Fame (Not Like The Movies #1)

by Lauren K. McKellar

  Copyright © 2016 Lauren K. McKellar

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  If you are reading this book electronically and have not purchased it or been gifted a copy via an online retailer, it has been pirated. Please delete this e-book and support the author by purchasing a copy form one of its many distributors.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. The island location of Indahnya is also fictitious.

  Cover copyright: K.A. Last of KILA Designs

  For anyone who fell for the person of their dreams from the very first glance.

  Because when you know, you know.

  Chapter One

  Madison

  My twenty-third birthday was supposed to be one of the best days of my life. I mean, besides my wedding, of course.

  But anyone who’s worked in magazines knows the importance of a staff reshuffle, and when you’re next in line to be crowned deputy editor of Lola, Australia’s number-one fashion and celebrity magazine, you place weight akin to a new Marc Jacobs pantsuit on the day when the announcement will be made. You take your Coach handbag by the soft leather straps, you buckle those Balenciaga shoes and you stride into work like you mean it. After all, dressing for success isn’t just a suggestion at Williams & Co.

  It’s a directive.

  “Today’s the day,” my best friend Courtney sings, and I look up and smile. “Are you excited?”

  I lean closer to make sure no one in admin can hear. “I couldn’t even eat breakfast this morning.”

  “Maddie!” Courtney shakes her head, honey-blonde locks swaying with the movement. “You know you have this in the bag. Even Jack McWilliams said this would be a big day for you.”

  I shrug, the words of Jack, our CEO, playing over in my mind. Pack up your bags, Madison. You won’t be at this desk after our staff reshuffle on Monday when Kara moves on. “I’m just trying not to be too cocky. Although …” Shooting a quick glance over my shoulder at the large empty office with the bright red couch and the cowhide rug, I grin, then open a browser and pull up the David Jones website, flicking through to the ‘purchased items’ section. “I may have already put a deposit on a new couch. Just to put my stamp on things in there, you know?”

  I point to a white leather couch. I already know where I’m going to put it—the side wall on a slight angle, so it faces the window. From there I can recline, enjoying a glass of wine, a cup of tea, entertaining designers in front of my city-scape view that ends in the twinkling blue of Sydney harbour …. Yes. Today is a very good day indeed.

  “That is perfect!” Courtney ohs and ahs over it with me for a few minutes as we scroll through the range of pictures.

  “So what about you, huh? Are you hoping for a big promotion?” I ask my best friend.

  “Oh, you know …” Courtney shrugs, looking down at her manicured nails. “I’ve been here a year longer than you have. And no one has said Yoko is moving on, but if she does, I would be so happy to bump her off her fitness ball.”

  We both laugh at Courtney’s reference to the editor of Live Well. “So even if you get the job, you’re not about to turn vegan? Take out a yoga membership at your local club?”

  “Can you imagine?” Courtney snorts. “I might work for the hippy mag now, but I love meat. And the only kind of ‘downward dog’ I want to be involved in is more of a bedroom position, less of a relaxation move.”

  “Oh Madison.” Taylor the receptionist’s voice carries from the front of the office. I raise my head above the low-walled cubicle.

  I can’t see Taylor face. She’s hidden behind what may be the largest bouquet of roses I have ever seen.

  There has to be at least twenty of them, blood red blooms and long green stems arranged in an exquisite group accented with just a hint of baby’s breath.

  “Looks like someone’s fiancé loves her very much,” Courtney murmurs, sliding off the desk to make room for the arrangement Taylor places down. The floral scent hits me and I suck it in, right down to the bottom of my lungs. It’s sweet.

  Exactly what I imagine success will taste like.

  “Is it from Mike?” Taylor asks, a smile on her lips.

  I pluck a small white envelope from the front of the bouquet and slide it open with a manicured nail.

  “Dear baby cakes,” I read aloud. “Congratulations on your promotion and of course, your twenty-third year of being alive. Love you to the moon and back, your soon-to-be husband.”

  “Aw!” Taylor clutches her heart. “That is so damn sweet!”

  “I know.” I smile. “I am incredibly lucky.”

  And in that moment, I feel it. The man of my dreams and I are getting married in just a fortnight’s time. I’m about to go into a meeting and be gifted my dream job, if Jack’s hint last week is anything to go by. Not only that, but I’m wearing white and I haven’t spilt a thing, not even coffee, on my pants.

  Twenty-three may be the very best year of my life. And I intend to rule every minute of it.

  “If only we all had fiancés like that.” Courtney smirks, and elbows my side. “Hot, thoughtful, and loaded? You sure landed yourself a catch.”

  “I did.” With that, I pick up my desk phone and dial out, calling Mike to thank him for the thoughtful gift. As per usual, it goes straight to voicemail, so I leave him a message.

  I’m disappointed we don’t talk, but it’s not as if it matters. After all, I’ll see him at the Chandon function late this afternoon.

  That’s the benefit of having a partner who works in the same industry as you. You see each other everywhere.

  I put the phone down and resolve to text him later. As I glance back up at my best friend, envious looks flash around the staffroom. Congratulations quickly morph into coffees, and soon the room filters out for the ten a.m. staff reshuffle meeting, and it’s just Courtney and I left.

  “You ready?” She holds out her hand.

  “Sure am.” I entwine my fingers with hers, and we walk. “Are you?”

  Courtney grins. “Let’s both go get kick-arse promotions.”

  “Together.” I squeeze her hand.

  She gives my fingers a curl back. “Together.”

  When we walk into the boardroom, at least thirty of the fifty-plus heads in there turn to look, some narrow-eyed and judging, others glancing at their phones, all soft smiles and bored dispositions.

  For me, there are only three faces that count.

  Jack McWilliams, CEO.

  Kara Knight, the deputy editor whose position I’ve been told is more or less mine.

  And Chloe Kennedy, Lola’s editor-in-chief.

  They all stand at the front of the room, Chloe with her hands firmly clasped in front of her, Jack mid-gesture to a PowerPoint presentation projected behind him showing our latest company figures. As per usual, Lola leads the pack. Moto Monthly follows close behind, then Bridal Beauty, Gossip!, Live Well, and all the others in dribs and drabs.

  “Welcome ladies.” Jack nods, then stabs his finger at the board behind him, the million-dollar-smile plastered firmly across his face. “Right. Let’s get started, shall we?”

  A polite smatter of applause floats through the room.

  “We have reached record sales in the last few months. In a market that’s supposed to be d
eclining, you lot have produced quality publications that seem to go from strength to strength.” Jack smirks. His red cheeks gleam in the yellow light. “As you all know, once you reach the top it’s essential to shake things up. To introduce new tactics to ensure we don’t become stale, but remain market leaders in our ever-changing industry,” Jack says, as the screen changes to the company’s logo. “And that’s why we’re having this meeting today. As you all know, there are some huge staff changes about to take place, not the least of which is the resigning of the fabulous Kara Knight, leaving room for a new deputy editor at Lola.”

  Golf claps pitter-patter across the room as Kara, Chloe’s second-in-charge, gives an insincere smile.

  “If I should ever become that fake, stab me,” Courtney mutters, and I stifle a giggle.

  “So, without any further ado, it’s time to make our announcements. The biggest being Kara’s position, and Chloe’s right-hand gal.” Jack smiles. “I have to admit, filling this woman’s shoes was no easy job. Kara has been with the company since 1996, and her sense of style, her ability to predict trends and fashion, and her everlasting good nature have seen her go from strength to strength.” Jack nods at Kara, and she graciously dips her head. “It’s attributes like these that have made her replacement so hard to come by.”

  Courtney nudges me, and I try to keep my smiles under wraps.

  I try, but I fail.

  After what Jack said the other day, his words are practically a personal tribute to me.

  “The new deputy editor of Lola is fashion-forward. She’s organised, capable, and fabulous in an emergency,” Jack says. “She’s been waiting in the wings for several years, and she’s one of the youngest people to ever move through out company so quickly.” Jack gives a nod in my direction. A nod. A freaking nod.

  I’m in.

  I am so damn in.

  “It may come as a surprise to some of you”—Jack flashes his award-winning grin to the corner of the room, then focuses his attention back to the general masses—“but I’m sure to the majority, this candidate will be no astonishment. She’s hardworking—”

  Check

  “Dedicated—”

  Well, I did leave my own engagement party early to come in and cover the Grammys fashion disaster …

  “On trend …”

  I glance down at my Marc Jacobs suit once again and give a smug smile to myself. Straight off the runway. I only had to pay a Vietnamese lady operating a tailor service around $30 to get it altered to fit my non-size six figure.

  “And undoubtedly one of the biggest movers and shakers to not only fill the shoes of junior roles in this company over the past few years, but to style them up and make them her own.” Jack finishes his speech with a flourish in my direction, and heads turn. Heat rushes to my cheeks, and for the first time since I started here, I breathe. I truly breathe.

  It hasn’t been easy dedicating my life to a magazine and to keeping my relationship with Mike secure, a man who was used to me being Maddie from rural Australia through my transition to Madison from the upper north shore in Sydney.

  But now, after all the blood, sweat, and financial tears, I’m about to reap my reward. Finally, after working twelve-hour days as a standard and bringing dye lines home on the weekends, I’m about to claim my just desserts.

  Ever since I turned twelve and worked my first day at my grandparents’ newsagency, I’ve wanted to work in magazines.

  And not just any kind of magazine.

  Fashion.

  There’s something so inherently glamorous about design and celebrity that I’ve always found irresistible.

  “And that is why it is my absolute pleasure to announce the new deputy editor of Lola, our flagship monthly publication and the very stone on which Williams & Co was created,” Jack says. He points to me and I step forward, all eyes in the room torpedoed in my direction. I glance down at my nude shoes. Thank God I chose neutral colours today. They no doubt counteract the bright red display setting fire to my face.

  “Let’s put our hands together for the new deputy editor of Lola, the fabulous Courtney Orriss!”

  I step forward again, already on my walk to the aisle down the middle of the seats when Jack’s words truly sink in.

  Courtney Orriss.

  My heart stammers. Air thickens, sticking in my throat, and I press my eyes shut to stop the impending tears. How did this go so wrong?

  Shit.

  Chapter Two

  Madison

  To my left, my best friend clasps a hand to her chest, staggering back. “Me?” She frowns, her voice high as a set of shorts in the early 2000s. “Are you sure you mean—”

  “Don’t be so modest, Courts. Get your arse up here. I mean, that is if you want the job.” Jack gives a big ol’ roll of his arm, inviting Courtney to join him and Chloe centre stage. Excess saliva fills my mouth as I step aside and let my best friend in the entire world step forward and take the job I’d always thought was meant for me.

  To the left and right, people congratulate Courtney as she steps forward. She blushes and smiles, and my heart sinks a little more.

  In front of the room, Jack claps Courtney on the back, then Chloe pulls her in for a faux hug. The older woman’s eyes glaze over as she glances at the clock on the wall over my head, as if just being here is waste of her time.

  “A few words, Courtney?” Jack cocks his head, and for the first time since this happened, I look at my best friend. I really look at her.

  Her cheeks are flushed, and a smile graces her rosebud red lips. She’s gracious and ecstatic, all at once.

  The worst part, though?

  She deserves it.

  She’s excellent at her job.

  Sure, she’s never expressed an interest in fashion before, but I can see how she’s a good fit for it. She works hard. She puts in the hours. She attends meetings, and networking sessions, and company cocktail parties, just like I do.

  And that’s what burns the most.

  “I didn’t … I …” Courtney catches my eye, and she cries an unspoken apology from her large, oval-shaped blues. How am I going to handle this? How am I going to handle my best friend becoming my boss? “I truly never expected this to happen to me.”

  Voices erupt in a hum of congratulations and chatter. Chloe smiles, a grand close-lipped smile, and her gaze travels over the congregation as if we are all her loyal subjects. And in a way, we are.

  I back toward the door. I need to be alone. I need to call Mike. He’ll know what to do. My rock.

  I have him. And soon, we’ll be married.

  And at least now I don’t have to worry about the possibility of taking work with me on my honeymoon.

  My hand clutches for the door handle, and soon my fingers find the cold metal knob. Just as I’m about to twist it, Jack speaks again.

  “Of course, we have some other announcements to make, including one very special one. Madison Winters, where are you?”

  My fingers release the handle. I smooth down the sides of my outfit to try and calm my nerves. What could he possibly have in store for me? If I’m not being announced as deputy editor of Lola, I could only be—

  “You are one of the company’s brightest young stars. I’d say the youngest to advance through this company, and with the hours you put in and the work you do, I’m not surprised. Between yourself and Courtney, the company is headed in a strong direction,” Jack says, and I prickle as fifty pairs of eyes latch on to me, then flick back to him. “And that’s why I’m so excited to announce you as the new deputy editor of Live Well, to replace Courtney, effective immediately.”

  Golf claps scatter around the room.

  What?

  I freeze. No. Please, no. He can’t be serious … can he?

  “Congratulations.” Jack nods and smiles, and I swear his teeth glint as he does so. All around me, people pat me on the back, offer their good wishes, but I’m stuck on two words.

  Live. Well.

  The hipp
y magazine. The glossy that focuses on yoga and bloody sustainable farming, not fashion and celebrities.

  My stomach lurches.

  I think I’m going to be sick.

  Yoko, the editor of Live Well, worms her way through the crowd and stands before me. She’s wearing culottes. And not in an ironic way.

  “I know we haven’t worked together before, but I’m looking forward to this.” She nods at me, and I work my lips into a smile. “I have some very rewarding assignments lined up for you in the handover period.”

  I nod and thank her, but I’ve mentally checked out of the situation. My brain is a million miles from here.

  I’ll go home. I’ll search the Internet for a new job.

  No.

  I’ll drink a lot of vodka.

  I’ll have sex with my fiancé.

  Then I’ll search for a new job.

  The door handle stabs me in the butt as it opens. I stumble forward, righting myself before I fall from my six-inch stilettos right on poor Yoko’s hemp-smelling head. I reach for my back, rubbing the spot where the hard metal made contact with my soft flesh.

  “Sorry, ma’am.” A young man nods at me, then wheels a trolley into the room. Bottles of sparkling wine cling against glasses as he goes, and soon the pop of champagne corks fills the room.

  “Would you like a drink?” I ask Yoko.

  She shakes her head. Judgment laces her eyes. “Oh no. I don’t drink. Certainly not at ten in the morning.”

  “Extenuating circumstances,” I mutter and move past her to grab a flute that the white-shirted man behind the cart offers.

  “Thank you.” I nod, and tip the glass back, downing all the contents in one long gulp. The bubbles fizz down my throat and through my body, and I slam the glass down on the tray and take a second one.

  “Maddie.”

  Courtney.

  “Maddie, I’m so sorry. I—”

  “Nothing to be sorry about.” The words come from my mouth, and I know it’s me who’s speaking, but somehow, I don’t feel as if I’m really there. “You deserved it. Fair and square.”

  “But I know how much you wanted this. I know—”