Damage Control (The Hollywood Series Book 2) (2 page)

As she passed one of the desks, someone grabbed her arm.

Lauren turned.

Tina, one of the account executives on Lauren’s team, looked up at her with a desperate expression. She was on the phone and now pressed one hand against the receiver, covering it. “It’s Mark. He called me twice already because he wants to go on
Ellen
. Should we try to get him a spot?”

“God, no.” Lauren firmly shook her head. “
Ellen
is perfect for a witty client with a good sense of humor, but Mark is about as funny as going through a bout of norovirus with no toilet in sight.”

Still covering the phone, Tina chuckled before her expression switched back to panic. “You’re right, but I can’t tell him that. How do I talk him out of it? He thinks it’s a genius idea.”

Knowing Marlene was waiting for her, Lauren didn’t have time for long explanations. She waved at Tina. “Give me the phone.”

Tina handed it over with a sigh of relief.

“Hi, Mark. This is Lauren Pearce. How are you doing?”

The actor paused for a moment. “Oh, hi, Lauren. I’m fine. Did Tina tell you about my idea? I think it’ll really boost the DVD sales of my last movie.”

His last movie had been a laugh-out-loud comedy, and if his audience realized Mark was funny only if he had a script, they’d be disappointed. Few things were worse than disappointed fans. “
Ellen
is a great idea.”

Tina stared at her as if she’d grown a pair of green antennae.

“See?” Mark said. “I told Tina you’d think so too.”

“Yes, but the thing is, you don’t have enough movies out yet to secure the lead guest spot.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Mark was silent for a moment. “Doesn’t matter. The second guest spot is still great, right?”

“Depends on where you want your career to go,” Lauren said.

“What do you mean?”

Lauren grinned. She had him now. Like all of her clients, he, of course, wanted his career to go all the way to the top. “Well, if you always accept the second guest spot, people will begin to think of you as second-best. I really think it’s better to pass and hold out for the lead guest spot.”

“Oh.” Mark sounded like a little kid who’d just learned that Santa Claus didn’t exist. “I guess we should wait until I have a few more movies under my belt.”

“Definitely.” With any luck, Ellen would have done the Oprah thing and retired her talk show by then. “I’ll hand you back to Tina. I’m sure she can find you another great interview opportunity.” Preferably one with a reporter who would send them the questions beforehand so they could go over the best answers with Mark.

Tina took back the phone and mouthed, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Lauren nodded and walked past her in the direction of her office. She needed to change into a new blouse, one without coffee stains, before meeting with Marlene.

But luck wasn’t with her today. Marlene’s office door opened just as Lauren walked by. Marlene crooked one finger at her.

Sighing, Lauren changed course, feeling like a child being called to the principal’s office. She had always liked working for Marlene, but since she’d been taken off the Tabby Jones account, she wasn’t sure where she stood with her boss anymore. Reluctantly, she entered the corner office.

“Close the door, please,” Marlene said.

Lauren did.

Marlene rounded her large desk and sat in her executive chair. The black leather almost seemed to swallow her diminutive five-foot frame, but Lauren knew that appearances were deceiving when it came to Marlene Chandler. She might look like a fragile toy poodle, but she had the attitude of a pit bull. “Have a seat.”

Lauren walked past Marlene’s freshwater aquarium, peeking at the Siamese fighting fish, a male and his harem. Some of her colleagues said that the fish became aggressive whenever Marlene was in a bad mood. If that was true, Lauren wasn’t looking forward to the conversation with her boss, because the male flared his fins and gills.

Lauren slid onto the visitor’s chair in front of the desk and waited for what Marlene had to say, knowing better than to ask and hurry her along.

For long moments, Marlene sat there without saying anything, just studying Lauren. She raised a brow at the coffee stains on Lauren’s blouse.

Well, nothing she could do about them now. Lauren managed not to fidget under Marlene’s disapproving gaze.

Finally, Marlene returned her attention to Lauren’s face and leaned forward. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Grace Durand.”

“Who hasn’t?” She wasn’t too fond of the type of movies Durand starred in, but Lauren had to admit the woman was hot.

Marlene nodded. “Right. Well, her mother—who is also her manager—just fired her publicist and wants us to take over.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Lauren said. Unlike many other former child stars, who had become tabloid fodder, ending up in rehab, prison, or reality TV, Grace Durand had avoided any scandals so far. Other than attending the occasional red-carpet event with her husband, Nick Sinclair, the golden boy of action movies, she’d stayed out of the limelight and hadn’t created any PR nightmares for her publicist to clean up.

“That’s what you think,” Marlene said. “Her agent didn’t want to discuss it over the phone, but apparently, there’s been a recent development that needs to be nipped in the bud. You’ll find out the details when they get here.”

Lauren’s eyes widened. “You want me to take over as her publicist?”

Marlene nodded calmly. “Yes.”

If the other PR consultants found out that their firm was now representing Grace Durand, they would fight over the account like sharks over a piece of meat. Why was Marlene handing it to her? She couldn’t shed the feeling that she was being tested, and she didn’t like that feeling. In her eight years with Chandler & Troy, she had proven herself time and again. There had been talk of promoting her to account supervisor when she got back from touring with Crashing Guitars, the new, hip girl group. Instead, she was now back at square one.

“Do you feel up for it?” Marlene asked.

Lauren’s spine stiffened. “Of course.”

“Good. I scheduled a meeting with Ms. Durand, her agent, and her manager for ten.”

Lauren glanced at her watch. That would give her just enough time to change into a clean blouse and get herself another coffee. She had a feeling she’d need it.

CHAPTER 2

“Is this really necessary?” Grace asked when she met her agent at the address he’d given her. “Why do I have to meet with a new publicist? I already have one.”

“No, you don’t,” her mother said as she climbed out of the SUV. She frowned back at Grace’s Ford Escape as she did every time she had to get into
that vehicle
and shouldered her purse the way a soldier shouldered his rifle. “I fired Roberta.”

Grace whirled around. “You did what?”

Katherine raised her chin. “I fired her. She didn’t do a good enough job as your publicist. Otherwise, your last movie wouldn’t have flopped at the box office.”

Thanks for the reminder
. Grace bit her tongue. A sarcastic comment like that would serve no purpose and only hurt her mother. “It wasn’t Roberta’s fault.”

“Your mother is right,” George said. “Roberta wasn’t bad, but she doesn’t run with the big dogs, and these guys do.” He pointed at the high-rise building next to them, built of white travertine marble. “In fact, they eat other big dogs for breakfast. They’re one of the top damage-control firms in town.”

“Damage control?” Grace repeated with a frown. “You think I need damage control, just because of what
Tinseltown Talk
wrote about me and Jill? No one takes a tabloid rag like that seriously, right?” She looked back and forth between her mother and George.

“Probably not, but what if other, more widely read magazines or blogs pick up the story?” George ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “You can’t afford headlines like that. Not this close to the premiere of
Ava’s Heart
.”

Grace sighed. Maybe they were right. Better safe than sorry, right? It couldn’t hurt to at least check out the new firm before making a final decision.

The three of them walked past a glassed-in outdoor workspace, where employees sat, drinking coffee and typing away at laptops.

Grace whistled appreciatively.
Nice workplace.

They crossed a plaza between two buildings that looked almost identical, except for the fact that one of the towers was a little higher than the other. Palm trees swayed back and forth in a light breeze like kelp in the tide, and the water in a long pond rippled as several orange and white koi drifted close to the surface. A few employees sat outside on benches, enjoying their coffee break in the sun.

Grace wished she could join them and just sit under one of the palms with a good book for an hour. It had been a while since she was able to truly relax.

But even if she’d had the time, it wasn’t meant to be. Heads started to turn as she walked past. If your face regularly graced the big screen, you couldn’t fade into the woodwork. Grace straightened and put on an automatic smile when she felt gazes on her.

Right before they could escape into the building, a young woman in business attire stopped her. “Oh my God! You’re Grace Durand, aren’t you?”

Her mother tugged on Grace’s arm. “Let’s go in. We don’t have time for this.”

But Grace had promised herself that she would always make time for her fans and not become one of the arrogant divas who thought talking to ordinary people was beneath them. Gently, she pulled her arm out of her mother’s grasp.

“Yes, I am,” she said to the young woman, giving her a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you.”

Red-cheeked, the young woman shook Grace’s hand with a little too much enthusiasm. “I’m a big fan. I’ve seen all of your movies.” She jumped up and down and waved to three of her colleagues, who sat on the raised marble edge of the pond. “Come here, guys! It’s her!”

The woman’s colleagues and other passersby joined them. Soon, Grace was surrounded by people. It always amazed her how fast a crowd could gather. She wondered if all of them even knew who she was. Several people took out their phones and snapped photos while others handed Grace scraps of paper to get her autograph.

Grace gamely signed her name, laughing when one young man bared his biceps and had her sign it.

Finally, the crowd dispersed, transforming from excited fans back into serious-looking business people.

Her mother pulled her into the building before new people could walk up to them.

Grace paused in the lobby for a moment to get her bearings. The interior of the building was as impressive as the outside. The lobby, with its shiny floor, was clearly designed to wow visitors. To the left, the clinking of porcelain came from a café, and to the right was a fitness center for employees. Grace scanned the directory listing the companies housed in the building—mostly real estate agents, investment bankers, and lawyers.

The PR firm really had to be a big dog to afford renting space in this building.

George herded them to the elevators and pressed the button for the twelfth floor.

A short time later, the elevator opened into the PR firm’s reception area.
Wow.
Chandler & Troy Publicity seemed to occupy the entire floor. Soft recessed lights reflected off a marble-topped desk and several leather lounge chairs. Tasteful works of modern art hung on two walls while a flat-screen TV filled the wall opposite a designer couch.

A frosted glass door opened and closed to their left as someone entered, revealing a large room with cubicles to the left and right.

Grace followed George and her mother across the cushy, burgundy carpet.

The young brunette behind the reception desk smiled at them, obviously used to people pausing to take in their impressive reception area. “How may I help you?”

“This is Grace Durand,” Katherine said before Grace could introduce herself. “I’m her manager, and this is her agent.” She pointed at George. “We have an appointment with Ms. Chandler.”

The receptionist’s smile didn’t waver. She never even stared at Grace. In her line of work, she was probably used to dealing with celebrities. “I believe your appointment is with Ms. Pearce, one of our senior account executives,” she said without consulting an appointment book or her computer. “She’s expecting you. Let me take you to her office.”

While they followed the receptionist, Grace glanced at her wristwatch and winced when she realized they were late. Her encounter with the fans in front of the building had held her up longer than she’d realized. Maybe her mother was right and she did have to learn to say no to her fans sometimes. Being almost fifteen minutes late wasn’t the way to make a good first impression.

The receptionist knocked on a closed door. When no answer came, she knocked again, hesitated, and then opened the door to peek in. “Oh. Ms. Pearce must have stepped out for a moment. Why don’t you wait in her office, and I’ll let her know you’re here.” She opened the door wider and let them enter. “Please have a seat. Can I bring you anything?”

“No, thanks,” Grace said before her mother could bother the receptionist with an extravagant coffee order.

“All right. Ms. Pearce will be with you in a moment.” The receptionist closed the door, leaving them alone in the office.

Grace looked around. The office wasn’t overly large, but the panorama window behind the desk made it look bigger. It offered a great view of Century City, West Hollywood beyond, and the Santa Monica Mountains in the distance. The large desk took up one entire side of the room. It was covered in stacks of papers and files, yet didn’t look messy at all. Quite the opposite, actually. The papers were neatly stacked and the folders sorted by color into piles of red, yellow, and green.

Did the colors mean anything? Maybe they symbolized the importance of the clients or how difficult they were to handle. Grace wondered what color she rated.

The office revealed no hints of the occupant’s private life—no photographs of family members, no personal knickknacks, not even framed diplomas. Instead, autographed photos of celebrities lined the walls, probably famous people Ms. Pearce had worked with.

Grace turned and stepped back to take a closer look at some of the photos next to the door.

Five minutes earlier, Lauren had been sitting behind her desk, drumming her fingers on a stack of files. Every few seconds, she glanced at her watch.

Grace Durand was late. Fashionably late, some of her colleagues might have called it, pointing out that no one was on time in Hollywood.

Lauren didn’t care about that. She hated when her clients were late for appointments. It didn’t bode well for her working relationship with Ms. Durand.
You don’t have to like her,
she reminded herself.
You just have to make sure everyone else does.

A few more minutes ticked by and still no sign of the famous actress.

Huffing, Lauren grabbed her empty mug and stood to get herself another cup of coffee. Of course, as soon as she had entered the kitchen and was about to press the button for a cup of strong, black coffee, Carmen, the firm’s receptionist, stopped her cold.

“Oh, there you are,” Carmen said from the doorway. “Ms. Durand is here. She’s waiting in your office, along with her manager and her agent.”

Figures.
Her caffeine fix had to wait. “Thanks, Carmen.” Lauren put down the mug and headed back to her office. Before opening the door, she glanced down at her unstained blouse and the dark gray slacks, making sure she was presenting a professional image. When she was convinced that she looked fine, she swung the door open—only to be met with resistance.

The door hit something or rather someone, she realized. And not just any someone. She had never met her newest client in person, but she had seen her a million times before, on TV and celebrity blogs, in magazines and newspapers. The golden locks cascading halfway down her back, the contrasting dark eyebrows, and eyes as blue as a sunlit ocean were unmistakable. Lauren had just hit Golden Globe-winning actress Grace Durand.

The actress’s full lips formed a startled “oh” as she stumbled back, rubbing her arm.

Still gripping the door handle, Lauren stood frozen in the doorway. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… I thought you’d be…” Uncharacteristically rattled, she gestured to the visitor’s chair in front of her desk, where she’d assumed the actress would be sitting.

Grace Durand directed her world-famous smile at her. “It’s all right,” she said. “Despite reports to the contrary, I’m not made of glass.” Her voice was husky and melodic, with faint undertones of a Southern drawl, which, as Lauren knew, were holdovers from portraying a character from Georgia in her last movie.

Lauren had never found a Southern accent all that sexy, but now she instantly changed her mind. She couldn’t stop staring at the actress’s classically beautiful face and her eyes. She had always assumed that those blue eyes she’d seen in movie posters were photoshopped, but up close, the color looked real. The rest of Ms. Durand didn’t look as if it needed airbrushing either. She wasn’t exactly a size zero like most other actresses in the business, but Lauren had never liked stick figure women anyway. She much preferred Ms. Durand’s luscious curves.

Yeah, okay, she’s gorgeous. So what?
Each and every one of the women Lauren worked with was beautiful, but she had never let herself be impressed by their beauty. Much too often, the gorgeous shell hid a bitchy attitude, egoism, or shallowness. Reality never matched their kind, sometimes heroic on-screen personas, and this time wouldn’t be any different. Besides, growing up around celebrities had made Lauren immune to being starstruck.

Oh yeah? You sure aren’t acting like it.
She gave herself a mental kick and moved forward, holding out her hand.

Grace Durand readily stepped forward. Her handshake was unexpectedly firm, and she looked Lauren straight in the eyes, although she didn’t quite match Lauren’s five foot ten.

Even up close, Lauren could detect no trace of makeup—not that Ms. Durand needed it. Admittedly, she was even more appealing off-screen, if that was even possible. “Good morning, Ms. Durand. I’m Lauren Pearce, senior account executive here at CT Publicity.”

“Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice. And please, call me Grace.”

Lauren nodded, even though she would have liked to keep a little more professional distance from this client. But the customer was king, so she said, “Call me Lauren, then.” She realized she was still holding the actress’s hand and quickly let go to greet the other two people in the room, George Benitez, an agent she’d dealt with before, and a peroxide blonde she guessed to be in her fifties. Lauren had done her homework, conducting some research while she waited for the actress and her entourage to arrive, so she knew that the older woman was Katherine Duvenbeck, Grace’s mother. A quick search on Wikipedia had revealed that Katherine had been the one who had encouraged her daughter to go into acting, taking her to her first audition for a diaper commercial when Grace had been just six months old.

At least my folks never did that.

“This is my mother, who’s also my manager, and George Benitez, my agent,” Grace said.

They shook hands, and Lauren gave them polite nods. “Mrs. Duvenbeck, nice to meet you. George, it’s great to work with you again.”

Katherine Duvenbeck’s eyes, not quite the same startling color as her daughter’s, widened when Lauren addressed her with the correct name.

Lauren smiled faintly. “Can I get you anything before we start?”

Grace started to shake her head, but her mother said, “That’d be nice. If you have it, I’d like to have a freshly pulled espresso with steamed low-fat milk that forms a foam cap, no higher than half an inch.”

Lauren nodded, but Mrs. Duvenbeck wasn’t through yet.

“It should be flavored with just a hint of sugar-free vanilla syrup and garnished with a sprinkle of cinnamon—organic, of course.”