I leaned on the counter, dropping my chin in my palm. “I guess it’s genetic then.”
“What is?”
“Lying.”
She reared back a little, double taking. “Excuse me?”
“You lied, and apparently so did your mother.” She looked confused and it was morphing into anger so I explained. “Your career isn’t over, Mia.”
“Oh geez,” she huffed, breezing from the main room to the next and coming back with a black bean bag. She dumped it near the fireplace and slumped down onto it. “I guess this is the moment where you tell me that if at first you don’t succeed blah blah blah, rough patch, blah blah?”
“Nope.” I kicked off my pumps before padding over to where she was slouched, watching me cautiously. I dropped to the floor a few feet from her, folding my legs beneath me. “This is where I tell you that it’s not easy and if you’re not ready to put in the work, don’t.”
“So reverse psychology, then?”
I slashed the air with a hand, dismissing that. “You’ve got enough people trying to get in your head. I'm not one of them. I just want to be the one person that tells you the truth.”
“Is that right?”
I dipped my head. “Yep.”
She sat up a little, her expression softening. “So what did your people say about me?”
“They wanted to send you to a spa, give you a bunch of swag, and sell Whitmore and Creighton to you.”
“Wow,” she snickered, finally looking like a kid. It was a good look for her. “And which of those ideas was yours?”
“None of them. I didn't want to do anything.”
She didn't buy it. “What? But you’re here.”
“After you called me.” I crooked my thumb over my shoulder. “My purse is too small for a contract and you’re the one bringing up Whitmore and Creighton.”
“Yeah, but...” Her mouth hung open, her forehead wrinkling as she racked her mind for some way to support her theory that I was there for some bigger agenda or purpose other than helping her.
I didn’t even tell Missy I was heading over to see her because something in Mia’s voice told me she needed a friend more than a publicist.
Quiet stretched between us as she looked at me, trying to weigh out her options. To trust me or not to trust me.
“Scott’s kind of an ass**le, isn’t he?” Mia said finally, trying to seem nonchalant. Like it was no biggie.
I guess she was still testing me. Yet the way she chewed on her bottom lip, she was definitely testing herself. Seeing if she could handle the truth.
I couldn’t answer why I felt a bond to a girl who seemed intent on scaring me away, but the Scott thing was easy. “Yes, he is.”
She sank deeper in the chair. “I confronted him after I saw a video of him talking crap about me. How he told me I needed help. And apparently I pop pills like candy and fired or pushed away anyone that tried to help.” Her voice tightened. “Wanna know how he helps me? By buying weed and alcohol and finding me pills when I run out. When I called him out he said--” Her nostrils flared as she balled the hands on her knees into fists. “He said he should've just let me die.” She spit out a bitter laugh. “Great friend, huh? My f**king hero.”
I wouldn’t be the one that said I told you so. I knew if there were any parts of her that doubted his intentions, he’d proven what kind of person he was. But this wasn’t a victory. There were so few people she had in her life that wouldn’t gladly sign up to be a close source in some tabloid story. Sometimes the most toxic person imaginable can seem better than facing life alone.
“He’s my only friend. How pathetic is that?" she whispered, sucking on her bottom lip sadly. "I never got close to my costars because Mom was always there, telling me that I was better than them. That if I wanted to be the best I didn’t have time for friends. I didn’t believe her, not really, but you just don’t question her. Ever.”
“But you did,” I told her. “You got your own place--”
“And I still can’t bring myself to change my number. Or not answer her calls. Or tell her to go to hell. Because even though she’s the freaking worst, she’s my mom. She’s the only person I got.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mia.” I glanced up at her. “You’ve got me.”
“You?” she snorted. “You’re my publicist.”
“Did you sign something I didn’t know about?” I challenged, standing up with a groan as my muscles popped. Served me right. The only exercise I'd been getting was of the bedroom variety. “You got anything to eat here? I’m starving.”
She was still considering what I said, but she managed a no.
I went to my purse and pulled out my cell, my heart swelling in my chest when she got up and walked over to join me with a smile on her face. A real smile.
“Pizza it is.”
Section Seven
“There’s a Mrs. Whitmore here to see you. I’m sending her back.”
The line went dead before I could tell Natasha that under no circumstances did I want her to send Jacob’s mother to my office. Figures. If I were anyone else she would have checked with me first, but I was Leila Montgomery, her sworn enemy or whatever. Apparently the play nice at work thing Missy and I were trying out hadn’t trickled down to her friend.
I had bigger fish to fry than Natasha’s attitude. Two knocks sounded at my door and I didn’t need two guesses to figure out that it was Alicia. I jumped to my feet then sat back down and opened every folder on my desk. Maybe if I looked really busy she’d go away. I doubted she’d come all the way here just to bother me. We’d trade barbs and she’d slink off to Jacob’s office to tell him what a huge mistake he was making if he married me.
I might as well get it over with. “It’s open.”
She strutted into my office, wearing head to toe cream, pairing a sheer blouse with wide leg trousers. Her salt and pepper hair was held back with a pair of oversized shades and her gray eyes stormed as she took me in, paying no mind to my desk as she eased into one of the chairs in front of me.
“I hope I’m not intruding,.”
I didn’t even bother playing this little cat and mouse game. “Would it matter if you were?”
“Not really,” she answered, at least doing me a favor by not pretending this was some sort of social call between friends. “I know you’re a busy girl so I’ll get to it.” Right. She said it like she thought the extent of my busy-ness was trolling the internet for new ways to spend Jacob’s money. “I’ve been following that poor actress’ story through the news.”