Undercover in High Heels by Gemma Halliday

her jeans.
    I think I went about fifteen different shades of red. I sipped at my coffee to cover my embarrassment, cringing at the thought of needles going…down there.
    Luckily, though, I didn’t have to come up with a clever reply.
    “Uh-oh, ” Dusty said, glancing to the left.
    “Uh-oh?”
    She gestured to a doorway. “You’re about to meet Hurricane Mia. And it looks like she’s a category four today.”
    I turned just as a tall, slim woman strode through the room making double time. Her long blonde curls hung loose at her sides, bouncing up and down furiously as she stomped on two-inch strappy heels across the cement floor. She had on the same cream-colored pencil skirt as Veronika, paired with a white button-down blouse…open far enough that a lacy push-up bra showed beneath, maximizing her D cups. I’d recognize her anywhere. It was Ashley!
    I tried not to go all fan-clubby on her, instead containing my excitement to something between open admiration and just plain staring. I had to admit, Ashley (or Mia, as I supposed I would have to get used to calling her) was much prettier in person. Her eyes were a bright emerald green, her alabaster skin perfect even without the effects of airbrushing, and the body stuffed into that pencil skirt wasn’t an inch over size two. She looked like she either existed on Tic Tacs or had a personal trainer on twenty-four-hour standby. Or maybe both. The only thing marring her perfection was the scowl etched on her face.
    Mia strode up to Dusty, bearing down with purpose.
    “Dusty!” she barked.
    “Yes?” Dusty replied coolly. Though I could tell by the way her hand had tightened around her coffee cup that she was steeling herself for the worst.
    “What did I say yesterday about teal?” Mia narrowed her eyes.
    Dusty bit at the inside of her cheek, looking like she hadn’t been ready for a pop quiz so early in the morning. “I give up.”
    “It makes me look pale!” Mia slammed a hand down on the snack table, making a plate of chocolate-chip cookies jump. “I told you I want to wear peach in the Neighborhood Watch scene. I’m a Spring. Springs wear peach.”
    Dusty sucked in a slow breath, obviously keeping her composure with much difficulty. “Margo is wearing peach in that scene. You can’t both wear peach.”
    “Screw Margo!” Mia screeched.
    I saw Margo’s spine straighten, but she didn’t say anything.
    “I am the star of this show, ” Mia went on. “People tune in to see me. Let Margo wear the teal and look like a corpse. I will be shot in peach. Got it?”
    Dusty opened her mouth to respond, but Mia cut her off, sticking one manicured finger in Dusty’s face.
    “Or it will be your job. You know how easily I could get you sacked? I’m Mia Carletto. And you? You’re expendable.” With that Mia slammed her hand down on the table again so hard the cookies hit the floor. Then she turned and stalked out of the room.
    Dusty clenched her jaw, her eyes shooting daggers at Mia’s back. I joined her. Those looked like they’d been really good cookies.
    “And that, ” Dusty said, still clenching her jaw, “was Mia.”
    “So I gathered. Is she always that friendly?”
    “Oh, this was a good day. You should have seen her during sweeps week.”
    “Yikes. Remind me to stay on her good side.”
    “Impossible. Mia doesn’t have a good side.” Dusty tossed the remains of her cup in the trash can. “Well, apparently I’ve got to go switch out Mia’s outfit for something ‘Springy peach, ’ ” she said, doing air quotes with her fingers. “Think you can start rounding up the others and get them dressed for the first scene?”
    “No problem, ” I responded.
    Famous last words.
    The trouble with actors, I was soon to learn, was that they lived by the “hurry up and wait” credo. Depending on the complexity of a scene, the director might spend an hour setting up the shot for fifteen seconds of dialogue. This left the actors with way too much time on