I meant, what do you think about meeting up with them?”
Scarlett shrugged and said nothing.
Jane picked up her pizza slice and took a bite, wondering why she felt so flustered. Was Scarlett right? Did Caleb want to get back together with her? He did kind of flirt with her at the season premiere party, and he acted jealous when she was on the phone with Braden. But she had no interest in getting back together with him, even if she was dating these days. Which she definitely wasn’t. Besides, their breakup had been really hard on her, and it had taken her forever to get over him. They were in the perfect place now, as friends.
“He’s new in town and he just wants to hang out, that’s all,” Jane said after a moment.
Now it was Scarlett’s turn to give Jane an are you serious? look.
Madison sipped her soy chai latte and stared out at the unfamiliar Ventura Boulevard streetscape from beneath her oversize shades. Across the way from her café table was a high-rise office building, a McDonald’s, and a car wash flanked by two tired-looking palm trees. Depressing. Of course, Madison had no interest in returning to this place—or to the Valley, for that matter—in the near future. This had simply seemed to be the safest spot for her to meet the private detective today, away from paparazzi, who tended not to travel to this particular neighborhood.
“Another latte?” Her waitress, a young, not very pretty girl, had materialized by her side.
“I’m good, thanks.” Madison glanced distractedly at her BlackBerry.
“Are you … you’re on TV, aren’t you? Are you an actress?”
Madison froze, wondering how to respond. She seriously didn’t want to be recognized—not today. “Yeah, I wish,” she said, forcing a laugh. “People tell me that all the time. I was on Idol once, though. During the audition part. I got cut after one round. Maybe you recognize me from that?”
“Ohmigod, I love that show!” the girl gushed.
“Yeah, me too. Sorry, I’ve got to get this,” Madison said, pretending to be taking a call. “Hello? Oh, hey!”
The girl left to wait on another customer, and Madison set her phone down on the table. Where was he, anyway? He was five minutes late, and she didn’t like to be kept waiting. She also didn’t like having to use lame stories to fake being a nobody.
Because she was the opposite of a nobody these days. Fans came up to her on the street begging for autographs. Her appointment book was jammed with magazine interviews and press shoots. Someone from the PopTV publicity department had contacted her just today, saying that the Maxim people wanted her for a possible cover. A cover!
And last but not least, Trevor had arranged for her to get her amazing new job at Fiona Chen Events. Not that Madison gave a damn about being an event planner—she totally didn’t—but she was beyond excited about her big story line, working side by side with Jane on celebrity events and generating major frenemy drama. The idea of truly being one of the stars of the show—if not the star—made her feel almost dizzy with pleasure.
Of course, Madison had no idea how to actually be an event planner. But she figured Fiona didn’t care, since the old woman was just accommodating Trevor, anyway. Although it was not like there wasn’t anything in it for Fiona: Madison’s presence was going to mean increased visibility for the company, bringing a touch of much-needed glamour and style to the place, unlike boring, frumpy Jane and that mousy Hannah girl. Fiona’s client base was about to go through the roof, thanks to Madison.
A noisy black CRV pulled up to the curb, interrupting her thoughts. The car was at least ten years old, and badly in need of a new muffler. A thirty-something guy dressed in jeans and a navy polo stepped out.
“What took you so long?” Madison snapped at him when he joined her at her table.
“Traffic. Sorry.”
“What do you have for me?”
The waitress began to approach the table with an eager, helpful expression on her face, but the man waved her away and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a small manila envelope. He slid it across to Madison.
She hesitated only for a second before picking it up. She was finally going to learn the mystery blackmailer’s identity. Madison had hired the detective, Chris Reynolds, last month after the blackmailer gave her thirty days to come up with a quarter million dollars in exchange for keeping her past a secret. Chris had phoned her yesterday, telling her that he had tracked the person down and that he had a picture. Well, a mug shot, anyway. This was the moment of truth—and the beginning of the end of the dark cloud that had been hanging over Madison’s head. Nobody was going to take her fame or her (future) millions or her Maxim covers away from her—not after she had worked so hard to get them.
Madison ripped the envelope open with her thumbnail (one of the rhinestones on the letter F, for FAME!, came loose) and glanced at the picture inside. Shock rippled through her. “No way,” she said, staring at the picture. “No way!”
Chris leaned forward eagerly. “So you know who she is?”
“Oh, God. I don’t believe this,” Madison muttered to herself. “That bitch!”
“I take that as a yes, then.”
Madison’s head snapped up, and she focused her furious gaze on the detective. “Where’d you get this picture? Is she in L.A.?”
“The mug shot’s from a shoplifting arrest a couple weeks ago, in town, but they ended up letting her go. I won’t go into the details of how I managed to trace her email account. But bottom line, I also managed to trace a credit card, and as of yesterday, she was staying at one of the tourist hotels downtown. Unfortunately, it seems she checked out this morning. I’ve got an in with one of the front-desk clerks there, though. He thinks she’ll be in touch with him soon because she lost an earring and they’re looking for it in her old room.”
“Fine. Let me know as soon as you have a new address for her. I can take it from there.”
“Whatever you say. Do you have her real name? She’s been going under ‘Mildred Mains,’ but I’m assuming that’s an alias.”
“Mildred Mains? Are you serious?”
“Yeah. Sounds like someone’s grandma, right?”
“She is.”
Madison told him who the girl was. Chris raised his eyebrows in surprise and gave a low whistle.
“Did you understand a single word Professor Friedman was saying?” Chelsea Phibbs asked Scarlett.
Scarlett swung her backpack over her shoulder and turned to her friend, who was in her French novels lit seminar. Chelsea was smart and spoke almost
