Читать книгу Unrivalled - Alyson Noel, Alyson Noel - Страница 12

Madison Brooks sprawled across the plush velvet chaise tucked into the corner of her massive walk-in closet, sipping the freshly pressed green juice her assistant, Emily, delivered and wrinkling her nose at the dresses her stylist, Christina, pulled from an assortment of garment bags bearing the names of LA’s most exclusive boutiques.

It was one of her favorite activities, in one of her favorite places—her closet serving as a sort of sanctuary from the incessant demands of her life. Every item—from the mirrored chests, to the soft woven rugs underfoot, to the crystal chandeliers dangling overhead, to the hand-painted silk wallpaper—was carefully chosen to exude feelings of unbridled luxury, comfort, and peace. The only thing even remotely out of place was Blue lying asleep at her feet.

While other starlets preferred their precious purse-size purebreds, for Madison, her scraggly mutt of indeterminate origins was everything a dog should be—solid, tough, no-nonsense, and a little rough around the edges. It was how she preferred her boyfriends too—or at least back when she was allowed to choose them herself.

If there was anything that surprised Madison about the inner workings of Hollywood, it was the approach to relationships as just another commodity—something to be bartered and arranged by a team of managers, publicists, and agents, or sometimes, the celebrities themselves.

The right pairing could raise an actor’s profile in ways that were otherwise hard to achieve, ensuring endless publicity, a permanent place in the tabloids, and, more unfortunate, the annoyingly cutesy phenomenon of name blending. Problem was, most actors were so used to delving into character they’d actually start to believe they’d found the person they could not live without. The one who completed them. Or whatever movie line they’d been spoon-fed since they were a kid.

“I’m thinking this one would go well with those new Jimmy Choos.” Christina dangled a cute color-block dress before her, but Madison didn’t want cute. She wanted something special, not the same tired thing everyone else was wearing.

Her phone chimed, but Madison ignored it. Not because she was lazy (she wasn’t), or because she was pampered to a ridiculous degree (she was), but because she knew it was Ryan and she had no interest in FaceTiming with him.

Christina paused, but Madison nodded for her to continue, until the ever-faithful Emily swooped in, retrieved Madison’s phone from the table, and in a tone of hushed excitement said, “It’s Ryan!”

Madison fought the urge to laugh. Emily was a good assistant—solid, dependable—but her fangirl crush on Ryan made her impossible to trust. The less she knew about Madison’s true feelings for Ryan, the better.

“Hey, babe.” Ryan’s voice was lazy and deep as his sandy-blond hair and sleepy green eyes filled up the screen. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. Have you been thinking about me?”

Madison watched as Christina and Emily crept from the room, closing the door behind them. “Of course.” She sank deeper into the cushions and pulled a cashmere throw over her lap. Whenever Ryan was around, or even on FaceTime, she found herself reaching for a pillow, a blanket, whatever she could find to build a barrier between them.

“Yeah? And what exactly were you thinking?” He sprawled full length on the couch in his on-set trailer, his head propped with a cushion, his hand working his belt.

“You couldn’t handle it,” she said, her voice barely disguising her resentment for the way he always pushed her into doing things that made her uncomfortable.

It wasn’t that she was a prude—far from it—and it wasn’t like Ryan wasn’t a fine piece of boy specimen—as the hot young star of a popular TV drama, Ryan Hawthorne was the fuel of countless teen fantasies. He simply wasn’t her type, and no amount of publicity would ever change that. After putting up with him for the last six months, she was more than ready to end it. Her agent had other ideas and was actively campaigning for her to continue the charade until she inked her next deal, but he wasn’t the one who had to kiss him, watch him chew with his mouth open, or fend off his constant need for FaceTime sex. The public canoodling had dragged on long enough. It was time for RyMad to die. Though it was important to time it just right.

“Oh, I can handle it.” His voice was raspy, his breathing strained, as his fingers tugged at his zipper. In another half a second those pants would be gone.

“Baby—” She deepened her voice in the way Ryan liked. “You know Christina’s here. Emily too.”

“Yeah, so, send ‘em on an errand or something.” He kicked his boxers to his knees. “I miss you, baby. I need me some Mad time.”

Madison cringed. She hated when he said things like Mad time—there was nothing sexy about it. There was also nothing sexy about seeing Ryan Hawthorne bared on her screen, despite what his millions of fans might think.

“But I still haven’t found a dress for Jimmy Kimmel tomorrow,” she cooed in a way she hoped was convincing.

“Does Jimmy have this?”

“Pretty sure he does.” He was too far gone to notice she’d rolled her eyes.

“You always look good, baby.” His voice was hoarse.

Madison muted the volume, absentmindedly fingering the scar on the inside of her arm—the only blemish on her flawless white skin. She was often asked about it in interviews, but Madison had a well-rehearsed answer for everything regarding her past.

She waited for Ryan to go through the motions, wondering how much longer she could put him off without him catching on to just how much she’d grown to despise him. Once it was done, she raised the volume and purred, “You have no idea how much I miss you.” Not a total lie, she reasoned, since he clearly had no idea she didn’t miss him one bit. “But now is not a good time.”

He made no move to cover himself, even though she’d made it clear that round two would not happen on her watch. Though a second later he was pulling a T-shirt over his head, saying, “Rain check?”

That was the one good thing about Ryan—he had the attention span of a gnat, and his moods were easily changed. He was just about to nail down a time, when Madison smiled apologetically and pushed End.

She leaned against the cushions and waited. Emily and Christina were probably mashed against the door frame, eavesdropping. They’d check in soon enough.

“So …” As if on cue, Christina peeked into the room. Her blue eyes worried, shoulders rising to her ears. “None of them work?”

Madison blinked. Maybe those dresses weren’t all as bad as she’d thought—surely at least one was a keeper?

Then again, why not pretend to hate them? It was good to shake people up. Make them try harder. Sharpen their game.

She scrunched her nose and shook her head. She had a long, hot summer of talk shows, movie promos, and photo shoots. Christina would have to exert a little more effort.

“From what I hear, Heather’s dying to wear the black one,” Christina said.

Madison crossed her legs and purposely nudged a still-sleeping Blue with her toes, amused by the way his ears perked up for a second before flopping down again. The thought of her annoying former costar brought a scowl to her face. Heather was always trying to promote herself through her connections, no matter how tenuous, to bigger celebrities, and Madison would never forgive herself for having fallen for it.

It was back in the early days when they’d first met. Back when she didn’t really know anyone and was so grateful to make a friend in a town where she didn’t have any, she ignored Heather’s more alarming traits—her pathological competitiveness among them. Though as soon as Madison hit it big, her star blazing so bright Heather’s was reduced to a flicker, the snide comments, thinly veiled insults, and fits of jealousy increased to where Madison could no longer overlook them. So she cut Heather off; visited her local dog shelter; found her new best friend, Blue; and never looked back. And yet, Heather still continued to stalk her, always tagging her on Twitter, or trying to copy Madison’s every move, like there was a formula for success other than hard work, determination, and a little sprinkle of fairy dust. What a bore.

“Well, I think the only reason she wants it is because she thinks you want it.” Christina turned toward the rolling rack and started closing the heavy bags so she could haul them back to her car—the sight of which made Madison feel a little sad for rushing the process.

After the fiasco with Heather, Madison hadn’t made other friends. She had plenty of hangers-on, sure, but not a single bestie. The problem with girls (the nice ones, not the crazy ones like Heather) was they always wanted to delve too deep. To share and confide, to glean her innermost thoughts, explore the territory of their mutual mommy and daddy issues, and, unlike boys, they couldn’t be dissuaded with sex (or at least not most of them); they demanded answers instead. It was the sort of intimacy Madison just couldn’t risk. The moments spent trying on clothes and gossiping with Christina were as close as Madison got to girl bonding.

“Well, won’t she be disappointed to learn I rejected it.” Madison was determined to delay Christina’s departure for as long as she could. “Unless we don’t tell her. Might be fun to watch her try to trump me in yet another tireless round of Who Wore It Better?”

Christina grinned knowingly. She had a reputation for being the best, limiting her list of clients to the topmost members of the Hollywood elite. “I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon.”

Madison’s lips curved into a half smile as she nudged Blue again with her toes. “You’ve been here for over an hour and the only gossip I get from you is about Heather? Are you holding out on me?”

Christina shot her an alarmed look, and then seeing Madison was joking (well, kind of), she relaxed and said, “It’s been a slow week. But I did hear something about a competition that Ira Redman’s running. Have you heard about it? He’s posted flyers all over town.”

Madison shot her a curious look. She knew Ira the way she knew most people connected to the industry—through the party, charity, and awards shows circuit. Of course she was aware of his reputation as the nightclub czar of LA, everyone was, but most of their contact had been relegated to Ira trying to lure her to his clubs through flattery and gifts. For her last birthday he’d sent her a red Hermès Kelly bag, which cost three times more than the Gucci bag her agent had sent. She’d quickly unwrapped it, added it to her collection of designer handbags, and told Emily to send him a thank-you card.

“Anyway, it’s something to do with promoting his clubs, but I have a friend on the inside who says you’re on his list of gets. So prepare for a bunch of desperate kids trying to lure you in!”

Madison settled deeper into the cushions, a sigh of contentment escaping her lips. So what if her life was filled with suck-ups and sycophants—all of them handsomely paid to fluff her ego and laugh at her jokes? She was still the luckiest person she knew, living the kind of gilded existence most people couldn’t conceive of. And wasn’t one of the major benefits of being rich and famous the unfettered access to all the right things?

The right table in a crowded restaurant with a three-hour wait.

The right first-class seat on an overbooked flight.

The right VIP pass to any concert or sporting event worth seeing.

The right clothes arriving straight to her door for her to try on at her leisure.

The right team of people who kept her life running safely and smoothly, for which she paid dearly.

She’d worked hard for the privilege and saw no reason not to milk it.

If Ira Redman wanted to enlist a bunch of kids to flatter her, who was she to stop him?

“Come back tomorrow morning,” she said, assuming Christina would move any other appointments she might have. “And bring me something pretty. I want to leave Jimmy speechless. Oh, and get me a list of those kids from your friend. I like to know who’s stalking me.”