Chapter One

Kaitlyn

Present Day

“Oh my God, that was horrible,” I say, stepping through the door of my apartment and slamming it shut behind me. “What a waste of four hours.”

My roommate Ashley steps into the living room wearing nothing but a towel. She's rubbing some lotion into her face and grinning at me.

“I hate to say I told you so, babe,” she says. “But I did, in fact, tell you so.”

I grumble as I drop my purse on the table by the door and toss my keys into the bowl. Walking into the kitchen, I grab a bottle of water out of the refrigerator, twist the top off, and take a long drink. Letting out a long, frustrated breath, I walk back into the living room. Ashley is sitting on the chair, rubbing her lotion into her long, toned legs.

“Next time I say I'm auditioning for Scott Mack,” I say, dropping down onto the sofa, “slap me upside the head with something.”

“I tried to tell you the guy is skeevy,” she says. “But you wouldn't listen.”

I twirl my dark, shoulder-length hair around my finger and roll my eyes. “I thought it was a good role,” I say. “Sure, it would have been a small indie picture, but at least it would get me some exposure. Get my foot in the door, maybe.”

“And let me guess, Scott wanted a different kind of exposure from you.”

“Said I'd be perfect for the role,” I tell her. “And that it was mine – if I blew him. He straight up asked me that.”

“Wow,” Ashley says. “He's getting bolder in his old age. Used to be that he'd hint around at it but wouldn't come right out and say it like that. You didn't do it, did you?”

I roll my eyes and look at her. “What do you think?”

She laughs. “I'm going to say no, given that you haven't blown anybody at all in – how many years now?”

I give her the finger and laugh. It's true though. I haven't had a boyfriend or anything close to it in a long time. Not years, like she laughingly suggests, but a while. It gets lonely sometimes, but I'm focused on trying to build a career. Not only that, but I learned pretty damn quickly that you don't always know who to trust. It's not always safe to put your heart in somebody else's hands.

I'm still stinging over my last break-up and am not in a place where I want to go down that road again. Men are assholes and even though it would be nice to snuggle up next to somebody at night, at the moment, I just want to focus on getting my own head and heart right.

I take a drink of my water and nod. “And here I thought the whole casting couch thing was an urban legend.”

“Sadly no, it's very real,” she says, applying another dollop of lotion to her thighs. “You know what your biggest problem is?”

“Oh, this should be fascinating,” I say, rolling my eyes but grinning. “Tell me, Doctor Ashley, what is my biggest problem.”

She smiles and sticks her tongue out at me. “Your biggest problem is that you're still holding on to those quaint little Midwestern values you grew up with,” she says. “Which is fine and all. Nothing wrong with them. But those values don't exactly translate all that well here in Tinseltown. Especially if you're trying to break into show biz. Most of the people who run the show out here are completely devoid of things like morals, ethics, and scruples.”

“Great,” I say. “So, I should just chuck it all and start banging my way to getting some plum roles?”

Ashley giggles and shakes her head. “That's one approach,” she says. “Another might be to realize that the people you're dealing with might not be as morally upright as you and simply not let it bother you.”

I sigh. It's probably because of my values – ingrained in me by my Midwestern upbringing – that get me so upset by episodes like today's little fiasco.

“Easier said than done, I'm afraid,” I say.

“If you really want to survive in this industry,” she says, “you're gonna have to grow thicker skin, honey. You're gonna have to grow armor.”

“Yeah, I know you're right,” I say softly. “It's just – it sucks sometimes.”

Ashley nods. “It does,” she says. “As women, we have to do more – not to mention put up with more bullshit – than men do when it comes to landing parts. But that's the business right now. And if you want it, you have to learn to navigate the waters and let the stupid stuff just roll off your back.”

I sigh and nod. It's a depressing commentary because I know she's right. It's one of the things I love most about Ashley – she never fails to give it to me straight. I appreciate her bluntness and honesty. She's a few years older than me and has been around the industry for a little while now. She's had some good roles, but hasn't had that big break yet. But her guidance and advice is invaluable to me.

She's also the first person I met when I moved from the middle of nowhere Missouri to Los Angeles to chase my dreams of silver screen stardom. I know, I'm a walking, talking cliché. Sometimes I want to slap myself upside the head. Sometimes I wonder what in the hell I'm doing when the chances of me actually “making it” are so small.

But acting is in my blood. It's what fuels me. Inspires me. It's my passion. And I know that if I don't chase it for as long as I can, as hard as I can, that I'll come to regret it. And if there's one thing I don't want in my life, it's to grow old with regrets and “what if's” in my heart.

Like I said, I'm a walking, talking cliché.

“So, anyway,” Ashley says. “Club Ice is supposed to be going off tonight. Some studio party or something. And we're going. So, you might want to start getting yourself presentable.”

“Ash, I'm beat,” I say. “I'm not sure –”

“Oh no, maybe you didn't hear me correctly. I said you're going. That wasn't a request or an invitation to debate,” she says, a grin on her face. “You need to get out of this funk you're in. Doctor Ashley's orders.”

I laugh. “I'm just so tired though.”

“You did hear me say this is a studio party, right?” she asks. “That means there are going to be some movers and shakers there. What better way to get your name floating through the right circles than meet some studio heads, some directors, and producers, or those kinds of people?”

“I'm not going to blow anybody,” I say.

Ashley laughs. “Make a good enough impression on these folks and you won't have to.”

I looked at her for a long moment, something not quite adding up in my head. “Hey, how did you get an invite to this party anyway? If it's a studio thing –”

She shrugs. “I didn't,” she says. “I know the doorman. We used to date and we're still friends. He's going to let us in.”

“We're crashing a studio party?” I ask, arching an eyebrow at her.

“I like to think of it as making our own luck,” she says. “Don't forget to wear something really nice. Think classy with just a wee bit of slutty mixed in.”

I laugh and trudge off to the shower to get ready, not really feeling in the party mood at all. But I knew Ashley was right. If there were big, important studio people going, it would be a good way to get my name floating around in the right circles.