. The caterer. The guest list.” He fell into a chair beside the conference table as though absolutely exhausted. And why wouldn’t he be—he was probably spending as much time on the wedding as he was on business. Their wedding would be obscenely expensive and obnoxiously over the top.

“We finally decided on Malibu as the location. But the food and the flowers? Seriously, I may die before I ever get to walk down that fabulous aisle.”

I sat in the chair beside him. Betty curled up into a chair on the opposite side of the conference table and slid a pad of paper and a pen toward Choo.

“Enough about me and my drama. Please tell me about
you
. Could you blow up any bigger, any faster, Miss I-have-one-million-Twitter-followers? In what, six months?”

My lips curved into a smile. My social media accounts were INSANE.

“I’ve made those accounts a priority and I really think it’s paying off.”

“Completely.” Choo nodded. “I mean you’re a Legend with a body and a face to die for. You just finished
Vogue
. You walked in Milan. Webber is out trying to get you gigs for film. You’re working with me. Sophia, this is a
big
year for you. Huge.”

Yes, this was a big year.
Finally
. Finally Ellen and Rhett and I could come out of the shadows and embrace our Legend status.

“What we want to do next is find the right charity for you to become involved in.”

I frowned a little bit. “Charity?”

“Charity,” Choo confirmed. “We want you to feel real. We want you to appear kind and approachable.”

I flipped my hair over my shoulder and ran my tongue over my lips. “I am real and approachable.” Had my publicist just implied that I was a cold-hearted bitch?

“Of course you are!” He placed his hand on my shoulder. “To everyone who knows you. But here’s the thing, you are so beautiful and so perfect that if we don’t proactively work to make you seem approachable people will put you on a pedestal.”

The pedestal part sounded appropriate to me. Didn’t a world-class beauty deserve to be put on a pedestal?

“And when that happens your fans will proceed to knock you down.” 

The smile slid from my face. “Knock me down?”

“It happens all the time.”

I glanced at Betty, who nodded knowingly.

“The public builds you up to knock you down,” Choo stated. “They want you to be beautiful and spectacular, and they want to live this fantastic existence through you, but it’s a fine line. They never want you to appear as if you’re more beautiful and spectacular than they are. It’s weird, but true, and they are always looking for a reason to turn their backs on you.

“We had a report commissioned on you,” he said.

Betty slid the bound report across the table.

“Take a look at it when you have some time. This report assesses your media weaknesses,” Choo continued.

“Media weaknesses?” My throat squeezed tight. I didn’t like weaknesses in any form.

Choo nodded. “The report details areas where we think your brand has room for improvement.”

“Improvement?” I pulled my lip under my top teeth. But I was doing so well. I had a huge following with hundreds of thousands of fans. I had over a million followers on Twitter.

“Even JLaw has to stay ahead of the media. I mean, one day the masses are with you and they love you, and the next day they’ve turned. It’s our job to stay ahead of the public. To know what the public is feeling about you before
they
know what they’re feeling.” Choo’s gaze bounced toward Betty. His hand brushed over the report in front of him. “Our research”—his eyes locked with mine—“shows that your fans are preparing to turn.”

“Turn?” I nearly choked.

Choo nodded. “They are simply looking for a reason to bash you. They’ve loved you for about six months and now their psyche is picking you apart. They’re searching for reasons not to love you anymore. Your relationship with your fans a lot like falling in love. The first six months are heaven. That super-cute phase where him tossing his socks into the corner of your bedroom is just adorable, and then suddenly it becomes so annoying you could split his skull with a hammer.” Choo pressed his hand to his chest. “Not that I would know about socks, but my man does toss his T-shirts onto the floor before he crawls into bed every damn night.” Choo crossed his arms and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. He glanced over toward Betty. “Good thing Jackson is so fine or I’d have to throw his ass out of my bed.” Betty’s smile flashed back at Choo.

“So,” Choo settled his gaze on me. “The public is preparing to turn on you. I don’t know exactly when, but they will. I hate being the bearer of this kind of news, but I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you about it. ”

“But … but … my Twitter? My new cosmetic line? My new line of workout clothes?”

Choo shook his head and gave me a doleful glance. “If they hate you they will hate your products. This is why we need to meet this problem head on. You need to find a charity to support. Helping others will bring out your humanity, and people find it hard not to empathize with that. Getting involved with volunteer work will redirect people’s focus. Instead of thinking about ways to write you off, they will continue to support you.”

An oozing feeling rocked through my belly. Fear. Cold fear dripped from my soul and into my blood and my mind raced. I pressed my fingertips to my lips. How could anyone hate me? This certainly wasn’t the news I had been expecting. I needed to think. I couldn’t have my fans hating me. I couldn’t lose all that I had established. We were still in negotiations for me to be the face of Cover Girl cosmetics and it would be disastrous to lose that deal. We were still in the process of locking down gigs for Paris Fashion Week. And what about
Vogue
?  What if the public turned before my
Vogue
cover came out and the magazine didn’t sell? Oh my God!

“What charity did you have in mind?” I asked. I guess I was as pragmatic as my father. If I needed a charity, or anything else that would ensure the world would continue to notice me, to love me, then I would do whatever it took.

“Well.” A giant grin split Choo’s face. He rubbed his hands together and looked from me to Betty. “We were thinking dogs.”

“Dogs?” My throat closed tight and my chest … the tightness in my chest … suddenly I couldn’t breathe. Before I could voice my concerns Choo barreled on.

“We’ve just begun a PR campaign for Pawtown. I don’t know if you’ve heard about it, but it’s a no-kill shelter for animals located outside Los Angeles, near Idyllwild.”

“Why dogs? Why not something for the homeless? Or maybe Haiti?” My gaze went from Choo to Betty. “Something’s always wrong in Haiti.”

Choo covered my hand with his. “Our market research indicates that there is a huge interest in, and love for, shelter animals, and no-kill shelters in particular. That love
never
changes. Seriously, Sophia, I am handing you a golden egg … or should I say a golden paw? Pawtown. Your charity needs to be Pawtown.”

I took a moment to think about what he had said. I believed Choo. I couldn’t lose all that I’d built. What would Daddy say if I failed? What would I do if I failed? I wasn’t smart like Ellen, and I couldn’t perform like Rhett. I was the pretty one. The one with the face and the flair. I couldn’t fail. Not now. I couldn’t lose my public, or the career that was just beginning to take off.

“Pawtown will keep your public loving you. Besides, it’s dogs!” He looked at Betty. “Who doesn’t love dogs? Dillon has a pack of four, and Jackson and I are getting ready to adopt two of our own. This is a
huge
opportunity.
Everyone
in the world loves dogs!”

I squeezed my hands together in my lap. Yes, everyone in the world loved dogs. Everyone but me.

Trick

I tossed my duffel bag into the back of the truck. The pups for Choo and Jackson would ride in the backseat of the cab. They waited for me in the open outdoor exercise area located next to the adoption building. Angie would bring the other Pawtown pups to L.A. on Saturday morning, in time for the adoption event. Since we had quite a few dogs and cats lined up for the event, Angie would use the trailer.

“Trick, I need to talk to you before you head into L.A.”

The silver of Angie’s wheelchair glinted in the sunlight. She waited in the doorway of the administration building. Maisy, a longhaired calico cat, was curled in Angie’s lap and Delilah, a lab/border collie mix, pressed her body against the spokes of Angie’s chair. Her tail wagged, but Delilah’s worried eyes went from me to my sister.

Angie was not happy. Lines creased her forehead and her lips were set in a firm line. This was the same look she used to use on me when we were kids.

A breath blew out of my lips and it loosened the knot of worry that tightened in my chest. One day at a time, one minute at a time, one second at a time … I turned from the path that led to the adoption house and walked toward Angie’s office.

Three volunteers worked the phones and Mary, Pawtown’s administrative assistant, typed on her computer. Inside Angie’s office three heavy-lidded felines snoozed on the carpet-covered branches of a cat tree. I leaned against the doorframe. Delilah had curled up on a denim doggie bed, just beside Angie’s desk. Photos of dogs and cats and horses and goats and even a couple of iguanas covered the far wall. Each animal was embraced by its new owners. The pictures were snapped just before the critter left Pawtown for their forever home. A piece of my soul returned with each animal we helped.

But, selfish bastard that I was, finding a million homes for a million four-legged friends couldn’t make up for all the bad things I’d done.

My gaze darted away from the animals and over to Angie. She was the lady who took care of the paperwork for Pawtown.
All
the paperwork. And the money. And all the hassles that included interaction with two-legged mammals.

“So, Left Coast Records is rolling out the long-lost star Trick Williams?” A smile cracked her face. A smile that both teased and understood just how damned painful revisiting that part of my life would be—the part I’d left behind in order just to survive.

“Choo is doing free PR for us. Left Coast will make a donation, plus we’ll find some permanent homes for a lot of animals tomorrow.”

“Those are good reasons for you to go to L.A. and be the guy you hate being.”

I pulled my arms tight across my chest.
The guy I hated being.
That was one way to put it. Just because the words coming from the mouth of my big sister were the truth didn’t make them easier to hear.

“What’s up?” I wanted to change the subject and get through whatever unpleasant conversation Angie needed to have. Her smile didn’t fool me. The hard lines on her forehead remained. 

Her hand dropped onto a stack of paper. “This stack is requests from high-kill shelters for placements at Pawtown.”

My heartbeat kicked up. Pawtown was almost at capacity. Each scrap of paper in that stack represented a life that deserved to be saved. A forever home was needed for every animal that each piece of paper in that stack represented. Angie plopped her left hand onto another stack. A much smaller stack. “And this stack is a list of donations.”

Not bad. But there were not as many envelopes containing money as requests for placements. But the good news was that there was money coming in for Pawtown and for the critters.

“Okay.”

“And this stack”—she lifted a giant pile of papers from the center of her desk—“are the bills.”

My heart dropped to my toes. So much for being in a good spot. Tucker, an Australian cattle dog mix, bumped my hand with his liver-colored nose. One blue eye and one brown, and a mouth that seemed to smile up at me.

“Take the money out of my personal account.” Tucker’s tongue scraped across my palm. 

“That bottomless well is nearly dry.”

My head tilted. “Seriously?”

Angie’s brows remained scrunched beneath my gaze. “Seriously. I guess syndicated shows don’t pay forever.”

“That show sure should. It took my childhood and yours.” I stood and placed my hands on my hips. “Did you call Webber to see when another royalty check is coming in?”

“I haven’t heard from him yet. I expect you’ll see him tonight, or we’ll both see him tomorrow.”

“I’ll find out what’s going on. Maybe the money is running late.” The scrubby whiskers on my chin roughened my palm. “There was a couple million dollars in that account.”

“And now there is a couple million dollars’ worth of mutts and mongrels living a life of luxury and waiting for their forever home.” Angie dropped the stack of bills onto her desk. “Look, you can’t keep using your own money to fund the foundation. You need to ask some of those heavy hitters you used to roll with to pony up some dollars for Pawtown. Every penny is tax-deductible and most of them need the write-off.”

“Asking for dollars isn’t really my thing.”

“Then give me the phone numbers and I’ll call them.”

“Angie, I love you, but you’ve got the diplomacy of a rattlesnake.”

“Hah! My ‘diplomacy’ keeps this place open for business.” She turned toward her computer. “And your ass out of jail.”

Damn, the girl was right. My sister. The big strong woman who continued to fight off all comers to save her little brother.

“You’re going to L.A. Ask Choo, ask Dillon, shit, call Amanda. Tell them we need money to keep this place running.” Her gaze was fixed on me. Her blue eyes drilled into me with intensity. “They love Pawtown. I think you’ll be shocked by how much they want to help.”

“I really don’t like asking for help.” A chasm in my belly opened. “Not my thing.”

“Don’t think of it as help for you.” Angie nodded her head toward the four-footed critters that populated her office. “These guys need you to bring out Mr. I-was-the-biggest-teen-heartthrob-in-the-world and raise some cash for them.”