On the Record- the Complete Collection

by Lee Winter

  She was that good. Who else could induce every entertainment reporter from 278 publications worldwide to dutifully name the movie amid their sex-doll-scandal copy? And they all spelled it right.

  Lauren glanced around the room. She knew from her VIP invitation that her larger-than-life friend was the mastermind behind tonight’s eyeball-bleeding monstrosity. It’s just that she couldn’t believe it.

  “Mariella?” Lauren asked, dazed. “What on earth? It’s like end times—in Siberia. Without clothes.”

  “I know, I know. Problem was it was planning by committee,” Mariella admitted. “Froesha wanted everything white. Emmanuelle insisted on the roller skates to add a ‘kinetic frisson.’ Heddy wanted topless hunky men, because, well, it’s Heddy. Veronica’s mechanic-turned-spiritual advisor wanted the car-themed cocktails. Et voilà.” She snapped her fingers.

  “And the bed?”

  “Trisha’s new water and air diet has made her too weak to mingle, and Heddy’s got a permanent hangover. The others like the way they can keep their dresses from wrinkling by not actually moving. And Emmanuelle can’t even do up her dress at the back, so that’s why she’s lying the way she is. Besides, they do look gorgeous in the photos. Anyway, sweetie, enough of my brilliance. Let’s talk about you. I’m so glad you came.”

  She gave Lauren a breezy pair of air kisses.

  “Well it’s kinda my job, so…” Lauren shrugged. Her off-the-shoulder, midnight-blue cocktail dress—a second-hand-boutique find which suited both her athletic figure and threadbare budget—shimmered.

  “Not for much longer,” Mariella said. “Am I right in thinking this is the last party you’ll ever have to cover before you head to DC? Then it’s just dull reporting on dreary people with no fashion or financial sense?”

  “Yep.” Lauren was unable to hold back her delighted grin. It was only her dream since she was a girl. From Iowa to DC. Hot damn. And all it’d taken was the exclusive of the decade.

  Mariella gave her an affectionate smile. “Anyone would think you’re happy to leave behind our decadent land of shallow dreams.”

  Lauren’s head bobbed adamantly.

  “Hell yes. Sorry, Mari, I know you love this crazy place, but I can’t wait. I’m blowing this popsicle stand in two weeks, eleven hours.” She glanced at her watch. “And fourteen minutes—give or take.”

  Mariella laughed so hard that her arms, ringed with a riot of shiny bangles, jangled. “Speaking of popsicles, where is your frosty, world-scoop collaborator? Isn’t Ayers here tonight?”

  Lauren’s heart sank at the reminder.

  “Catherine finished up her Sentinel contract a month ago, so she’s off the hook on the party beat. And no, I have no clue what’s she’s been up to. I’m not her minder, so how would I know?”

  Okay, so that was more defensive than she’d meant it to be. But it was a sore point. They’d both been flat out packing for their new jobs that had come about from their joint exclusive. And then, two weeks ago, Catherine had disappeared to work out some logistical issues at her next post. The occasional text message had been all Lauren had heard from her. And while her head knew how hectic things were for Catherine, her heart preferred whimpering pathetically in the corner.

  Not that she’d shared that with anyone. Besides, she couldn’t, given that they hadn’t told a soul they were dating. They hadn’t even talked about telling anyone. It was on Lauren’s to-do list. But right now she was becoming adept at slapping on a happy face and pretending not to care what her prickly, former arch-nemesis got up to.

  It wasn’t even that hard. Everyone just assumed they still couldn’t stand each other. Well, almost everyone.

  Mariella leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, “Lauren, sweetie, I know something’s changed between you two. I can practically taste it. You vibrate on a different frequency when she’s around. You light up like a C-list actress near the paparazzi. Don’t bother denying it. What do you take me for? A studio publicist?”

  A stain rose up Lauren’s cheeks. Damn, Mariella was good. She looked into her friend’s perceptive blue eyes and huffed out a breath. Then she finally gave in.

  “It’s still…new,” she confessed with a sigh. She folded her arms. “And I haven’t seen Catherine in two weeks while she’s getting her new office ready. It’s driving me crazy.”

  She felt a blissful amount of relief in admitting that.

  “Ah,” Mariella said with a sympathetic nod, and then glanced over Lauren’s shoulder. “Well, this should help.” She waved a red talon toward the door.

  Lauren’s gaze followed the finger. There stood Catherine Ayers. Elegant, aloof, glorious. Lauren tried not to swallow her tongue, but hell, she was only human. Her lover was dressed in a pale-lemon cocktail dress with pearl drop earrings, her auburn hair coiled up. Tendrils curled around her ears, showing a tantalizing amount of neck.

  Lauren watched, transfixed, as Catherine’s sharp gaze swept the room. When their eyes met, Lauren exhaled shakily. Then grinned like a complete fool.

  Mariella laughed. “I see I was right. So here’s the CliffsNotes—Your sneaky, secret paramour asked me for a ticket tonight because she wanted to surprise you at your last LA reporting gig. Who am I to stand in the way of the infamous Caustic Queen?” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Or deny the woman she so clearly loves?”

  Lauren’s head snapped around to stare at Mariella. That was another thing on her to-do list. Declarations of feelings beginning with the letter L. Well, she knew how she felt…but, oh God, was it that obvious?

  Mariella patted her arm and winked.

  “Now, hon, I know that face. Don’t overthink it. Okay, go on, have fun. Mock us and our silly, plastic world, and get drunk on Radiator Fuel and Dipstick Daiquiris.”

  She gave her an engulfing hug. Lauren felt the bruising press of her studded bangles and the powerful jolt of her perfume.

  “I will miss you,” Mariella said with a dissatisfied huff. “Very much. You always spoke the truth in a town where everyone lies to your face. And you always let me rant about those horrid little sacks of hormones turning my hair gray. Now there’s some sage advice—never, ever agree to promote a boy band. And don’t forget me when you win that first Pulitzer.”

  Lauren gave her a fond squeeze. “Never. You’re unforgettable. All the best on keeping your hell clients out of the tabloids.”

  “Don’t I always? Now, I’m going before I get all sentimental and rue my unwaterproof mascara.”

  Mariella gave her a kiss on the cheek—a real one for the first time—then wiped her lipstick away affectionately. Lauren’s heart caught as her friend slipped into the crowd with a loud, bangle-clanging wave.

  Her attention was soon distracted as Catherine arrived at her side. The formidable ex-Washington bureau chief might once have been banished to LA’s gossip-writing beat to serve time alongside Lauren, but it had never dulled her fierce intellect nor silenced her biting tongue.

  And God she was stunning.

  “Well, well, Lauren King, goat botherer and entertainment hack,” Catherine greeted her with her usual cool expression. Her eyes, though, twinkled. “What a surprise seeing you here,” she drawled.

  Lauren groaned. “Are you ever going to let the goat thing go? It was one story, like, a hundred years ago.”

  “Unlikely. The ground’s much too fertile.” Catherine leaned forward to air-kiss her but hovered for longer, lips drifting over Lauren’s cheek until the fine hairs leapt to attention. Lauren suppressed a shudder.

  Catherine gave her a small, knowing smile and then stepped back.

  They regarded each other.

  “You look phenomenal tonight,” Lauren said after a few beats, eyes tracing the fall of luxurious fabric. And damn, she really did. A girl’s hands could get lost mapping out the stunning lines of her dress.

  “Laure
n,” Catherine whispered against her ear lobe, “if you wish everyone in the room to know what we mean to each other, keep looking at me like a steak you could devour raw.”

  “Can’t help it. You’re a sight for sore eyes. It’s been way too long.”

  “Only two weeks,” Catherine said. But her intense gaze belied her words, roaming across Lauren’s form. Her expression grew appreciative as she took in the dress which so effectively accentuated her curves.

  “Have you been clothes shopping with your neighbor again?”

  “Yep. Joshua said I was looking like ‘a sad, bedraggled hobo.’ Direct quote. So…you like?”

  Lauren smoothed her hands down her flat stomach, enjoying the way her lover’s eyes followed them closely. Catherine’s gaze slid up to her toned arms and came to rest near the swell of her bust.

  Catherine’s gaze was burning as she tilted her head and said with deceptive softness, “I believe Marc Jacobs should pay you to wear his label.”

  “That’s who I’m wearing?” Lauren asked feebly. Her mouth was suddenly dry. “Okay,” she said with a squeak.

  There was a soft snort. “How is it you could write about this surreal nonsense for an entire year and not retain a single designer name?”

  “Just lucky, I guess.” Lauren gave a chuckle. “Besides, I had other things to think about. Vital things.”

  Catherine’s eyebrows lifted. “All I recall was you trying to needle me to the point of rage for twelve exasperating months.”

  “Yeah. Like I said—vital things.” She grinned unrepentantly, and Catherine’s lips twitched in amusement.

  A roller-waiter slid up and offered them a platter of appetizers with an over-the-top flourish. Lauren sighed. Was everything overproduced in this town?

  “Charcoaled carburetor ball?” he asked with a straight face.

  Lauren studied the blackened crispy spheres. “Does it contain pure carburetor?”

  He peered at her in confusion, then gave up and turned to Catherine. “Ma’am?”

  “No car parts before nine,” she said drolly.

  He gave them both an unimpressed glare and rolled away.

  “The madness of LA,” Catherine said. “Can’t say that I’ll miss it.”

  “What? You won’t miss anything at all? What about the waitstaff at restaurants who give you their resumes just on the off chance you’re a big-shot producer? Or Velveteria—the Museum of Velvet Art? Sad furry clowns for the win! Tanning studios on every other corner? Come on!”

  “Shocking, but no,” Catherine said before pausing. “Perhaps…well, I think I’ll feel sorry about leaving my home. It was a sanctuary in this frivolous hellhole. Tad’s expressed an interest in renting it from me at ‘struggling artist rates.’ Which I take to mean that he’ll pay me random sums of rent if and when he ever finds an acting job.” She rolled her eyes. “But I will miss my place.”

  Lauren smirked. “Well a lot happened there, no wonder you’re fond of it.” She gave her eyebrows a suggestive waggle. “I particularly think the guest bathroom should have its own shrine.”

  Catherine exhaled, her cheeks reddening. “God, you’re impossible.”

  “Yup.” Lauren grinned, but then her mood dropped. “These last two weeks have been terrible. Did you know that?”

  When Catherine’s eyes gleamed a little too smugly, Lauren added, “I’ve had no one to tease or work my evil schemes on at VIP events. Everyone’s narcissistic and as shallow as a butter dish. It’s been boring as hell.”

  “Did you really only just notice how shallow this place is when I wasn’t here?” Catherine’s eyebrow slid up to a preposterous angle.

  Lauren considered that. “Yeah,” she said. “I really only did.” She brightened. “So…you came back early? For me?”

  Catherine flicked invisible lint off her dress. “Hmm. Well, it was either that or take up an offer from Joe Biden to discuss his vision for growing Delaware’s agricultural sector. Even my tolerance levels aren’t that high.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Lauren scowled. “It was me or tractors?”

  Catherine gave her a smirk. “It was a close call. By the way, I’m reliably informed that your replacement on The Sentinel, that blonde creature with the unironic side ponytail, is here tonight.”

  Lauren frowned, trying to follow the conversation. “Uh, so?”

  “So, I may have informed her that she has to update the paper’s website on your behalf tonight. Therefore,” Catherine said as she studied her, “your services here are no longer required. At least, not in a professional capacity.”

  Lauren blinked. “What? Candy agreed? Just like that?”

  Catherine’s smile became positively feline.

  “It won’t take her more than fifteen minutes. And I may have couched it in terms of being a smart career move never to argue with me. Ms. Summers proved her IQ might actually be out of double digits by agreeing immediately. Now then, I came tonight because there is something I wish to urgently discuss with you.”

  “Oh?”

  Catherine placed her hand on the small of Lauren’s back and propelled her through the blinding whitescape, past the industry insiders, VIPs, and socialites downing their colorful concoctions, and beyond the bed of pretentious, Flashbang-blogging celebrities.

  They came to a set of double doors with shutters covering the glass. Catherine opened it and pulled Lauren through, closing it behind them with a snick.

  “What are you…?” Lauren stopped. They were on a balcony packed with pots of ornamental trees of various sizes and shapes. Lauren realized these were probably from the hotel’s ballroom, but had been hidden here to make room for tonight’s all-white event.

  Catherine led the way, and they picked a path past the potted forest until they emerged at the front of the balcony, next to one of two facing concrete pillars that edged the area. Far below was the darkened, outdoor swimming pool. Beyond that lay the bright lights of LA.

  Lauren glanced back toward the door but saw only trees. It was like being dropped into an instant jungle. Even the air smelled different, no longer having the constant, smoggy bite she’d become used to permeating the pores of LA.

  She stared around her in wonder. Catherine smiled at her awed expression.

  They could still hear the distant tinkling laughter and music from inside the ballroom and low murmurs of people on other balconies, out of sight, on the other sides of the pillars.

  “Uh, what…?” Lauren began. “I mean, why—”

  Catherine stepped inside her space and backed her against a pillar, a predatory glint in her eyes. “Why?” she asked. “Well, I would hate for your last LA event to be unmemorable.”

  “Oh, um, yeah,” Lauren said, eyes wide. “That would be terrible.”

  “Mmm.” Catherine traced her fingertips down her face, the barest grazing of tips across her skin.

  Lauren swallowed.

  Catherine’s fingers floated back up to her hairline, then disappeared into her shoulder-length brown hair. She combed them down to Lauren’s ears, tucking any loose strands behind them. Catherine breathed against the shell of Lauren’s ear, the tip of her tongue sliding along its edge.

  “Oh,” Lauren said with a whimper, finally grasping what their “urgent discussion” was about.

  “We have to be very quiet,” Catherine warned, eyes half-lidded. Then she pushed her body firmly against Lauren’s. Her lips were tantalizingly close but did not touch, staying just out of reach.

  Lauren felt the softness of Catherine’s delectable breasts and the press of her hips and muscled thighs. She could feel the heat radiating off her—so ironic for a woman famous for her icy edge. Right now she was searing hot.

  Lauren shivered at the thought of Catherine being aroused, and her nipples hardened.

  “Are you cold?” The honeyed timbre of her lover’s vo
ice made Lauren’s stomach flutter.

  Catherine’s knowing gaze slid down to study the two hard knots now jutting out against the midnight-blue confinement of her dress.

  Lauren flushed. Her brain was flailing too hard to articulate complete thoughts. Or any thoughts, for that matter. She shook her head mutely.

  “You certainly seem cold,” Catherine continued teasing softly. “If only we could warm you up somehow.”

  Lauren’s chest rose and fell rapidly. “Warm? Uh…I…” Her cheeks grew even redder as her voice faded out.

  Catherine smiled wickedly and skated her fingers across the top of Lauren’s dress, which was a straight line of glossy, strapless satin. Lauren felt the faintest whisper of warmth as the fingertips strayed off the dress and to her chest. Catherine leaned closer, and her breath dusted across the bare expanse of skin. Then, achingly slowly, she lowered her mouth to Lauren’s chest. Small, teasing puffs of warm air sent goose bumps rippling across her skin.

  “Poor Lauren,” Catherine said into her chest, her words dripping with promise, “suffering so much.”

  Catherine’s head dipped lower. She blew across Lauren’s aching, erect nipples and then pressed her mouth against one through the dark blue fabric.

  The instant moist heat was explosive.

  “Oh fuck!” Lauren’s eyes widened.

  “Quiet,” Catherine murmured into her nipple. “Not a sound.”

  Bolts of arousal shot through Lauren as she watched Catherine mouth her breasts, swapping between nipples, thoroughly wetting the satin with her tongue.

  She bit her lip, desperate to stay quiet.

  Catherine’s head lifted. “Hmm. I’m not entirely sure that’s getting the job done,” she said, examining the darkening wet spots. “Perhaps more direct methods are required to warm you up?”