Page 2 of Sweet as Sin (Bad Habit 1)
She ignored my question, pointing to a pair of French doors at the opposite end of the long marble entry hall. “They’ve got you set up in the front drawing room, through there. C’mon.”
Gazelle-like, she darted away before I could ask any more Miles-related questions. I dutifully followed, dragging behind me the rolling luggage carry-on that contained all my supplies.
I’d worked once before at Greystone, and knew the general layout of the place. The Tudor-style former home of an oil tycoon had been turned into a public park owned by the city of Beverly Hills, and was now used for special events, film sets, and posh weddings. The main house had fifty-five rooms on over forty thousand square feet. The grounds sported formal gardens, terraces, reflection ponds, fountains galore, an Olympic-sized pool, and sixteen acres of some of the most expensive land in the northern hemisphere.
In comparison, it made my tiny bungalow in Venice look like a skid row cardboard shanty.
Not that I’m complaining. I love my shanty. Owning a house at the age of twenty-five in LA is about as miraculous as the second coming. A million bucks in LA gets you a house the size of a Cheez-It, built in the fifties. And forget about a yard.
But as a little girl I’d dreamed of owning my own house the way other girls dreamed of marrying Ryan Gosling, so I skipped college, went straight to work out of high school, saved every cent, and made a few lucky investments. And now I was the proud owner of a Cheez-It myself.
Between the mortgage, the property taxes, the upkeep, and my demanding margarita addiction, I was dead broke. Hence my acceptance of today’s dreaded job. A girl’s gotta eat.
Or, in my case, drink.
Chloe had stopped just inside the French doors of the drawing room, and was looking back at me with a look I interpreted as either a warning or the sudden onset of abdominal cramps.
I stopped beside her. “What?”
“You know who that is, right?” She jerked her chin, and I followed her gaze.
Of course I knew. The entire world knew. Across the room in front of a lighted vanity, dressed in a plain white robe that did nothing to hide her amazing figure, lounged Avery Kane. Supermodel. Darling of the fashion world. Sometimes girlfriend of Bad Habit’s lead singer.
And, if the rumors were true, a world-class bitch.
“What’s she doing here? She’s supposed to be in Cannes for a Louis Vuitton shoot.”
“Word is, she’s playing Nico’s bride in the video. Had a fit when she found out that leggy redhead from the last season of So You Think You Can Dance had been hired, threw her weight around, got herself hired instead.”
“I thought Avery and Nico broke up?”
Chloe slid me a look. “For someone who says she hates celebrities, you sure know a lot about them.”
“I was channel surfing the other night and caught a segment of TMZ. Apparently Avery caught Nico with some groupie in the ladies’ room at The Ivy.”
Chloe eyed the miles of gleaming bare leg Avery had propped up on the vanity. “Anyone who would cheat on that needs to get his head checked.”
“Maybe she’s dumb as a post,” I suggested cheerfully. “And has BO.”
“Look at her, Kat. That girl does not have BO. Her farts probably smell like rose petals.”
I sighed. “If she even farts at all. Which she obviously doesn’t.”
The room bustled with cameramen, lighting crews, production assistants scurrying around with Starbucks cups in hand. Judging by the sheer amount of people and equipment, it looked like the shoot would be both indoors and out, but the band was nowhere in sight.
“All right. Can’t keep the beautiful people waiting. Want to go to Lula’s after?”
Lula’s, my favorite Mexican restaurant, was the one place they made margaritas exactly how I liked them: salty, sour, and wicked strong.
“Sure! Text me when you’re finished. I should be out of here soon. We’re pretty much done with the setup.”
“Figure on six or seven, I’ve gotta stay until the bitter end for retouching.”
“Perfect. Gives me time for a nap. I’ll tell Grace to meet us.”
Just as Chloe was about to go, it happened.
At first it was like this weird current of electricity surged through the room. Voices hushed, people stood straighter, the clamor of activity quieted. There was a sudden energy, as if everything were charged, but also an expectant stillness, like a held breath. Then the stillness gave way as a restless murmur moved through the crowd. The sense of energy ratcheted higher. Chloe and I turned, following the direction everyone else was looking, and there he was.
