A-List #8, The: Heart of Glass: An A-List Novel (A-List)

by Zoey Dean

  Parker wrinkled his forehead. "You hate that baby!"

  "Past tense. Hated. Not anymore. One day, Ruby Hummingbird is going to look at me as her savior. Of course, she and I are going to have to do something about that ridiculous name. What do you think of the name Summer?"

  "If you're suggesting it, I like it." Sam laughed.

  "Smart, Parker. Very smart."

  The song ended; he thanked her again for giving a power boost to his budding career and for telling the PI to destroy the damning photographs. Then he went off to flirt with Daisy, whose eyes got huge when she saw him approach.

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  "Hey." Sam felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around. The night improved drastically in that split second. It got better when Eduardo kissed her cheek. "I am going to take you back to my place and then buy you breakfast in the morning."

  Sam got shivers down her spine. Then she shook her head ruefully. Her competition was zeroing in on them like some kind of perfect-butted humanoid cruise missile. "Oh Eduardo, you must come to lunch with me this week!"

  Sam was thrilled to feel Eduardo slip a proprietary arm around her shoulder. "My schedule is very busy this week. But if Sam and I are free, perhaps we could join you. And now . . . Sam, wasn't there something else we were going to do tonight? The thing?"

  Sam nearly laughed aloud. Eduardo had just cracked an inside joke from one of the funniest old movies in history, Annie Hall.

  "Oh yes, the thing."

  "Yes, the thing." He winked.

  "How could I have forgotten the thing?"

  They said good night to a thoroughly baffled Gisella and soon were outside the museum in the cool night air, walking to the parking structure. The air smelled like orange blossoms.

  "It's gorgeous."

  "You're gorgeous," Eduardo corrected.

  Sam forgot about Gisella. This was what happiness was.

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  "You looked so hot in that bridal thingie!" Dee gushed to Anna, waving around a glassful of iced tea. "Was it fun to be up there knowing everyone wanted to ravish you?"

  Anna blushed the same color as the pale pink wrap around silk shirt she was wearing with her favorite faded jeans. "Gee, I didn't exactly think of it like that. But it's certainly good to know. Where's Jack?"

  As Dee waved vaguely toward the rear of the gallery, her green Stella McCartney slip dress pulled tight against her petite, curvy body.

  "Back there, with Parker. I think."

  "Let's . . ." Anna's voice trailed off as she spotted Caine across the room, chatting with Bryson and Champagne. "Will you excuse me for a while?"

  Dee smiled knowingly as she followed Anna's eyes with her own. "Which guy?"

  "'Bye, Dee. Have fun tonight."

  Anna excused herself again and edged through the crowd to Caine, Champagne, and Bryson. The guys were each in city fire department T-shirts and jeans, while Champagne wore the Bebe outfit that Cammie and Anna had bought for her at the Beverly Center.

  "Hey," Caine greeted her enthusiastically. "That was kind of fun, huh?"

  "Yeah, actually it was," she agreed.

  "So what's this I hear about your friend Cammie turning my cousin into a model?" Bryson asked. The

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  beer he was holding was nearly empty; he gave it to a passing waiter.

  "She did it. She's my hero!" Champagne exclaimed.

  Anna didn't get it. The last she'd heard, Lizbette had turned her down.

  "You haven't heard," Champagne realized aloud.

  "Heard what?"

  "That I'm going to be Martin Rittenhouse's feature model for his new petite line called Martinette!"

  "Cammie arranged this?" Anna was stupefied. Since when?

  "Ask her yourself."

  "I will. But I'm not surprised. Cammie Sheppard always gets what Cammie Sheppard wants."

  Champagne was practically vibrating with joy. "I'm learning that. But I wanted to thank you as well. Two weeks ago, you'd never heard of me, and you went out of your way to try to help me. You're an amazing person, Anna."

  "I'll second that," Caine agreed, and looked at her expectantly.

  "You're so welcome, Champagne. And good luck. I really do think you're going to have an amazing career. And no one deserves it more than you." Now Anna turned to Caine. "Could you meet me in the Warhol gallery in about ten minutes? I'd really like to talk to you. Just go through that door at the far end of this room, and you can't miss it."

  Caine nodded. "Definitely."

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  "Great." She couldn't help smiling, though her stomach was doing flip-flops as she anticipated the conversation. "See you then and there. Excuse me."

  She circulated through the crowd for a minute or two, looking for . . . and there he was. Not far from the DJ booth, Ben was chatting with an actress from a CW teen drama who'd recently departed from the show in a bus plunge. He excused himself from the actress and crossed the crowded gallery toward her. He wore black jeans, a Trieste

  T-shirt, and a well-cut black Italian sport coat. Not very sixties, but very hot.

  "Sorry to interrupt," she told him. "Can you do me a favor?"

  "Sure, Anna." As always, her name in his voice made her knees weak.

  "I just wondered if you could meet me in the Andy Warhol room. In about five minutes?"

  She found him there when she arrived, staring at a huge triptych of Marilyn Monroe.

  "Andy Warhol made a fortune." Ben hitched a thumb toward the painting. "Do you get that? Because it's lost on me."

  "It's lost on me, too. John Singer Sargent is more my speed," she admitted, sneaking a glance at the door. Where was Caine? "So, how're things at Trieste?"

  "The Monday night thing is great. You really need to come check it out. I love it. I feel like it's mine, you know? I'm in charge. And that feels good." He smiled

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  warmly at her. "Did you hear Sam shout when you were on the runway? You were hot up there. No. Post-hot."

  "Anna?"

  She turned--Caine had stepped into the room. The frown he sported had to be inspired by the third person in the room. "Why do I feel like I just walked into a really, really bad play?"

  "You two know each other. You met at the movies. At the ArcLight," she reminded them. Where had she ever gotten such an idiotic idea as to bring these two together?

  "I remember," Ben responded coolly.

  Caine assessed her as coolly. "What's up?"

  Anna took a deep breath. She would not, would not lose her nerve. "Thank you both for coming."

  No! What kind of thing was that to say? Where did she think she was, at a cotillion? She started again.

  "I hope you both will hear me out. Ben, we met on a plane and things got intense between us very fast. Too fast, maybe. I ... I wanted too much, expected too much, and that wasn't fair, to either one of us. Caine, Ben and I were having problems. You and I met and liked each other. And somehow I went from there to . . . to some kind of feeling that we were in a relationship. But as you pointed out to me, we aren't."

  Caine nodded and waited for her to continue.

  "I think because Ben and I got involved so fast, I sort of expected the same thing to happen with us. But I was wrong. I'm not sure it's even what I want."

  She opened her burnished chestnut leather Coach

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  shoulder bag and took out a folded sheet of paper. As the guys looked on in confusion she unfolded it and read aloud. "'Date. Noun. A social appointment or occasion, arranged beforehand with another person.'"

  Ben scratched his chin. "You want to ... date?"

  "Yes."

  "Both of us," Caine declared, as if guessing Anna's intent.

  "Both of you. I know you think that dating is kind of an antiquated notion, Caine. So you might not be interested. But I don't think I'm ready to tie myself down to anyone. So I want to date both of you. If you would each like to date me. If not, I can accept that."

  "We share you?" Ben's to
ne was withering.

  "Oh no, not at all. There won't be any ... you know."

  Caine actually laughed. "How does that work?"

  Good question. She had no idea. "I've never been in this situation before."

  Caine nodded slowly. "So you're saying . . . you're free to do what you want. And we're free to do what we want?"

  "That's it," Anna said. "No more of me feeling like I have a right to know what either of you are doing when you're not with me. No more rushing to make something into the kind of relationship that takes time to build. So, that's my proposal."

  "Well, hell, I'm in," Caine replied easily. "We'll just take it slow and see where it goes. I don't know about Romeo over here." He glanced at Ben, kissed Anna on

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  the cheek very close to her lips, said he'd be in touch, and walked out.

  "I fucking hate that guy," Ben said staring after him.

  Anna resisted the impulse to respond.

  "What, you really expect me to say yes to that? Dating? After what we've been to each other, you think that'll work?" He seemed incredulous.

  "It would be so easy for me to fall right back into your arms. Maybe I'm crazy not do to do it. But if we get back to that place again, I want it to be because we both thought about it and took it slowly, and didn't lose ourselves along the way." He hated Caine? She hated the way he was looking at her. "I wouldn't blame you if you told me to go to hell."

  He leaned over and gave her the softest, sweetest kiss in the world. It felt like . . . coming home. But she wasn't going to be lured into that place where she gave away her heart so quickly. This time, for a while at least, her heart would belong to her.

  "We'll play it your way," he whispered in her ear. "Because I can't lose you."

  Anna returned to the party in hopes of finding Mrs. Vanderleer, to thank her. The show had raised six figures in one night for an important cause. Lots of people were dancing, but since Caine and Ben had both left, she decided to get a drink and watch. When she got to the bar, there was Mr. Levitan. When he saw her, he grinned wildly. "Anna Percy. The poster girl for community service."

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  "I wouldn't go that far," she told him.

  "Why not? You helped put on a great event, and your friend Cammie solved the crime of the century. Or at least the night." He turned to the bartender. "Two olives in those martinis, please."

  "I'm glad everything turned out okay."

  "Me too." The DA dropped his voice. "And by the way, you can tell Mr. Sheppard that we've got a watch on Gibson Wills. Word on the PCH is he has a bit of a taste for driving under the influence."

  The shaven-headed bartender pushed the martinis across the bar to the DA, who thanked him and dropped a fiver into the tip basket. "So have a good time tonight, Anna. And thanks again."

  The DA took his drinks and drifted into the crowd. Anna had just ordered herself a Flirtini when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

  "Just the girl I was looking for." Cammie smiled. She was holding some sort of green concoction. "Having fun?"

  "Yeah. You?"

  "Absolutely."

  "What you did for Champagne. Twice. That's amazing."

  Cammie nodded sagely. "I have only begun."

  "That's great."

  The bartender gave Anna her drink.

  "To my news!" Cammie raised her glass.

  "Absolutely. I'll definitely drink to Champagne," Anna agreed.

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  "Who's talking about Champagne? I have other news. I called Adam tonight in Michigan. I told him if his ass isn't back to Los Angeles in exactly four days, I'm breaking up with him. I mean, enough is enough of this back-to-nature shit."

  "Why would you do that?" Anna was shocked. "Adam adores you. And you adore him. At least I thought you did."

  "Well, we'll see if he adores me enough, won't we?"

  What could Anna say? Adam was one of the greatest guys on the planet. She would never understand Cammie.

  "One other thing," she added. "If I do break up with Adam, I'm going after Ben. I thought it was only fair for you to know."

  Anna's mouth fell open. "You're . . . but ..."

  Cammie smiled. "You're stuttering."

  Anna took a deep breath. She was surprised. No, shocked. "He's not a prize, Cammie."

  Cammie's eyes went to half-mast. "Wanna bet? You want to jack Ben Birnbaum around, more power to you. Because you will jack him right back into my arms. Well, lovely chatting and all that shit. It's been an interesting two weeks. I don't know about you, but I'm kinda glad I got arrested."

  She headed off into the crowd. Anna felt her heartbeat quicken.

  God, Ben and Cammie, that would hurt. She had to acknowledge that. But if that was what he wanted, then . . . that was what he wanted. Six months ago, if

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  someone had told her that she'd be in this situation, she would have thrown herself into Ben's arms rather than risk losing him. Not anymore. Love was something that happened slowly, because you gave it time to grow. It couldn't come from fear or even from seduction. It came because you felt whole enough and strong enough all on your own to let another person in. It sounded cheesy. It was an utter cliche. But it was also true.

  Bryson bellied up to the bar and ordered a Heineken. "Having fun?"

  "Actually, yes." She had no romantic interest in Bryson--juggling two guys was all she could handle, nor was she the kind of girl to flirt simply for the sake of flirting. But she was on the road to being fine all on her own, which meant she could have guy friends and embark once again on the solo adventure she had intended when she came to California.

  "So, Bryson," she ventured with a smile. "Tell me about yourself."

  He did and she listened.

  When Anna left the party all by herself a half-hour later, she inhaled the orange-blossom-scented, balmy night air and gazed up at the starry night. She didn't know what would happen with Ben and Caine. Nothing about her situation was sure or safe or easy.

  But instead of thinking it to death, she whirled around like a little kid, all feeling, all possibility, on the edge of whatever would come next.

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  THE FIRST ADULT NOVEL BY ZOEY DEAN, AUTHOR OF THE BESTSELUNG A-LIST SERIES

  NEW YORK TIMES SESTSELLING AUTHOR

  When recent Yale grad Megan Smith is fired from her assistant job at the trashy tabloid Scoop, she takes a position that's a little more suited to her skill-set: tutoring

  Seventeen-year-old identical twins Rose and Sage Baker of Palm Beach, Florida--yes the infamous Baker heiresses. Unfortunately for Megan, the Baker twins aren't about to bend their social schedules to learn basic algebra. And they certainly aren't going to sit down for a study session with Megan, who associates the words "Seven" with math and "Diesel" with fuel. Megan quickly discovers that if she's going to get the $75,000 bonus she's been promised if--and only if--the girls are admitted to Duke University, she'll have to know her Pucci from her Prada to get in good with her very special students. And if she can look the part, maybe--just maybe--she can teach them something along the way.

  How to Teach Filthy Rich Girls

  Coming in paperback August 2007

  www.howtoteachfilthyrichgirls.com