Page 2

She may have her hands full trying to spin this PR shit show into something a little more manageable, but I can’t help but find a little amusement in the fact that this is at least a tiny bit her fault. After all, I wouldn’t be Hollywood’s bad girl if it weren’t for her strategic plan.

I’m just the monster she and my mother created. What happened to the whole “no press is bad press” argument?

Now they want to backtrack? It doesn’t work like that.

Truth be told, it doesn’t matter what I do. People are going to think what they want about me. And there’s nothing I—or anyone else, for that matter—can say or do to change their minds.

Not even marrying my costar, Hollywood’s sexiest man alive and ever-charming ladies’ man, Augustus Wilde…who evidently deserves better, according to the comment section.

“Sorry I’m late!” my mother says, bursting into the room. This morning, she looks like Business Barbie in her cobalt-blue blazer and matching skirt tailored perfectly to her Pilates-sculpted body. Her glossy, dark brown hair, nearly identical to mine, apart from my bangs—which she doesn’t have the face shape to pull off—is neatly pinned in a chignon at the nape of her neck.

One thing about Daphne Blakely is that she’s always going to look the part—her audacity knows no bounds. She’s a bombshell. Once an aspiring actress and model herself, she was scouted in her early twenties while working at a high-end gentlemen’s club. She knows what her beauty can buy her, and she’s never been shy about cashing in.

Taking the seat beside me, she immediately inserts herself into the conversation. “You wouldn’t believe the swarm of paparazzi outside.”

Her sweet, floral perfume makes me want to gag. I slide my chair, putting as much distance between us as I can, stopping only when the air returns to the way it's intended—musty and stagnant.

The corners of her lips curl into an almost smirk. “For a moment, I think they must’ve thought I was you,” she says with a laugh, before taking a sip of her coffee, her deep burgundy lipstick leaving a stain on the top of the cup.

I roll my eyes but keep my thoughts to myself.

With the amount of attention and energy she has for my career, you’d think it was her reputation on the line. But considering I’m her source of income, I suppose, not unlike Claire, she has a personal interest invested in my success.

“Kira, I’m going to need you to take this a little more seriously,” Claire scolds, as I continue glaring at my mother, who seems oblivious to my annoyance with her.

My mother places a hand over mine. “I think she’s still in shock. Aren’t you, honey?”

“Yeah… It’s been a lot to deal with,” I say through clenched teeth, then jerk my hand away and reach for my water. I’m too damn tired for her fake-ass maternal bullshit right now.

My mother looks at Claire and my unamused attorney, who’s yet to have spoken a word. “So what’s the plan? What’s our next move?”

Tabitha Jones is the best in the industry, though she isn’t exactly known for her bedside manner. Most people find her abrasiveness intimidating and sometimes even cruel. But in a world chock-full of bullshitters, I find her brutal candor to be a breath of fresh air.

“Go ahead, tell her,” Claire urges, her voice sounding impatient.

“Tell me what?” I ask, looking around. I thought this was going to be more of a slap-on-the-wrist kind of meeting than a more bad-news thing.

With a heavy sigh, Tabitha says, “It’s worse than we were hoping for.”

“What’s worse?”

She glances down at her notes and licks her thumb before flipping the page. “This could give Augustus the grounds to get every bit of what he’s asking in the divorce settlement.”

“Oh, my God. Not this shit again.” I let my head fall onto the glossy table with a heavy thud.

As if my life being determined by committee wasn’t bad enough, I can’t even get divorced without their stamp of approval. Now she’s telling me the court may actually side with him?

I was far too young and naive to have any business getting married—much less signing a prenup without having my own attorney read it first. But I did, and now I get to pay the price for not reading the fine print. The price being over half of my net worth…plus the house and the cars and anything else that was purchased in his name.

To put it simply, I’m getting fucked. And definitely not in a fun way.

How was I supposed to know the nice man I was in love with would turn out to be a manipulative asshole?

Where was Daphne and her maternal instincts on that one?

Note to self: whatever your mother’s advice is, always do the opposite.

“The court doesn’t look kindly on things like this. Especially with your negative public perception and history of erratic behavior,” Tabitha continues.