Under the Lights by Dahlia Adler Page A

fragrance non-compete.”
    â€œAnything else?”
    â€œYes. Your mother called. Twelve times. Which is why I’m here.”
    Shit.
“My mother called you?”
    â€œApparently at least one of you thought it was relevant to tell me that you’re signed on for a reality show.”
    â€œI’m
not
,” I assure her.
Not until I get desperate.
    â€œWell, she seems to think that you are, as long as you’re living in their beach house. You
are
still living there, aren’t you?”
    I don’t say anything. She already knows the answer.
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell me about this, Josh? I’m your
agent
. Dealing with your work is my job.”
    â€œBecause I’m not doing it, and this doesn’t count as work. She’s just desperate for attention now that her show’s been canceled, and this is the only way she can get it. They won’t give her the show unless I agree to be on it.”
    Holly raises an eyebrow. “Really.”
    Statement, not a question. Which means she definitely has a very bad idea brewing right now.
    â€œDon’t even think about it, Holly.”
    â€œ
You
need to work, Joshua. If you can line something else up, fine, but until you start taking your auditions seriously, I don’t know what else to do with you. If you want to keep me on as your agent, you’re going to need something to show for your efforts. Even if it’s reality TV.”
    â€œSeriously?”
    â€œSeriously. Or, you know, you can just read the
Wings
script and call me when you’re done. You nail that audition, there’s nothing to worry about.”
    Ugh, so
that
was her plan—blackmail me into the stupid audition. I should’ve guessed. “Yeah. Fine.”
    She heads out, but stops in the open doorway. “And Josh?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œGet a publicist.”

    It’s always been one of my biggest fears that one night I’d be out at a club and realize I’m completely over this shit. I’m not quite there yet, but right now, buzzed on drinks I’ve had a billion times before, chickin my lap who looks exactly like the last three who’ve been in my lap, I’m pretty fucking bored.
    I have to adjust the girl to reach the phone in my pocket, but I’m pretty sure she’s too blitzed to care. She’s been alternating between touching my junk and tossing back shots for I don’t even know how long, and if she’s noticed that I’m not paying her any attention, I can’t tell.
    Of course, Holloway’s not even here. He’s off at James Gallagher’s in-fucking-credible estate in Napa, getting wooed for yet another huge-budget movie. Because locking in the Lassiter role wasn’t enough. For someone who hates attention, he’s getting a shit-ton of it all of a sudden; I can’t even remember the last time I saw him for more than five minutes. I know he’s just keeping himself busy to keep his mind off the fact that Ally’s gone, but fuck, where did my best friend go?
    I whip out my phone and text him.
R u back yet? Bored.
    His response comes back thirty seconds later.
No, I’m not back. I’m in the Gallaghers’ guest house, hiding.
    Well. Whatever’s going on there sounds more interesting than my night. “Sweetheart, time to go,” I tell the chick in my lap, pushing her up lightly. Then I flag down the waitress, tell her to surprise me, and text Liam back.
Imma need more than that.
    He’s got a 25yo wife w/busy hands. Groped me @ dinner, grabbed my ass on the way out, and now she wants to meet up in the hot tub.
    Yet another thing to hashtag #LiamProblems. The guy gets more unwanted potential ass than anyone I know, and it’s completely wasted on him.
She hot?
    Yup.
    So stop hiding
, I write back, because I know there’s no shot in hell he’d ever screw around on Ally, and I like being a dick.
    Don’t be a dick.
    I