Sugar and Spice. Lauren Conrad
“But didn’t Jesse find out from our magazine when the pictures—”
“All I know is, Jane blames me,” Madison cut in. “It’s crazy. I would never do anything like that to her. I loved her like a sister. I still do.”
Tiffani nodded and scribbled some more.
This is soooo easy, Madison thought.
Things hadn’t looked very good for Madison last month, when Jane got hold of some emails proving that Madison had leaked those photos to Gossip. Any other girl might have given up, under the circumstances. But not Madison. She not only refused to confess or apologize to Jane … she decided to go on the offensive, talking to every reporter who would listen about her way-more-interesting version of events.
Madison studied her new set of dark purple acrylic nails. The nails on her right hand spelled LOVE! with tiny rhinestones; the nails on her left spelled FAME! “And that’s not all Jane did,” she said to Tiffani. “Jesse forgave her for hooking up with Braden, and they got back together right after New Year’s, right? But Jane was still obsessed with Braden. She was hanging out with him and having secret meet-ups, and that’s why Jesse dumped her again. And now she’s not speaking to me, like it’s my fault she cheated on her boyfriend.”
Tiffani whistled. “Wow, this is great stuff.”
Madison smiled smugly. “I know.” She didn’t tell Tiffani that she’d left out a few important details, like the fact that Jane and Braden only had one “secret meet-up”—a very public lunch at Barney Greengrass—or that Jane told Jesse about it herself, the same night.
Tiffani glanced up from her notepad. “Anything else?”
“I think that’s all. You’ll be the first to know if something else comes up,” Madison lied. “Soooo. When’s this story going to run?”
“Veronica told me to tell you she’s clearing space for this week’s edition. And if there’s a follow-up story, one of us may be calling you for quotes.”
“Awesome.”
Veronica Bliss, the editor in chief of Gossip, was really coming through for Madison lately. (Madison had spotted Veronica at the party earlier, having an intense-looking convo with Trevor. She had also spotted Veronica’s former assistant Diego—the rat who had dug up the incriminating emails against Madison—chatting up a publicist, presumably to get dish for his annoying new blog, D-Lish.) Veronica and Madison had had a long-standing arrangement: dirt on Jane in exchange for flattering pieces about Madison in the magazine. Madison had made that deal with Veronica last fall because she wasn’t enjoying anywhere near the fame she deserved. Back then, all anyone could talk about was Jane, Jane, Jane. Puke! Madison had been forced to help things along a bit by making sure the world knew what a pathetic mess their perfect, all-American princess really was.
And it was working. Trevor had already talked to Madison about giving her more airtime this season, which must mean that he planned to give Jane less. Madison was all over the media, too. Not only Gossip but the other major tabloids were clamoring to interview her—about the show and her rift with Jane, sure, but also about her opinions on fashion, her love life (she was careful not to mention her current, very married boyfriend, Derek), and more. It was a huge change from a few months ago, when she could barely get editors and reporters to return her calls.
As Tiffani wrote down some final notes, Madison fluffed her long, platinum blond hair and gazed out at her adoring fans. She assumed they were her fans, anyway; after all, Jane was old news, Scarlett was a complete freak, and Gaby was … well, she was about as interesting as last year’s diet fad.
A tall girl wearing a sorry-looking boyfriend shirt over leggings came running up to her. “Oh, there you are!” she said, panting. “I’ve been looking all over for you. You need to get over to the terrace, like, ASAP.”
“Who are you?” Madison snapped. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“I’m Alli. From the show. We’re about to go live, and they need you and the other girls to do the opening segment.”
“Oh!”
Madison said a hasty good-bye to Tiffani and followed Alli in the direction of the terrace. She wished she could check herself in a mirror, although she knew they’d have stylists waiting to touch her up. Besides, what was she worried about? She looked amazing in her shimmering purple tank dress that hugged her perfect size-0 body. She felt amazing, too. Tonight was the start of a brand-new season: her season. She was on a roll, and nothing was going to stop her.
When her cell buzzed as she hurried to the terrace, she pulled it out quickly and checked the screen. It was a text from a private number.
Madison frowned. It couldn’t be from that person … could it? Biting back her anxiety, she clicked on the message.
WHY R U IGNORING MY TEXTS? I TOLD U I WOULD GIVE U 30 DAYS TO COME UP WITH THE MONEY. WELL YOUR 30 DAYS ARE UP SO NOW IM HERE TO COLLECT IN PERSON. BTW PURPLE ISNT YOUR COLOR.
Madison stopped in her tracks and gazed wildly around the crowd. Was the person here, tonight, watching her? How could that be? She scanned the sea of faces, but no one stood out. A Hollywood Now TV camera zoomed in on her, then swiveled away. A couple of girls took pictures of her with their cell phones, and another one yelled, “Ohmigod, will you autograph my shirt?” The girl’s red tee said TEAM MADISON across the front of it.
Normally, Madison would have stopped to chat up such a devoted fan. But the text had thrown her. She’d been getting these messages for months now. At first whoever sent them hinted at knowing “who Madison really was,” and then actually mailed Madison a school picture of herself from five years ago: when she was fifteen, and not so attractive, and not going by the name of Madison Parker.
“Madison? We kinda need to rush here,” Alli called out to her.
“Huh? Oh, right.” Madison took a Sharpie out of her silver clutch and scrawled her name quickly on the girl’s shirt. “Thanks for watching the show,” she said without taking her eyes off the crowd. But what was she looking for? She didn’t have a single clue about her blackmailer’s appearance, despite having hired a private detective to track the person down. Unfortunately, he had nothing yet.
“Ohmigod, she wrote on my shirt!” the girl screamed to her friends.
Madison tried to forget about the text as Alli led her to the terrace, where a couple of PopTV cameramen were setting up, and Dana and a director named Matt were barking orders at the sound and light guys. Half a dozen stylists were busily touching up Gaby, Scarlett, and … Jane. Ugh. As if Madison didn’t have enough to worry about right now. Jane, who looked almost fat in her ruffly black dress (well, maybe “fat” was an exaggeration), barely glanced her way. Whatever, bitch, Madison thought, narrowing her eyes. Still, it was getting ridiculous, their not talking to each other. She was going to have to do something about that.
“Madison, there you are.” Out of nowhere, Trevor Lord sauntered up to her, looking suave and sophisticated as always in a tailored black suit and white shirt, no tie. “Did Dana fill you in already?”
Madison shook her head. “About what?”
Trevor put a hand on her elbow. “We need you four girls to do the intro segment together, then maybe one or two more after that. We were originally going to have it be Jane and Scarlett on the terrace, then cut away to you and Gaby at the pool … but, well, change of plans.” He lowered his voice and added, “Sorry, they sprung this on me. Is it going to be okay with the two of you up there together?”
“I’m not going to be the problem,” Madison huffed.
“Good. I need you to behave, okay? Just read what’s on the teleprompter. Remember, this is live.”
“You know I always do whatever you say, Trevor.” Madison smiled sweetly at him.
Trevor smiled back. “Yes, I know.