Hollyweird by Terri Clark Page B

her.
    Awkward.
    â€œHow come you weren’t at the photo shoot?” he asked her.
    â€œ ’Cause I’m an actress, not a model,” Missy said in a droll, “like duh” tone.
    â€œShe’s a wannabe,” Des snapped, leaning over Dakota’s shoulder.
    â€œGonnabe,” Missy corrected. “That’s why I agreed to watch these two,” she told Dakota. “So I could catch my lucky break.”
    Des snorted. “You’ve got as much shot at that as catching a football.”
    â€œI’m going to be a star like Sofia Vergara or Madeleine Stowe.” She turned challenging eyes to Des. “Watch me. I spent today searching for auditions and getting to know my way around town.”
    â€œI believe you,” Dakota soothed. “And today is your lucky day. Out here it’s all about connections and you, baby, just made one.”
    Missy gave him her patented little-girl-lost look, the one she practiced in the mirror. “Really?” she asked, and ran one of her talons down his chest. “You think you could help me?”
    â€œI know I can.” Dakota grabbed Missy’s hand and pulled her off the couch. “Let me introduce you around.”
    And just like that, Dakota Danvers ditched us.

Jameson
    â€œShe going to be all right?” I mouthed to Aly, so Des couldn’t hear.
    After Dakota dumped the girls, I’d hustled them out of Chastity as fast as I could and driven them back to their hotel. I’d planned to escort them to their room, make sure everything looked safe, and tell them to pamper themselves with room service and spa treatments courtesy of Dakota until I could figure out what to do next.
    I’d already unlocked the door and done a cursory check of the room while Aly threw her purse and keycard on one of the queen beds and kicked off her shoes. Des, on the other hand, was flitting around the room like a psychotic pixie. A constant stream of word vomit erupted from her mouth, and some of her more creative cussing simultaneously impressed me and made me fearful of a punishing lightning strike.
    â€œShe’ll be fine,” Aly said, joining me in leaning against the door. “You know the five stages of grief?”
    â€œGrief?” I looked at her in confusion. Sure, I knew the stages. It hadn’t been so long ago that I’d dealt with them myself. “Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance.”
    â€œRight.” A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that Des was not paying attention to us, but Aly leaned in close just the same. “Well, this is part of what I like to call the Five Stages of Des pleasure: Denial, as in ‘oh no he didn’t,’ followed by Pissed, Pissier, and Pissiest, and finally Avengement.”
    I nodded, glad I wasn’t the focus of Desi’s despleasure. “And where’s she on the pissed scale now?”
    Aly studied her BFF for a sec. “Definitely Pissier. She hasn’t thrown anything yet.”
    Running a hand along my jaw, I gave Aly a “you’re serious?” look. “Maybe I ought to—”
    She stayed me with a hand on my chest. I looked down, where her palm pressed against me, and wanted to cover her fingers with my own.
    â€œDon’t go near her,” Aly said, and then, suddenly self-conscious she had me pinned to the wall, yanked her hand away. “Not unless you’re wearing a cup.”
    Unconsciously, I clutched up and shifted my hips back.
    Aly smirked. “It’s best just to let her run out of steam.”
    Des was still rambling and ranting as she paced a warpath between the beds. She didn’t look like she’d chill anytime soon. “Seriously?” I said with skepticism. “No worries?”
    â€œNaw, it’s all verbit.”
    â€œA Desism,” I guessed.
    â€œYou’re catching on.” She smiled and tilted her head. “Any guesses?”
    I thought