Marigold Wilson [3:54 a.m.]: Just like your mom, you found your ticket out of average. But now Quincy and Greenlee need your help.
Cindy Brown [3:55 a.m.]: Quincy is telling people she’s pregnant with Tommy’s baby. He barely met her once. She’s done nothing but tell lies about him. Why the hell would I help her?
Marigold Wilson [3:56 a.m.]: Oh, come on. Don’t be so sensitive. She’s obviously lying. She’s not even pregnant. Unless it’s actually Ashton Radley’s kid. I hope not. He reminds me of my first husband Ray. I bet he ends up in jail. Just like Ray.
I blinked. Damn. Marigold must really be drunk. I took a screenshot.
Cindy Brown [3:57 a.m.]: Again, why would I help a liar?
Marigold Wilson [3:58 a.m.]: Because she’s your sister. And they aren’t even real lies. They’re just plot points. It’s not like the show is real.
The sad thing was she probably believed that. Even though allegations of knocking up a girl and abandoning her were very real for Tommy, it was all just make-believe for Marigold. Anything and everything that got her closer to her dream was on the table for her. The truth really didn’t matter to her at all as long as her girls got famous.
Cindy Brown [3:59 a.m.]: You only say she’s my sister when you want me to do something for her. The rest of the time she’s my stepsister.
Quincy certainly never treated me like a sister. She used to, sometimes. When we were kids, we had some alright times. But Marigold always made it clear that I was a second-class citizen in our house, and it rubbed off on her children. Over time, they started to treat me the same way Marigold did.
Once we graduated from high school, Quincy expected me to do her laundry. She expected me to pick up around the house, and do what she told me to do, and live a sad, quiet little half-life while she and Greenlee got real ones. She stopped seeing me as a person a long time ago. I was just an accessory now.
Marigold Wilson [4:00 a.m.]: We mortgaged the dry cleaners to fund this dream. All the shopping and the fancy restaurants and everything we do on the show? We’re paying for it. But we’re almost out of money.
I swallowed. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
Marigold Wilson [4:01 a.m.]: But you can help us. Help us get Tommy Prince on the show. We just need a few scenes with him in it. It’ll send our ratings through the roof.
Cindy Brown [4:02 a.m.]: Why would I do that?
Marigold Wilson [4:03 a.m.]: We’re going to be broke if we can’t make this work. We’ll be on the street. Convince Tommy to come on the show.
Cindy Brown [4:04 a.m.]: No. No way.
There was no way I could convince him of that, even if I wanted to. Tommy wanted out of Hollywood. He said he wanted to be free. There was no chance in hell that he wanted to participate in Marigold’s trashy reality show now, especially after Quincy’s horrible lie about him being her child’s father. That was unforgivable.
Marigold Wilson [4:05 a.m.]: We’re the only family you have, and you won’t even throw us a breadcrumb? You really are an ungrateful child.
Cindy Brown [4:06 a.m.]: You’ve done nothing but use me my entire life. Why would I help you to use Tommy?
Marigold Wilson [4:07 a.m.]: Because it’s not fair that you should get your dream and we should get nothing. You get to be special and we don’t. How is that fair?
Cindy Brown [4:08 a.m.]: It’s not. And I’m not getting my dream. I’m not special. You don’t even know me or what my dreams are. You never cared to ask me. But you did teach me one thing. You’re the one who always told me that the world wasn’t fair. I guess you taught me a little bit too well.
I put the phone down on the nightstand and got back into bed. Marigold was crazy if she thought I would ever be a willing participant in her scheming. She’d known I didn’t want to participate from the beginning and that’s why she had to make me an unwilling cast member. She’d had to trick me into it. Now that I had a choice, I wouldn’t make one that put me back in her crosshairs.
But as I tried to go back to sleep, I wondered if Marigold hadn’t given me something valuable by accident. She’d admitted the baby didn’t belong to Tommy. I blinked in the dark. That was good at least. Tommy would be able to use that…
53
Tommy
Cindy was sleeping on my chest when I woke up. I looked down at her fondly, wondering if any man had ever been as content as I was at that moment. I pushed her hair back from her forehead and kissed it. She smiled in her sleep, cuddling in closer to me. I sighed contentedly. She didn’t know about the ring yet, but soon she would.
Her phone was buzzing on the nightstand and I reached to turn it over, pausing when I saw who’d been texting her. Marigold. Jesus. That woman was a complete nut job. I almost pitied her. Almost. But not really.
I knew it was invasive to read someone else’s text messages, but the conversation was—mostly—about me. And Marigold was clearly drunk, texting and spilling her guts. The whole conversation was insane, and enlightening.
I looked down at the sleeping woman on my chest and then up at the ceiling. Cindy should have been born to a better family. She deserved much better. I was willing to spend the rest of my life to make that happen, although we needed to shed some parasites first. I slipped out of bed, suddenly wide awake. I had an idea, but it would take some doing. I needed to make a few calls.
* * *
When Cindy woke up the next morning, I was ready. She sat up and looked at me in surprise. I tried not to look like I’d been watching her sleep and wondering when it would be appropriate to wake her up.
“Good morning,” I said, pouring her a cup of coffee from the gigantic breakfast spread I’d had delivered. “Breakfast?”
She blinked at me and yawned. She stretched her arms over her head and then looked at her arm in surprise, and then over at me. I shrugged. I’d redressed her while she was sleeping. It had been a surprisingly difficult process to accomplish without waking her. She was now wearing a long-sleeved, silk nightgown. A good concierge could find anything on short notice. And the concierges in Las Vegas are extremely good.
“You don’t like the color?” I asked, suddenly worried.
It was lavender, which I knew to be her favorite. She’d revealed it during my endless interrogation of her on the way to Napa. But maybe she changed her mind? She blushed.
“I like it.” Her hands ran up and down the luxurious fabric. “It’s beautiful.”
“Want some coffee?” I repeated. I extended the cup to her.
She nodded, sliding out of bed to find a pair of matching slippers next to the bed. “You’re spoiling me again, Tommy.”
“Yes, and I don’t feel bad about it at all.”
I’d been amassing money at a good clip for the last few years with nothing to spend it on. Money was supposed to make people happy, but I’d been pretty bored with it. I wasn’t bored anymore. Spoiling Cindy was making me happy.
She smiled at me shyly. “This is lovely,” she said, making her slipper-clad way over to the little table where breakfast was set up. She lifted the coffee up to her face and took a deep breath of it. “Perfect, actually.”
I smiled at her. I was very nervous. Terrified actually. I was far more scared at this moment than I’d been waiting to figure out if I would win an Oscar the night before. But I smiled anyway. I wanted to set her at ease, even if I wasn’t.
“I have something I need to tell you,” I told her, sitting up straight. “Can you promise to hear me out the whole way before answering?”
Her soft lips parted. “Can I drink the coffee first?”
I laughed. “Yeah. Of course.”
She grinned at me. “Good, because I’ve become pretty dependent on the stuff lately. I’m no good until I’ve had a cup.”
We ate breakfast. I was on tenterhooks. But we ate breakfast. I’d ordered quite a bit of food. We had scrambled eggs, bacon, croissants, and fruit. In hindsight it might have been too much food. But I’d wanted to be prepared.
I watched the line of coffee in Cindy’s cup go down, sip by sip. She saw me watching and looked up at me.
“You’re making me nervous,” she said.
“Well, that makes two of us.” I felt a bit like I might throw up.
She blinked at me. “Marigold texted me last night,” she told me. “She was drunk.”
I nodded at her. “I saw. I didn’t mean to read your texts like a creep, but your phone was lighting up.”
She was surprised, but she didn’t look angry. “You’re not a creep, Tommy.”
“Thank you,” I managed.
“Did you see that she admitted Quincy’s baby isn’t yours? You can use that. I took a screenshot.”
I took a deep breath. “I have a better idea.”
She cocked her head to the side. “What?”
“I think that we should get married. Today. Here in Las Vegas. We should get married and we should invite your awful stepfamily and let them film us. We can use their stupid little schemes against them. I bet if we called up Meg Butler, she’d bite. I’m a much bigger fish than your relatives. We can turn this whole thing against them, right before their eyes. We can get rid of them and then have our happily ever after, starting now.”
Cindy’s mouth was hanging open. “Did you say, married?”
Shit. I’d fucked it up. I should have led with that.
I fumbled with the ring box and got down on one knee. I was doing this all wrong. I hoped that I could still salvage the situation.
“Yes,” I said sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before…” Cindy was still staring at me openmouthed. “I love you. I can’t imagine my life without you. I want to marry you as soon as humanly possible.” I flipped open the lid to the ring box and watched as Cindy’s big, hazel eyes grew so wide that a little, slim ring of white was visible all the way around her irises. “What do you say?” I asked.
Cindy stared at the ring. I hoped it was a good shock that I saw in her features. I waited for an answer.
Picking out the ring had been really difficult. Surprisingly difficult. I wasn’t sure if Cindy wanted something big and flashy. I wasn’t sure she even wanted a diamond. She wasn’t really flashy about anything else in her life. I had figured I’d get her something that was classic and understated. But, when faced with a gigantic counter full of diamonds at the Cartier on Rodeo Drive, I hesitated. They were all big and flashy. I couldn’t resist getting her the biggest, flashiest one in the store.
It was massive. The ring was emerald cut, with two smaller emerald cut diamonds on the side. The middle stone was two and a half carats, set in platinum, and shiny enough to be seen from space.
“Is this for real?” she asked.
I nodded at her, still on one knee. I felt kind of silly down here on the floor. “Yes. One hundred percent. This is real.”
“I—” Cindy stuttered. “I don’t know what to say.”
She seemed transfixed by the ring box.
“Yes would be good,” I suggested. My voice sounded scared in my own ears. I waited, terrified.
One second. Two. Three.
Was it supposed to take this long for her to say yes?
A series of horrible scenarios where she might say no drifted through my brain. Each was worse than the last. I swallowed hard against the possibilities. Hope squeezed in my chest, fighting with terror for supremacy.
She looked up from the ring to my face and laughed. My expression must have been ridiculous. “Yes,” she said, throwing her arms around my neck and sending us both flying. My back hit the carpet and I laughed in relief. “Yes.”
54
Cindy
Marigold, Greenlee, and Quincy arrived in Las Vegas the following evening. They were not staying in the same hotel as Tommy and me, I made sure of that. I didn’t trust them not to show up unannounced at my hotel room, so they didn’t even know where I was staying, let alone the room number. But I dropped by to visit them on the promise that there would be no cameras when I did. Meg Butler opened the door when I knocked on it. We regarded each other silently for a moment.
“Hello Meg,” I said, looking around her slender form for any hidden cameras. “Nice to see you.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “You’re not happy to see me,” she replied. “But that’s okay. I’m definitely happy to see you.”
Her smile was predatory.
“We’ll see,” I replied.
“Cindy?” a familiar voice said from deep inside the suite, “Is that you?”
Greenlee came bounding into view. She was wearing a tight, low cut dress. “Are you going out with us?”
I shook my head at her. She pouted.
“But it’s your bachelorette party!”
“You guys have fun without me,” I told her. “I’m not much for partying.”
I wondered how well Greenlee had been informed about the terms of our arrangement. Given the look on her face, not very well. She shook her head sadly. I was beginning to understand that unlike Quincy, Greenlee was just not very bright. She went along with whatever she was told to do. I’m not sure how I’d never seen it before.
“That’s too bad,” she said, looking at my pityingly. “We’re going to all the best clubs.”
Meg and I exchanged a glance. That was the idea. Tommy had made sure this episode would be the most lavish and extravagant yet.
“Where are Marigold and Quincy?” I asked Meg. She pointed down the hall. Greenlee traipsed in the other direction, saying something about finishing up her hair.
“They’re in the kitchen,” Meg told me. “But they aren’t in a good mood.”
I didn’t care a bit about their mood.
I went in search of them in the gigantic suite, still somewhat disgusted that Tommy was paying for their fake-wealthy lifestyle this weekend. I knew it would be worth it in the end to have them out of our lives, but it still got under my skin. They were such takers.
True to form, Marigold and Quincy were arguing in the kitchen.
“They could have at least put us up in the Bellagio,” Quincy was saying. “This isn’t as nice. After all, we’re the relatives of the bride. We should be in the nicest hotel.”
“Hi,” I said, interrupting. “I just wanted to see how you were settling in.”
Marigold and Quincy stared at me in surprise. Quincy’s mouth dropped open and she stared at the ring on my finger in unabashed envy.
“We didn’t know you were coming,” Marigold said. “The crew is at lunch.”
I nodded. “I know. I made sure of it.”
They exchanged a glance. A warning?
“Cindy,” Quincy told me, ignoring Marigold. “I’m glad you’re here. We need to talk about the plan for this weekend. I didn’t agree—”
I banged my hand on the kitchen table. “You did agree,” I told her. “We have the agreement in writing, actually. It’s legally binding.”
“But I—”
“No,” I snapped.
Meg, having heard the commotion, popped her head in.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
No. Just being in here made me want to lie down and take a stress nap. How I’d ever lived in such a negative environment was amazing.
“You tell me,” I replied, irritated. “Because it sounds like Quincy is trying to weasel out of her end of the deal.”
Meg frowned at Quincy. “We’re keeping our end of the bargain. Don’t worry.”
Marigold nodded. “Quincy, this is our only chance.”
My stepsister pouted and stomped her stiletto-clad foot. She was like a child. “I was supposed to be the star! I never agreed to let Cindy be the star.”
I shook my head and Meg rolled her eyes. Even Marigold looked disgusted.
“Listen up,” Meg told her. “Your stepsister here is bailing your ass out of financial ruin. In exchange for you stating, on camera, that you made everything up about Tommy Prince and the fake baby, she’s not going to release the text messages she has t
hat prove just that. She’s also not going to sue you. You’ll get to have a series finale that has Tommy Prince in it, just like you wanted, and we always planned. But no, you’re not going to be the star. You’re going to be a humble, sweet, apologetic little bridesmaid. Get over it. If you want to have a shot at a second season, you’re going to do this with a smile on your face.”
Quincy turned purple. “I was supposed to be the star,” she stuttered again. “This wasn’t what I was promised.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Gee. Too bad. This is what you get if you want to film here. My wedding. My rules.”
Quincy swallowed hard. “So, you get to marry a movie star and live happily ever after? And I get nothing? I have to be the bad guy?”
I blinked at her. “He’s a former movie star. And you’re getting to film here. Oh, and you are the bad guy. You lied.”
She screeched an inarticulate, animal screech at me. I stood back. Jesus Christ. Put a lid on it, Quincy. I sighed in frustration.
“Marigold, you better get her under control,” I warned. “If she makes a scene—”
“If she makes a scene,” Meg interjected. “We’ll just edit her out completely. We can write her out of the show entirely, if necessary.” She glowered at my stepsister.
“What?” Quincy gasped. She clutched at her fake pearl necklace like her life had just been threatened with violence. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would. I will. Don’t think for a second that I won’t do it,” Meg promised her. She was cutthroat. And for once, it was helpful. Meg cared about one thing, herself. That meant making this episode succeed. “This episode is going to be much more highly rated than anything else this season. I hate to ruin your fantasy with cold hard facts, but Tommy Prince is worth fifty of you when it comes to ratings. You aren’t going to fuck it up for everyone, especially not me.”
Auctioned to the A-Lister Page 21
