by India Lee
“Point is, she totally has narcissistic personality disorder — but who doesn’t when you go to The Cabot School?” She shrugged and threw her hands in the air before putting a plate together for Ian and changing the subject to her homemade açai bowls, which were apparently delicious enough to divert his attention completely. At least for the time being. Amanda frowned, remembering how good Ian was at pretending nothing was wrong. She couldn’t help wondering if Harper’s Zen methods were only healing him on the surface. While Harper understood his addiction, only Amanda really understood what Casey had done to him. But she suspected she wasn’t in the right state to coach him through any sort of repressed anger or hatred because she was holding back feelings either similar or more extreme — considering all she could think about were two things:
Liam and Casey — how much she missed Liam and how she couldn’t wait to find some way, any way to give Casey a taste of her own medicine. But in order to do that, she needed to keep her place in the industry, to guarantee her job at a powerful company that presented even the tiniest opportunity to bring Casey and her career down in any sort of way. Of course, it’d be nice to have some help but since she seemed to have none, she’d simply have to plot out a scheme on her own.
Picking up her phone, Amanda decided to text Wendy and speed up whatever meeting she was having with Tom about her employment.
Wendy. I want and need this job more than anything. Please tell Tom that I have an idea that’ll be a win for all of us. Xx - Amanda
Chapter 11
“Once upon a time, I loved the girl. But this means war.”
Wendy’s smirk was meant to be playful but Amanda could tell there was real resentment hidden underneath as they stood outside the Waltman Global building, next to which a twenty-five by seventy-five foot billboard had risen — advertising the September Thirteenth premiere of Legacy on Cinereel.
Strewn across the sign were two early twenty-somethings, one blonde, one brunette and both open-mouthed with bare, pierced midriffs. They were the two unknown stars of Casey’s show and they were more than likely compelling the daily Midtown passerby to whip out their phones on the sidewalk and Google “legacy show actresses.”
“I… figured we were the ones who had this billboard,” Amanda murmured as she stared up at the massive advertisement for their rival TV show right outside of Leadoff’s offices. The billboard had been blank for the past few months and it only made sense that ZINC would snatch it up to market their latest one-hour drama by Tom Vogel.
“We thought we had it,” Wendy sighed as she ushered Amanda toward the front doors. “But Casey went into her own pocket and outbid us with one hell of a crazy number.”
“Shouldn’t ZINC have as much money as Casey?” Amanda asked with a little laugh of disbelief.
“Eh. ZINC won’t up the marketing budget for Leadoff because they already spent forty million dollars shooting the first five episodes. And since Tom and I can’t afford to go into our own pockets like the Mulreed family can, this happens.” Wendy shrugged, flipping off the billboard before entering the building, trying to casually pull Amanda away from the shaggy, bearded man selling newspapers near the door. But it was too late — she had caught a glimpse of one of the front pages. It was one of the gossip rags that tabloids like Pop Dinner even scoffed at but she couldn’t help reacting.
“Seriously?”
In bold caps, the headline had screamed “AMANDA’S LIES” before listing such comically outlandish bullet points as, “Married and divorced twice!” “Aspiring actress!” “Shy girl? Her past life as a burlesque dancer!”
“Oh, bah!” Wendy gave a good-natured wave of her hand as her Louboutins clicked across the marble lobby, Amanda’s off-white Converses padding alongside them. “Nobody actually believes any of that. I mean, burlesque dancer? Divorcee? Come on.”
Amanda smiled quietly to herself. Wendy had purposely left out the middle bullet point because thus far, it had been the one that most people had accepted as the truth — that she had been a gossip-obsessed wannabe starlet who plotted her trip to New York as a means to finally pursue acting. Eyeing Amanda, Wendy seemed to read her mind.
“I know you’re not some publicity whore who’s trying to break into the acting business. I still recognize small town me in you,” she said, referring to her own past as an “awkward” industry newbie who met her own Hollywood giant, Tom Vogel. “We just need to convince the rest of the world that you really were and still are a girl who came here without a clue and then made something for herself. Because let’s be honest here, that’s the reason Tom hired you to Leadoff — aside from my bugging him about you pretty much twenty-four seven.”
Amanda tried not to frown at the reminder that she hadn’t exactly been given her job based on merit. She’d been hired based on her then-image, the publicity she would garner for a project with a hero whose TV show arc matched her real-life story.
But despite Wendy’s unintentional slight, Amanda forced herself to smile. How she got the job was no longer relevant to her — it was what she did to keep it so that she could do well at it. Well enough to cement her place in the industry and find some sort of way to bring Casey’s career tumbling down.
Suddenly chipper again, Amanda grinned at Wendy as they stepped into the mirror-lined elevator. “Don’t worry, we will. Like I told you, I have an idea.”
~
“Don’t tell me she’s still working here.”
Amanda ignored the incredulous comment from the writer whom she remembered to be a Brown University alum. On this day, he wore a stain-free blue T-shirt, which qualified him as the best dressed person in the room. Next to him, the lanky one laughed, his giant Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he also chewed on a pen cap.
Standing in the doorway of the writers’ room, she waited with Wendy for Tom to gather his things and follow them to another room for their private meeting.
“At least she got the memo on the dress code,” said the one in the ratty Yankees jersey, who apparently owned no other piece of clothing.
“Ignore the Joes,” Wendy said loudly. “They get off on giving women a hard time.”
“So many jokes I could make about that phrasing,” the Brown alum grumbled. Wendy snorted as Tom shot him a warning look before getting up and leading the women out into the hall.
“The Joes?” Amanda whispered curiously as they walked several paces behind a brooding Tom.
“Those three stooges are all named Joe,” Wendy explained with an eye roll. “So we call them Skip, Fish and Bird. Skip because he used to be a skipper — managed minor league baseball. Fish because his last name is Fisher. Bird because… well. He looks like an ostrich.”
Amanda snorted as Wendy giggled. Immediately, Tom spun around, deep wrinkles knitting under his frameless glasses.
“There’s nothing to be laughing about right now.”
Amanda and Wendy promptly quieted though Wendy dared to break the silence first. “Honey, didn’t I say we’d figure this out? Don’t look so worried.”
“You always think you can figure things out but Leadoff is currently in a situation that’s more fucked than any other I’ve been in, so hopefully you’ll excuse me for looking worried.”
As he tore the glasses off of his face to massage between his eyebrows, Wendy ushered Amanda into the room, whispering in her ear. “He doesn’t mean just you. The show’s in a little bit of trouble right now.”
She had suspected as much, considering Casey’s billboard outside.
“So, Amanda.” Tom plopped down onto a chair, his posture sloppy as he leaned back, still rubbing his head. Amanda had never seen him so without poise. “My wife is still smitten by you, don’t ask me why. I’m not so much because apparently you have a lot less in common with Milo than I thought,” he said, referring to the fictional star of Leadoff, whom Tom had compared Amanda’s case of overnight fame to when he had first hired her in March. “Which does me no good because I’ll admit my show is in
desperate need of publicity right now, especially thanks to your friend, Casey. But I certainly don’t want the kind you’re giving me right now. People liked you because they related to you, Amanda, the same way I need them to relate to Milo. Now, all they see is another wannabe actress who lied about everything so we would like her and want to help her.”
Amanda swallowed. “That’s only if you believe the tabloids, which I can promise you aren’t true,” she said steadily, taking a seat across from Tom. She calmly folded up the sleeves of her white linen button up. “I was,” she laughed quietly, “And, to some degree, still am that shy girl from the middle of nowhere who Wendy met in January. I knew I’d get some sort of attention when I got here from being Liam’s girlfriend but I promise I didn’t come here to be an actress. I came here to escape my crappy situation back home and to start a new life, which I know is the same reason Milo ran off to New York because I’ve read the scripts from cover to cover all summer,” Amanda said, studying Tom to detect any change in his emotions. Thus far, there were none. Sitting up, Tom gave Amanda a look of exasperation.
“Just cut to the chase and give me a proposal. How are you going to convince me and the world that you’re not just another fame-hungry actress? That you didn’t come here and lie about your whole story for publicity?”
“I’ll show the world why I actually came here, even if it involves sharing every last humiliating detail of my past.”
“My, what a detailed plan.”
Wendy shot a glare at her husband. “Hear her out.”
Amanda laughed quietly, taking a deep breath and folding her hands in her lap. “The true story about me is actually more embarrassingly relatable than anyone even knows.”
“Really. How so.”
Ugh. “Well. I grew up the town pushover and graduated onto being the town hermit. The highlight of my life before coming here was being a receptionist in St. Louis. From elementary school to high school, I was my best friend Megan’s personal assistant because I didn’t want her to ever stop liking me. After she and I went to community college together, we moved to St. Louis where I met my first boyfriend, Brandt. He cheated on me with Megan seven months later and Megan kicked me out of our apartment so he could move in. I went to live back home in Merit again and that was the life I was desperate to escape before I came here.”
Tom blinked slowly at her. He lifted his eyebrows. “That’s actually an interesting story, Amanda,” he said. “But no one is going to believe you at this point.”
“They will if I get someone from Missouri to back my story.”
“And who would do that? The folks from Merit don’t seem too crazy about you.”
“They’re not. But there’s someone in St. Louis whose barista job probably doesn’t pay enough.”
Tom squinted, fighting the smile curving one corner of his lips. “Your ex?”
Amanda nodded. “Megan dumped him a few months ago. From what I remember, he’s always had money issues. He bought me a necklace from a vending machine for my birthday last year,” she said, only feeling bad about the fact that she didn’t really feel bad for sharing the embarrassing story. Especially since it drew a hearty laugh from Tom. “I have old pictures of myself with him and with Megan, too. And if you need yearbook photos from my embarrassing high school days, I’ve got them too. They’ll be further proof of everything aside from whatever Brandt tells us — which, if the price is right, will be whatever we ask him to tell us… however we asked him to tell us.”
“What do you mean however we ask him to tell us?”
Amanda gave a bit of a sheepish laugh. “Over the years of moderating a celebrity gossip site, I’ve noticed that people feel the need to choose sides when it comes to scandal. Team This or Team That. If we get Brandt to sound cold and remorseless for the interview, they’ll unconsciously side with me.”
Tom blinked at Amanda for a few dumbstruck seconds. Yep, that sounded absolutely batshit and now I seem like a diabolical freak. But before Amanda could get too self-conscious, he raised his eyebrows, impressed.
“Alright.” He straightened up in his seat. “So you want to buy the world’s sympathy back by showing them what a horrific mess your life was before you got here and you’re suggesting we pay the broke barista for some quotes to back you up?”
“Yes. And since Fleur Magazine already spent time and money on my interview, we can make it up to them by giving them this scoop to publish,” Amanda said.
“The magazine should be coming out in days. It’s probably already printed,” Tom pointed out.
“Honey,” Wendy interjected. “In case you forgot that your wife used to work at June Magazine, I can tell you that I’ve seen issues entirely reprinted days before being sold. I think Fleur would be happy to do that for this. ‘The Actual Story Behind Amanda Nathan’s Contract with Liam Brody: Amanda Tells All,’” she said with pizzazz. “Getting cheated on by the boyfriend with the best friend, being the town leper. Adultery and bullying. People go through similar things on a daily basis, they should understood the need to do something drastic to escape.” She shrugged with a little grin. “And if not, they live vicariously through Amanda’s drama, which puts her right back in their hearts.”
Tom cocked a single thick eyebrow at the word “drama.” “Drama is what we need,” he nodded, rubbing his chin before flashing a look at Amanda. “Still got your ex’s number?”
~
“Guess they’re giving you a break tonight.”
Amanda smiled as she rounded the corner onto her street, her phone pressed against her ear. She would hug the thing if she weren’t convinced that despite the empty sidewalk, at least one paparazzo was lingering somewhere. It had just been days since she’d spoken to Liam and the mere sound of his voice through her iPhone was enough to dizzy her with giddiness. Plus, she could hear that he was tired and though she felt badly that he was, his voice happened to be that much deeper and sexier when he’d had a long day. Amanda giggled to herself, noting how ridiculous it was to so thoroughly enjoy the sound of Liam’s exhaustion.
Perhaps it reminded her of the last night they’d spent together. Depending on the day, the memory of that night in bed filled Amanda with either joy or melancholy. Today, it was joy.
Plus, it didn’t hurt that she’d spent the afternoon saving her own job.
“Good. And thank God it’s the weekend,” she exhaled, rolling her neck as she fished through her tote bag for keys. She could hear Liam half-yawning, half-groaning on the other end, probably stretching out on his couch in front of Sportscenter.
“So how much money did Vogel offer the barista?”
Amanda smirked. “Brandt. Tom paid him two thousand.”
“Woof. Lowball.”
Amanda shrugged as she reached her front door, still searching for her keys. “It’s a lot for him.” She made a face and paused. “It’s a lot for me. Not everyone can go around buying houses just because it’s Thursday,” she teased, though her heart immediately twisted because once the words left her lips, her fingers retrieved a key from her bag. But not the one to her apartment. Amanda’s chewed her lip as she stared at the shiny piece of silver in her hand — the one that unlocked the front door to the house in North Carolina. Their house in North Carolina. Liam was quiet on the other end. Amanda wondered if he somehow sensed what she was holding.
“What are you doing tonight?” He changed the subject once he spoke again. Amanda took a seat on her stairs, setting her bag in her lap to better search for her keys.
“Relaxing on the couch,” she answered, trying not to think about how badly she wished she could do that at Liam’s, so she could wrap his arm around her waist and doze in and out of sleep against his chest. On the other end, Liam was silent for a moment.
“Wearing what?” he finally asked. Amanda snorted.
“Mm. Sweatpants.”
“Oh yeah.”
Amanda giggled. “I’m sure you love big grey sweatpants with stretchy waistbands.”
<
br /> “I do. They’re the easiest to remove.”
Amanda rolled her eyes, momentarily giving up on her search for the keys. “You really don’t miss a beat, do you.”
“Nope.”
“So, how do you feel about a ponytail with a big scrunchie?”
“The better to pull your hair with.”
Amanda bit her smile back. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second. This sucks. Suppressing a groan, she opened them, heaving a sigh. “Of course. So, what are you doing tonight?”
“Jerking off to a mental image of your sweatpants and ponytail.”
Amanda burst out laughing. “Liam!” she scolded, though she immediately covered her mouth when she realized she’d said his name far too loudly. Once again, she looked up and down the block, confirming again that no one was around. Liam gave a low chuckle on the other end of the line.
“I’m watching the Yankees game right now. Or I was.”
“What are you doing now?”
“Just listening to your voice,” he replied casually. Amanda felt her heart wrench again.
“Should I let you get back to the game?”
“No.”
Amanda rested her chin in her hand, smiling as she listened to the sounds of Liam stretching again. She laughed quietly when she caught herself trying to imagine what he was wearing — probably that heather grey T-shirt and basketball shorts since he tended to dress adorably boyish at home. “So, what crazy shit did Terrence make you do today?” she asked, her voice scratchy as she stared at her toes, which she wiggled under her Converses.
“Kept me uptown all day in a pointless meeting with the producers who asked why we were having this meeting. Pretty sure he’s just trying to keep an eye on me even on my off days.”
Amanda frowned. “I’m sorry.” My fault, she thought, bringing her gaze up to look blankly across the street. Her eyes focused on the fluorescent ‘Open’ sign hanging in the deli window, fluttering with surprise when she realized that the still fixture next to the sign was not the poster or shelf she had assumed it to be through her peripheral vision. Staring at it, Amanda felt herself scramble to her feet, realizing with a barely audible gasp that it was a person — a man who was staring straight back at her, offering a toothy smile upon catching her eye.
