Shopaholic to the Stars (Shopaholic #7)

Shopaholic to the Stars (Shopaholic #7) Page 90

“Stop!” I say, as reality swoops in. “This is all too fast.” I lower my voice a little. “Don’t you understand, everything you’re saying, it’s the exact opposite of what Luke was saying. He wants it all to go away.”

“Sure.” Aran nods. “Becky, what you have to remember is, Luke doesn’t see you as a client. He sees you as his wife. He’s very protective of you and Minnie. Of course he is. Me? I see everyone as a client. Or potential client.” He grins. “We can discuss that later.”

The buzzer sounds again and I jump.

“Leave it,” says Aran. “Let them wait.”

“So, what will all this mean for Sage?”

“Sage!” He gives a short bark of a laugh. “If that girl goes any further off the rails, she’ll find herself in the ravine. She’ll be OK. We’ll haul her back on track, Luke and I. She’ll kick and scream and it won’t be pretty. But, then, nothing about Sage is. Except her face. When she’s been in makeup,” he adds. “You don’t want to see her before that.” He grimaces. “Brutal.”

“Rubbish!” I give a shocked giggle. “She’s beautiful!”

“If you say so.” He raises his slanty eyebrows comically.

He’s so irreverent and so unruffled. It’s like he’s enjoying all of this. I gaze at him, trying to work him out.

“You don’t seem as angry about all this as Luke. Hasn’t Sage messed up your strategy?”

“Quite possibly. But I like a challenge.” He shrugs. “Stars are like any other investment. May go up, may go down.”

“And Lois? Do you think this will …” I can hardly bear to say it. “Ruin her?” I feel a fresh clench of guilt in my stomach. If I’d just kept my mouth closed. If I’d just kept my promise. I’m haunted by the sight of Lois swaying in shock on the stage. She looked so desperate. And it was all my fault.

“Depends how she plays it,” says Aran cheerily. “She’s a bright one, Lois. I wouldn’t put it past her to come out on top.”

I can’t believe he’s so heartless.

“Didn’t you see her?” I exclaim. “She looked like she was about to collapse! I thought she was going to faint right there on the stage!”

“Probably didn’t eat enough at dinner.” Aran’s phone buzzes. “I must go. But we’ll talk. And Becky …” He gives me a significant look. “Don’t leave it too long. Remember, if you want to capitalize on this moment, you need the heat. And the heat won’t last forever. Hi,” he says into the phone.

“Wait! Aran.” I lower my voice and glance toward the kitchen. “If you were going to give me some advice on how to play it today … what would it be?”

“Hold on a moment,” says Aran into the phone, and comes back toward me. “I’m not advising you officially, you understand, Becky.” He also glances toward the kitchen.

“I understand,” I practically whisper.

“But if I had a client in your situation who wished to make the most of her exposure, I’d advise her to be seen. Get out there. Don’t say anything. Stay dignified, pleasant, going about your daily business. But be seen. Be photographed. And think about what you wear,” he adds. “Be casual but cool. Make your outfit a talking point.”

“OK,” I say breathlessly. “Thanks.”

While Aran takes his call, I head to the window on the stairs again and peep out. There are more press gathered outside the gates. Waiting for me. I’m hot! Aran’s words keep going round my head. I mean, he’s right. All this time I’ve been trying to make it in Hollywood, and now here’s a golden opportunity, right in my lap, and if I don’t take advantage of it I may never have the chance again.…

“Becky?”

Luke’s voice makes me jump. “Made you that cup of coffee.”

“Thanks,” I say, and smile nervously at him as I take it. “This is all a bit weird, isn’t it?” I gesture to the crowd of journalists.

“Don’t worry. It’ll all die down.” Luke gives me a quick hug. “Why don’t you and Minnie and the others watch movies in the basement? Then you don’t even have to see them.”

“Right,” I say after a pause. “Yes. We could do that.” I glance out of the window again. I can see a camera with NBC on it. NBC!

My mobile rings yet again, and I pull it out, expecting to see Unknown Number. I’ve already had about six journalists leaving messages on the phone today; God knows where they got my number from—