NEW YORK CITY THE FOUR SEASONS HOTEL

Tuesday, April 6th

7:32 A.M.

Miles Baime's dark eyes followed a leggy brunette as she crossed the elegant champagne-colored dining room at the Four Seasons Hotel.

“I'm gonna get straight to the point,” said Claire's boyishly handsome, dark-haired agent. “You have MSP!”

“She has what?“ Judi Lyons whipped off her cherry-red bifocals.

“MSP.” He leaned forward, clinking his gold knot cuff links against the marble tabletop, and folded his tanned hands. “Major. Star. Potential.”

“Oh.” Claire sighed, relieved. “It sounded like a disease.”

“Hardly.” Reaching across Claire's blueberry pancakes, he grabbed her wrist. “If you tap into it, the world is yours.”

Claire blushed. Something about her too-cute-in-a-suit agent telling her how talented she was in front of her mother was embarrassing. Flattering and ego boosting and tingle worthy, but still embarrassing.

Finally, Miles let go.

Claire hid her hand on her lap and made a mental note to get her mom's permission to shave above the knee. She was wearing an American Eagle camouflage cargo minidress, and her pale exposed thighs felt like Astroturf.

“So you think my daughter has MSP?” Judi giggled at her use of such a hip Hollywood term. It was the first time she'd smiled all morning. Nervous that the film industry was out to exploit her only daughter, Judi had been skeptical but supportive about the move out west ever since Miles had suggested it three days earlier.

“Absolutely.” He sank back into his wing chair. “In fact, Bernard Sinrod wants her for the lead in his new feature, Princess Nobody—”

Claire gasped. “No way! He's won, like, two Oscars.”

“Four.”

“And he wants my daughter?” Judi asked.

Claire sent a high-speed thanks-for-the-vote-of-confidence glare at her mother, who fired back with a can-you-blame-me shrug.

“He's seen an advance screening of Dial L for Loser and thinks your daughter would be perfect as the lead.” Miles grinned. “It's about a scrappy NYC runaway who helps the prince of Bhutan after he's been mugged by street thugs. They fall in love and she ends up becoming a beautiful princess. And guess who's on board to play Prince Aroon?”

Claire's mind went blank. This was happening too fast. An A-list director wanted her to star in his next movie…as a princess! A beautiful one! She squeezed her cell phone under the table, wishing the Pretty Committee could listen in.

“Give up?” Miles flipped open his Razr and responded to a text message.

Claire nodded as fast as she could.

“Cole Sprouse,” he announced. “You know, that mischievous blond twin from the Disney show Suite Life of Zack and Cody.“

“Ehmagawd, I love him!” Claire beamed, imagining a cover photo on US Weekly of their blond heads pressed together in a friendly embrace.

“The money is decent and it shoots in Manhattan from June through August.”

“Wonderful.” Judi traced her mouth with Revlon's Rose Wine lipstick, then snapped the cap back on. “What a relief.”

“So I can stay in New York for the summer?”

“Yup.”

Claire poked her finger in the whipped cream swirl atop her short stack and popped it in her mouth. The sugar, mixed with the good news, gave her an instant rush. Excitedly, she kicked her mom under the table. It was going to be a perfect summer.

Every afternoon, Cam could visit her on the set. When she had a scene to shoot he could hang in her trailer and play video games. They'd become buddies with Cole, and the three of them could go to the Empire State Building and Coney Island and free concerts in Central Park. On the weekends she'd hang out with the Pretty Committee and swim in the Blocks' pool and ride her bike to Layne's and get ice cream and—

Miles knocked Claire's fattening whipped cream into a pool of maple syrup with a butter knife. “Runaways are thin.”

Claire blushed again.

“Of course, the final act will be shot in Bhutan, so you will be spending most of the fall over there. But the people there are very kind.” He signaled the waiter for the check. “Did you know their national sport is archery?”

Claire felt as if one of their national arrows had just embedded itself in her chest.

“Most of the fall?”

“Where is Bhutan?” asked Judi.

“Somewhere near India. Or is it Tibet?” He waved his Razr. “I'll have my assistant call you with an exact location. Don't worry; wherever it is, it'll be five-star all the way.”

Judi stabbed a grape from her fruit cup.

“Will I have to live there?”

“If“—Miles signed the check without looking at the total—”and only if you nail the audition.”

Claire stiffened. She'd forgotten the part wasn't hers yet and hoped she hadn't come across as ungrateful. “What do I have to do?”

“Bernard is insisting you show up in character. That means you have to transform yourself into a scrappy, unkempt runaway. I'm talking choppy black hair, dirty fingernails, and eyebrow extensions.”

“Huh?” Claire and Judi exclaimed together.

“Bernard is tired of the whole loser-takes-off-her-glasses-and-becomes-a-goddess cliché. He wants to give his audience something more extreme. And believe it or not, he found someone who can sew goat hair right into the eyebrows to make them coarse, bushy, and one. I'm telling you, the man's a genius. And he wants you.”

Claire peeked at her reflection in the side of a silver teapot, trying to imagine herself a brunette with goat-hair-enhanced brows. And all she could picture was the Count from Sesame Street.

“Can't I wear a wig?”

“That's a great idea.” Judi clapped. “And we can fill in your blond eyebrows with dark pencil. L'Oreal makes a great one called Prestige.”

“Not happ-nin'.” Miles wagged his finger. “Bernard wants to know that Claire is willing to commit to this role inside and out.”

“What about school? Everyone will make fun of—”

“There are a million blondes in the greater Los Angeles area—not to mention Texas—willing to alter their appearance for the craft.”

“Yeah, but—” Claire stabbed a dry, whipped-cream-free pancake.

“But nothing.” Miles stuffed the yellow receipt in his breast pocket. “If you want to reach single-name status, you'll be back here, in the penthouse, Friday night at seven o'clock covered in more dark hair than the floor at Supercuts.”

“This Friday?”

“Yup.”

“Claire, you don't have to do this.” Judi touched her daughter's icy hand. “There will be other opportunities. Other directors who will want you just the way you are.”

“It's not that,” Claire insisted, not bothering to explain that she was supposed to go to Cam's on Friday night to look for the key. And now, if she agreed to the audition, her friends would be there without her. Making memories, creating inside jokes, and smelling her boyfriend's Drakkar Noir–soaked neck.

“I'll be right back.” Claire dropped her phone in her cargo pocket and pushed back from the table. It wasn't too late to call Cam from the bathroom and beg him to reschedule. “I just need a second to think about it.”

“You have until I finish my coffee.” Miles lifted the tiny espresso cup to his lips and then tilted his head back. He replaced the cup in the saucer with a dainty clink and let out a satisfied, “Ahhhh.”

Then he looked directly into Claire's eyes and folded his arms across his chest.

“What's it gonna be?”