Under the Lights

Dahlia Adler

Copyright © 2015 by Dahlia Adler

Sale of the paperback edition of this book without its cover is unauthorized.

Spencer Hill Contemporary / Spencer Hill Press

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

Contact: Spencer Hill Press,

27 West 20th Street, Suite 1102, New York, NY 10011 Please visit our website at www.spencerhillpress.com

First Edition: June 2015
Dahlia Adler

Under the Lights: a novel / by Dahlia Adler – 1st ed. p. cm.

Summary: Frenemies Josh and Vanessa are forced to co-star on TV, making for a tricky triangle when she falls for her publicist's

(female) intern.

The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this fiction: Advil, American Express, American Idol, Bacardi, Band-Aid, Bang & Olufsen, The Beatles, Ben Sherman, Beverly Hills 90210, Beyoncé, Bikram Yoga, BlackBerry, Blu-ray, Botox, (Los Angeles) Clippers, The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, Coke, Cosmo, Diet Coke, Entertainment Weekly, Escalade, FaceTime, The Foo Fighters, Fred Segal, Fresca, Grand Theft Auto, Gray's Papaya, In-N-Out, Instagram, iPod, Jack Daniels, Jacob the Jeweler, Jeep, Keurig, Korea Times, Louboutins, Louis Vuitton, NIN, Nirvana, Oreo, One Tree Hill, Patrón, Ping-Pong, Pinkberry, Post-it, Pumas, Radiohead, Rage Against the Machine, Range Rover, Screen Actors Guild Awards, Skinnygirl, Skype, Sherlock, Snow Queen, Stella Artois, System of a Down, Taylor Swift, Thermos, Transformers, Twitter, Yoda, Yves Saint Laurent, Vanity Fair, Victoria's Secret

Cover design by Maggie Hall
Interior layout by Jenny Perinovic
Cover image by Jen Grantham

ISBN 978-1-63392-017-0 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-63392-018-7 (e-book)

Printed in the United States of America

To Yoni and to Maggie,

for holding my hands through the best and the worst, both behind the scenes and under the lights

Either my best friend or my assistant is about to punch me in the face. As usual, the fact that they're dating really isn't doing me any favors.

“You barely even looked at any of them,” Ally Duncan complains through gritted teeth. She's been working for me for over a year, but her patience hasn't grown any in that time. I'd assume she just needs to get laid, but given she's been with Liam Holloway for almost as long as she's been with me, I'm all too nauseatingly aware that's not an issue.

“Josh, can you stop being a dick and just pick a script so she can get out of here?” Liam sounds pissed, like he's the one responsible for finding me a new project. Which, maybe he should be. If he'd convince his damn girlfriend to stick around LA instead of running off to college, I wouldn't have her shoving scripts in my face, desperate to make sure I've got one last job before she abandons me.

“How about you stay, and I let you pick one for me?” I suggest to Ally, handing back the pile of scripts. “There. Problem solved.”

She snorts. “Sure, I'll just tell Columbia I'm turning them down so I can spend another year getting your
dry cleaning and picking out jewelry for every girl you nail.”

“Wouldn't be the first time,” I remind her.

“Yeah, because my deferring last year was so obviously about my desire to be your slave.” Her phone beeps with a text, and I catch a quick roll of her eyes as she checks it. “It's Van. Again. I gotta go.” She presses a kiss to Liam's mouth before getting up from the pool chaise they're sharing and muttering loudly enough for me to hear, “Get him to pick one already, will you?” She drops the pile in his lap.

He squeezes her hand briefly, and we both watch her ass as she walks out to her car.

Liam turns to me as soon as she disappears. “Dude, you
have
to stop that.”

“What?” I ask innocently, taking a sip of beer from the bottle on the table next to me.

“She's going to New York, period. Refusing to pick a script isn't gonna keep her here.”

I raise my eyebrows and take another sip. “For someone who's supposedly in love with her, you're pretty damn chill about letting her go.”

“I'm not
letting
her do anything,” he says tightly. “This is her dream. She makes her own choices, and I respect them and want her to be happy.”

“So you're just…totally cool with the fact that your girlfriend is moving three thousand miles away. For four years.” Liam is so full of shit.

“She'll be home for breaks and summers.” He's obviously given himself this pep talk a few times. “Anyway, what am I supposed to do? Tell her not to go?”

I shrug. “Why not? I tell her that every day.”

“Because you're a selfish asshole.”

“Maybe, but at least I won't be spending four years jacking off to Skype.”

Liam scowls at me, and I'm guessing my grinning only makes it worse.

“Man, you're too easy,” I tell him, taking one last swig before putting the bottle down. “Gimme those scripts.”

He hands over the stack, and I lie back and check out the first one. The title screams sci-fi, and I toss it aside without reading it.

“I thought you were gonna take these seriously.”

“I am. And I seriously do not want to put on some lame-ass futuristic outfit and prance around like a Han Solo wannabe.” I check the next one.
Hmm, Meagan Scanlon.
It's tempting to consider, given she's definitely one of Hollywood's more bangable writers, but the title's a dead giveaway that this is yet another one of those Jane Austen chick-flick things.
Pass
.

“What's wrong with that one?”

“I have no interest in playing Bridget Jones with a dick.” My phone rings, and I put the scripts aside and check who's calling. Wyatt. “Hey, cuz.”

“Hey, your assistant still leaving?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I've got a friend who needs a job.”

I snort. Of course he does. My cousin attracts losers like a game of beer pong at a frat party, and has a new favor to ask of me every hour. That's what happens when your growth spurt never comes and you realize you peaked at eleven. “Is your friend hot?”

“Depends. How gay are you feeling today?”

“You stupid dick. I told you—no male assistants. Call me back when you find a hot
female
friend who needs a job washing my car in a thong.” I hang up and toss my phone on the pile of scripts.

“I thought the whole point of hiring Ally was that you wanted an assistant you weren't gonna try to nail,” says Liam.

“Yeah, well, I'm trying not to be too picky.”

“But no male assistants?”

“I don't want anyone around who's gonna steal my shit. That means clothing
or
chicks.”

“Did you seriously just refer to girls as your ‘shit'?” Liam rolls his eyes. “Christ, no wonder you're single.”

“Actually, I'm single because it's fun as hell, chicks are boring after a day, and I like to sleep in the middle of my bed.” I toss the last script—one of those ensemble pieces of shit that drop your cred faster than a crotch shot—and grab my phone back to mess around on the Internet. I fucking love adoring tweets. “Remember when you used to enjoy being single?”

“About a billionth as much as I enjoy not being single.”

I roll my eyes. “You're so whipped.”

“If you think I've got any shame about that, you're talking to the wrong guy.”

“Don't I know it.” The truth is, for all the shit I give him about Ally, it's cool to see Liam this happy. He's been through so much, I can't be pissed about this, no matter how badly I miss my top wingman. And at least Ally doesn't suck at life. “I forget sometimes that you're one of those happy pod people now.”

“You will be someday, too,” he assures me with a smug grin. “And when that happens, I'll laugh my ass off.”

“Not a chance. Lifetime bachelor, man.” I bring the beer back to my lips, but it's so warm it's like drinking piss. I put it back down. “You wanna grab some boards and go down to the beach?”

“Pick a script, Chester. Seriously. You haven't done anything but Aspen ads in months, and Ally's worried about you. Just
try
one so she can stop feeling like she's leaving a baby on a convent doorstep by abandoning you for Columbia, will you?”

“Oh, fuck off.” I reach back into the pile and grab one, then hand it to Liam without even looking. “There, now you can tell your girlfriend you did your job, which is really
her
job. And since I actually have you without her for five seconds, can we talk party?”

He groans, and I know what's coming. He's convinced Ally will hate having a goodbye party, but I don't give a crap, even though he's probably right. If I'm losing my assistant, I'm losing her in style.

“Don't even think about trying to talk me out of it,” I warn him. “This party is happening, and it's gonna be epic.”

“Talk to Vanessa about it,” he says with a sigh. “You know I suck at this.”

“Ah, yes, how
is
your former fake-girlfriend?”

Liam glares at me. “Never mind. You're beyond help.”

“Oh, buy a sense of humor, Holloway. You need to get out more. What are you doing tonight?”

“Reading scripts until Ally comes over for dinner. Probably watching a movie.”

“You two watch more movies than anyone I know,” I say with disgust, “which, considering we're both actors, is ridiculous. Please tell me you don't actually
watch
them.”

He shrugs, but he's incapable of stopping a smile from spreading across his face.

“Good man. Though I don't know how you guys manage to do the sleepover thing so often while she's
living at home. Doesn't she have mythical unicorn parents who actually give a crap?”

“Yeah—that's why we tell them she stays in your guest house when you keep her in Malibu too late. Thanks for the great excuse, by the way.”

“Oh, come on. They don't actually believe that shit.”

“It's amazing what parents will
want
to believe when it comes to their daughters.”

“They must despise you.”

He laughs. “If they do, they hide it really well. And in return, I make no references to the fact that I can find every single freckle on their daughter's body with my eyes closed. Everybody wins.” He glances at his watch, then pushes himself up to standing. “And on that note, I gotta go. But call Van, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” We bro-slap five, and he heads out, leaving me to my quiet backyard, a pile of crap-on-paper, and no clue how I'm gonna function without the girl who keeps my life together.