“There’s Teddy,” Sunny said, pointing to a man waiting outside the terminal wearing cargo shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, with a briefcase wedged between his feet like he was nervous someone might steal all of his very important papers with all the same information he could easily find on his phone if he only knew how to use it.
He began to walk toward us the moment he saw Sunny’s baby-blue nine-year-old Toyota Prius covered in unmistakablebumper stickers likemy other ride is a dildoanddon’t you wish your girlfriend was pagan like me?
Sunny put the car in park, despite the crushing traffic behind us, and got out to help me with my bags, which barely fit in a trunk that was roughly the size of my back pocket.
“You’re gonna kill it, Bee,” she whispered over the honking horns. “You’re a star. Don’t forget it. Nolan Shaw won’t know what hit him.”
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” I whispered back. “But you have to let me go before someone kills us with their Tesla.”
“Fuck your Tesla,” Sunny shouted over my shoulder to no one and everyone, and then to me, she said, “I packed an extra travel-size lube in your backpack. In case of emergency.”
Chapter Two
Nolan
Christmas Notch, Vermont, was still technically and legally an actual town, but it was hard to remember that when I was dodging chattering extras, crew members laden with equipment, and one very harried production assistant on my way into the Hope Channel production office.
Nestled against the picturesque backdrop of snowy mountains and pristine forest, the small town was a pretty clutch of brick buildings, glass-fronted shops, and gorgeous Victorian houses. Ornate streetlamps lined the small roads, trees spread snow-covered branches everywhere, and, like a glittering ribbon wrapped around a gift box, a pretty, splashing creek ran along the edge of the town. It looked like a place from a postcard, which was why the Hope Channel set so many moviesthere—enough movies that the town’s entire economy hinged on hosting their productions and had for several years. Which meant even when it wasn’t the holidays, Christmas Notch stayed in Christmas mode year-round. There were always garlands strung from the windows and lights strung in the trees. The colossal outdoor Christmas tree never left the town square, and Christmas music played in every store, restaurant, and café no matter the season.
Everything about Christmas Notch was artificial and curated, but that didn’t bother me in the least. I was used toartificial and curated—I’d started my career in a reality-show boy band, after all.
What did bother me was the constant, incessant reminder of just how goddamn wholesome this whole venture was, and how verynotwholesome I was.
Focus, Nolan. It’s going to be fine. Everyone makes mistakes and all that.
I mean, not everyone gets caught in a hotel room with the sweetheart of American figure skating, along with two Dutch speed skaters and a minitrampoline. Anddefinitelynot everyone precedes an international Olympic scandal with weeklong parties featuring fountains of single-malt Scotch and naked mimes. Andoh my god, this movie was already a giant mistake. All of this was a giant mistake. I should get on a plane back to Kansas City right now and forget this stupid idea of rehabbing Nolan Shaw’s tarnished reputation. It was never going to work,it was never going to work—
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and my mind instantly dropped every thought that wasn’t about my family. I’d spentthe night awake on the phone with Mom, but what if today was another hard day? What if she’d needed something, and I hadn’t gotten it for her?
I stopped walking and hurried to pull my phone out of my pocket, my chest flooding with hot-cold panic as I fumbled my way to my messages. My sister’s latest text glowed up from the screen:
Mads:Mom’s sleeping now. Barb is here with Snapple.
Barb was our next-door neighbor, and she was an angel sent from heaven. (Snapple was her dog, and a demon.) Without Barb, I didn’t know what we’d do when Mom was having a rough time. I wouldn’t be able to go to work, and Maddie wouldn’t be able to go to school. I definitely wouldn’t be able to travel to Vermont as part of a moonshot scheme to somehow turn me into the kind ofPeople-magazine-friendly celebrity who got considered for lucrative gigs judging TV contests and stuff.
I texted Maddie and then put my phone back in my pocket, my acute panic fading into the low-key but constant worry I had whenever I couldn’t see her and Mom with my own two eyes. With Maddie, I only had the usual older brother fears that she would repeat all my mistakes, but with Mom...
Well, Mom was a different story.
I exhaled and tugged at the beanie covering my hair. I had to make this work. Not because I cared about being on judging panels or starring in a slew of made-for-TV movies, but because the INK money was gone—lost with our skeevymanager when he split town all those years ago—and my job working for my local community theater wasn’t enough to cover everything we needed.
And Mom couldn’t work, and Maddie was in high school, and I had no degrees, no real skills, nothing except a decent voice and a face people liked, and if that was all I had to work with to make sure Mom and Maddie were comfortable, then so be it. I would make it happen.
Which meant I had to be on time for this meeting with Gretchen if I wanted to make a good impression. If I wanted to show her that she hadn’t made a mistake casting a famously irresponsible, washed-up pop star as the hero in her movie.
The production office was on the opposite end of town from the inn where the cast and crew were staying, but as Christmas Notch was only four blocks wide, it wasn’t a long walk. And while it was definitely cold—the kind of cold that made me want to dunk my entire body into a vat of hot cocoa, and not in a fun, kinky way—the town’s sheltered position in the mountains meant there wasn’t much wind, so that was one good thing.
I arrived ten minutes early, which was, like, the first time I’d ever been that early to anything ever in my life, and I let myself inside the large house that had been converted into a production office. It was one of those Victorian mansions that looked like a giant dollhouse, with lacy wooden trim and a big front porch. Even in daylight, I could see electric candles glowing from the tall windows and a Christmas tree winking from the very top window above the door. Ridiculous.
And the minute I walked inside, I collided with a woman ina long floral dress and snow boots. She had a fair, freckled complexion and a blond messy bun that was genuinely messy, and she wore big, square-framed glasses that dominated her entire face. When I caught her elbow to steady her, she beamed dreamily up at me.
I was pretty sure this was Pearl Purkiss, the screenwriter.
“Gretchen!” she called. “The duke has arrived!”
A lot of former teen stars were royal fuckups, like me.
Gretchen Young was not a royal fuckup.
