Sweet Little Lies: An LA Candy Novel

“Fine, fine.”

Madison watched Veronica as she slid into the seat across from her. The forty-something woman was tiny—five feet tall and petite—with short red hair and piercing light blue eyes behind stylish black Chanel frames. Her simple black suit with pearls was at odds with the tacky decor in the Blue Dolphin.

Even though Veronica was physically diminutive, most people in Hollywood were terrified of her. And for good reason. As the editor in chief of Gossip magazine, Veronica could make or break a person’s reputation and career with just one well-timed, well-placed story or photo.

A person like, say, Jane Roberts.

“Enjoy yourself in Cabo?” Veronica asked.

“The weather was to die for.”

“Anything you want to share?” Veronica gazed squarely at Madison.

Madison stirred uncomfortably. Veronica had the weirdest way of staring at a person and not breaking eye contact, even for a second. It was creepy.

“You know, it was all baking on the beach and downing margaritas,” Madison said, shrugging.

Veronica took a sip of her drink. “Well, I certainly appreciate your emailing me from Cabo with your location. My photographer flew in and got some great shots of Jane.”

“Did he get any of me?” Madison said, remembering the guy with the aviators. At Veronica’s silence, she continued, “I had to sneak into town to send you that email, ’cause our resort has no internet access, and—”

“Yes, yes, I’m grateful,” Veronica cut in, not sounding appreciative at all.

Madison flinched. The woman owed her, big-time. Why wasn’t she being nicer? Maybe she needed reminding.

“So. How are the newsstand sales of the big Jane/ Braden/Jesse issue?” Madison asked, taking a sip of her wine.

Veronica’s blue eyes lit up. “Excellent. The numbers are incredible. You really came through with those photos.”

Madison smiled smugly.

“I’m curious, though. How, exactly, did you obtain them?”

“I know a photographer. He’s not afraid of heights, if you know what I mean.” Veronica just stared at her, so Madison continued to explain. “There’s a big tree near Jane’s bedroom window, and she never closes her curtains, and…well, you can guess the rest.”

“Impressive.”

“So, will those pictures from Cabo be part of a follow-up story?” Madison asked.

“Yes, of course. I have reporters keeping tabs on both Jesse and this Braden guy. Apparently Braden flew out to New York City the day before yesterday. From what I gather, he and Jesse have been friends for a while, but no one knew who Braden was. One day he’s an unknown wannabe actor living in the shadow of his best friend; the next day everybody’s talking about him. The power of publicity, right? As for Jesse…well, it’s been less than a week since the story broke, but during that short time our Jesse’s been busy. He’s been spotted at Crown Bar with some blonde, then Les Deux with another girl. I guess someone’s trying really hard to prove that he’s over Jane.”

“Interesting,” Madison said, although really, it wasn’t interesting at all. Who cared about Braden or Jesse? She wanted to get the subject back to what really mattered: her. “Listen. About our deal.”

“Deal?”

Madison felt heat rising to her cheeks. “Yes, deal. You told me that if I got you dirt on Jane, you would put me in your magazine.”

“Yes, yes, of course. I’ll have one of my reporters call you first thing tomorrow. Oh, except…it’s Christmas, right? Maybe the day after.” Veronica cocked her head. “Funny, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“That you, Madison Parker, are spending Christmas Eve plotting against one of your best and, as I understand, only friends.”

Madison glared. “She’s not one of my best friends. I have other friends. Lots of them. Besides, Christmas Eve isn’t over yet. I have plans.”

“Of course you do.” Veronica picked up her scotch and took a sip, never breaking eye contact with Madison.

Madison looked away, wanting so badly to say what she was thinking, which was that it didn’t seem like Veronica had any warm, fuzzy Christmas Eve plans, either. But Madison knew better than to bite the hand she was hoping would feed her.

“Bitch,” Madison murmured.

“What?” Derek rolled over from his side of the bed and gazed at her, confused.

Madison shook her head. “Nothing. Sorry. I was just thinking about this woman I had a drink with tonight.”

“Oh,” he said, glancing at the clock on her nightstand. “Damn. I’ve gotta go. It’s almost midnight, and…” His voice trailed off.

“Don’t worry about it. Go, go.”

Derek stood up, picked up a dove gray Zegna dress shirt from the floor, and shrugged it on. “Hey, I left your Christmas present under your tree.”

Madison grinned. “You did? Am I gonna love it?”

“You’re gonna love it. Oh, and I mailed in your other Christmas present this morning. January rent.”

“Awesome. Thanks, sweetie.”

“No, I’m the one who should thank you.” He leaned over, cradled her face in his hands, and kissed her.

Madison kissed him back, as always managing to (almost) ignore the cold touch of his platinum wedding band against her skin.

5 CHRISTMAS EVE WITH THE HARPS (#ulink_cc0aea07-46df-533a-91a9-214a0baa3c95)

“Could you pass the smoked trout, darling?” Scarlett’s father said to her mother.

“Yes, of course, sweetheart. Scarlett, would you like another oyster with mignonette sauce?”

“Umm…sure.”

Silence followed, filled with only the clinking of silverware against dishes. Scarlett glanced over her shoulder at Dana, who was making a frantic rolling motion with her hands, which Scarlett translated to mean, Please keep the conversation going, already. Any second now, she would be sending Scarlett another text: CD U TALK ABOUT CHRISTMASES FROM YR CHILDHOOD? ANY FUNNY STORIES? WHAT ABOUT THE BEST AND WORST PRESENTS U EVER GOT? WHAT ABOUT…

“So…skiing was awesome today, wasn’t it?” Scarlett managed as she slurped down another oyster without grimacing. (Why did they have to have the consistency of snot?) She would normally ignore Dana’s TMs, but she didn’t want to come across as being even more awkward and conversationally challenged than her parents.

“Yes, excellent,” her father agreed.

“A little crowded for my taste,” her mother said.

More silence. Scarlett stared at the hideous all-white centerpiece (tall white candles, twinkling white lights, and a pair of fake white kissing doves nestled in a bed of white leaves and berries) and tried to think of something else to say.