Page 50 of Fame and Obsession

“Phoebe...” a voice rumbles to my right.

“I’m not sure how that would fit into Vinyl’s editorial content, but I guess there’s—”

“Phoebe...” The voice becomes assertive, with a hint of amusement.

“—a way to make it work. Everyone is connected to entertainment, right?”

“Phoebe!”

“What?” I shout. Spinning around, I shoot him a death glare.

Julian chuckles and nods at Ellison. “If you’ll shut up for two seconds, she’ll explain.”

I don’t want her to explain. I want to stab him in the eye with my pen. Instead, I shift my attention back to Ellison and fume quietly.

“Bite and beauty—you’re a commodity, Dixie.” She smiles, gesturing in DeMarcus’s direction. “Hold on to this one, Vic, she’s a rare bird.”

Yeah, a fucking phoenix.

She shifts the conversation back to me. “Most people don’t realize the majority of autobiographies are written by a ghostwriter. You know, brains behind the brawn type of deal.” She stops and nods to Julian. “No offense.”

He smiles. “None taken.”

“A ghostwriter weaves the celebrity’s tales into an amazing literary work, making the public think they’ve turned into Hemingway,” she explains with a hearty chuckle. “Hell, if it weren’t for ghostwriters, we’d be selling books full of Penthouse Forum letters.”

Everyone in the room laughs, except for me. There’s nothing funny about any of this.

When the merriment calms, Ellison shakes her bouffant toward Julian. “This is Julian Bale. He fronts the new rock group Lords of Lyre. They recently signed with Surge Records. Are you a fan, Dixie?”

Julian’s arrogance overpowers the room. I want to scream that I’m not his fan, his groupie, or his princess. I’m nothing to him but a prize at the bottom of a box of Frosted Stalker Flakes.

However, I hold my composure. He’s knocked me off-balance everywhere else, but I won’t let him rattle me at work.

“I’m not into that genre, but I’ve heard their music,” I say, a smug grin creeping across my face. “My roommate is obsessed with Mr. Bale.”

“Oh, honey, what red-blooded woman isn’t?”

Damn it. That backfired.

Tapping my pen on the table, I laugh nervously.

“MetroGroup and Surge have agreed to commission an autobiography on this man. Victor and I thought you two should formally meet since you’ll be writing it.”

The pen flips wildly from my hand, scattering across the table into DeMarcus’s lap. “I’m sorry, what?”

Without giving me a second glance, DeMarcus calmly picks up my pen and sets it on the table.

“Well, I’m told you covered the Lords of Lyre album release on Friday for Vinyl.” She looks at me for confirmation, and I nod, too in shock for words. “The timing couldn’t have been more perfect for Ralston Media,” she continues, slapping a hand on the table. “Julian’s publicist loved your writing and contacted us to specifically request your collaboration.”

What writing?

The whole operation reeks of Julian’s masterful string pulling. “Ellison, I appreciate the offer, but I work full time at Vinyl.”

“Oh please.” She waves her hand in the air. “Victor can secure your job while you work with Julian for the next six months.”

“Six months?” I choke on the words.

“Greatness doesn’t happen overnight, Dixie doll.”

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