“I never knew I could love someone as much I love you. You fell into my life when I needed you most, when I was lost in the sea of loneliness. You saved me, and nothing will tear us apart, Ken. I’ll never let you go or leave your side. You’re my partner, my rock, and I’m yours…”

I take a deep breath and gaze lovingly into the eyes of the man standing in front of me.

“…forever.”

“Cut!”

I stand back with a satisfied sigh. Not bad. Cheesy dialogue, but it was definitely one of my better deliveries.

“Okay, everyone,” the casting director calls out, “that was the last audition. We’ll be doing callbacks immediately, so take ten while we’re finalizing the list.”

Huh. Another round of on-set callbacks? They’d already cut half of us after the first round—an interview with Access Hollywood on the red carpet—so they must be under some time crunch. I usually wait days or weeks for a callback…when they come. They usually don’t.

“Great job,” my co-star says.

I smile at the hunky man that I just declared my undying love to. “Thanks. You, too.” Though I wouldn’t say it takes a lot of work to stand in the middle of a stage and have ten women repeat the same lines to your face. “Are you sick of being told how much we love you?”

“I could think of worse things to do with my time than have beautiful women fawn over me.” He drags his eyes up and down my long legs and purses his lips. “I’m not doing anything after this. If you’re free, maybe we could…”

His sentence ends with a smirk—a super hunky smirk.

Don’t even think about it.

“I don’t date actors,” I answer. It isn’t technically a lie. My ex-boyfriend is an actor, but after that rocky breakup, I’d sworn off the breed entirely.

He scoffs. “Good luck with that in L.A.”

Tell me about it. It’s been two months since Jay and I broke up, and the dating pool has been dismal with my new rule in place. Whatever. I wasn’t breaking my vow. I wasn’t getting hurt again.

“Okay, well,” I say, edging toward the side of the stage, “I’m going to grab some water while we wait.”

I head off toward the swarm of lookalikes offstage. The casting ad had called for “tall, fair, strawberry blondes in their early twenties,” and that’s what they got. This type of thing creeped me out when I moved to L.A. a year ago. It was unnerving to compete against carbon copies of yourself.

But as the months went by and the rejections mounted, I got over it. At least this way I knew what I was up against. And I felt like I had a pretty good shot for once. Everyone told me L.A. would be hard to break into, but I hadn’t expected it to be this hard.

Let’s see…there was that time a creepy wannabe director promised me a “starring role” only for me to show up and find out his “set” was in his even creepier garage. Or when I performed Shakespeare in the Park to ONE GUY and his toddler on a Sunday afternoon instead of going to the beach with my friends. Oh! How about the unpaid “gigs” with no lighting and worse dialogue? I’ve had plenty of those.

I take a swig of water and stare off into the auditorium. I figured we’d be crammed into the whitewashed walls of some box in an office building, but instead, they’d booked a whole theater—an old one with balconies and red cloth seats that dates back to the golden age of Hollywood.

I take a deep breath and sigh. It even smells nostalgic.

I gaze out at the rows of empty seats, picturing what it would feel like to be onstage with a packed house. Movement catches my eye; a figure shifts in the shadows, then leans against the wall. This was supposed to be a closed audition. Had someone snuck in?

My eyes find the casting table. Well, they don’t seem to care. Maybe it’s an executive producer or agent checking out the talent. Oh God, I hope not because it’s hard enough to show off your talent when you don’t even know what you’re auditioning for. The ad had been vague, only saying that it was for a lead role as “girlfriend in a romance.” I debated whether to go for it, at first. I’d been off my game since my breakup and didn’t know if I wanted to throw myself back into “romance.”

But after crying during a Charmin toilet paper audition, I decided I needed to stop wallowing in self-pity and get over him. I had to get back out there (or risk not paying rent), so why not audition for the very role I gave up?

I turn as the casting director stands up. “Ladies? Over here, please.” Nine other women and I hustle to the front of the stage. “When I call your name, join me at the table.”

Every girl tenses as she glances down at her clipboard. “Bianca Haven?”

A clone of me gasps and then moves toward the stairs of the stage.

Calm down. There are two more names.

“Trisha Poppers?”

Another lookalike moves toward the stairs.

Okay we’re getting close here, but there’s still one spot left.

I cross my fingers as she takes a breath. “And Charlotte Laine.”

My breath leaves my lungs in one explosive breath. HELL YEAH.

The casting director waves her clipboard. “As for the rest of you, thank you for your time.”

I’m walking on a cloud as I join the other women offstage. The most ridiculous grin is stuck on my face, but it doesn’t matter because the same crazed look is fixed to the other two girls’ faces. The three of us are blown away that we’ve made it this far for such an important role. The ad may have been vague, but it was clear that this was a starring role in an “immersive production.” That’s the promised land to someone who’s only auditioned for commercials and webisodes.

So I’m not about to let this slip through my fingers. Whatever test is next, I’m passing it with flying colors.

“Congratulations for making it this far, ladies,” the casting director says, looking at each of us in turn. I hold my breath. This is it: the moment of truth. The moment when my dream comes true, or I go home and throw myself under my covers for a few hours…

Or days.

“For this last round, we won’t be doing any acting.” The director motions over her shoulder. The figure in the shadows shifts and begins walking down the aisle toward us. “This is Kevin Ritter. His client is why we’re here today.”

The man walking toward us is average in every way: build, height, features. But it isn’t until he gets closer that I notice his tailored suit, Italian leather loafers, and expensive watch. Whoever his client is, he’s loaded.

“Kevin will be explaining the role you’ve auditioned for and what will be expected of you if you decide to move forward. But first—” the casting director pauses and slides three sheets of paper across the table toward us “—we need you to sign a nondisclosure agreement.”

I glance over at Bianca and Trisha, who look just as confused and worried as me, and then over at Kevin. What am I about to get myself into?

My eyes drift down to the sheet in front of me.

Beggars can’t be choosers.

I pick up my pen and sign. Bianca and Trisha do the same, and we slide the papers back across the table.

Kevin scoops them up and puts them in his suit pocket. “Thank you, ladies. I’m going to get right down to it: you just auditioned for the role of my client’s girlfriend.”

Bianca clears her throat in the silence that follows. “Right, the ad said as much.”

Kevin shakes his head. “No, I mean in real life.”

Silence again.

“I’m sorry?” I ask.

“My client is having image problems. He’s seen as a bit of a playboy, a partier.”

Aren’t most stars?

Kevin seems to sense the elephant in the room. “It’s my job to get him gigs, but nobody wants to touch him when he has such a volatile reputation.”

“You will play the part as his girlfriend,” the casting director says. “A serious girlfriend who makes him an honest man for the media.”

An honest man? I almost laugh. What does that even mean?

Trisha shifts in her seat. “What exactly will we have to do?”

“Everything,” Kevin answers. “Attend parties, events, be on his arm at all times, give interviews—basically make him look like a committed guy.”

“This is a full-time role,” the director adds, “which means no other jobs.”

Music to my ears. I am more than happy to fling my two weeks notice in my boss’s face. Just last week, she’d reamed me a new one for seating vapid assholes out of order during the dinner rush. It was either get yelled at by customers, or yelled at by my boss.

Yeah. I’m over it.

I steal a glance at Bianca and Trisha as the silence grows. Clearly none of us thought we were interviewing for the role of a pretend girlfriend.

“So, who’s interested?” Kevin asks, checking his watch.

After a few agonizing seconds, Trisha gets up from her chair. “I-I can’t, Mr. Ritter.” She glances up at him and then down at her tightly clasped hands. “I’m in a committed relationship.”

Kevin nods and then motions to the casting director. She clears her throat. “Thank you for your honesty, Trisha. Good luck with your future endeavors.”

“And remember the confidentiality agreement,” Kevin warns. Trisha nods and slips away toward the stage.

I watch her go for a moment before turning back to Kevin. “You haven’t told us your client’s name, Mr. Ritter.”

“Does that mean you’re interested?”

“I’d like to know who I’m going to have to date, first.” I ignore Kevin’s frown. I have to know before I commit to something so crazy and life-changing.

Kevin shrugs. “Tate Gunner.”

I almost fall out of my seat. Tate frickin’ Gunner? This guy has got to be kidding. He’s the it actor in Hollywood right now. Oscar winner, Golden Globe winner, National Film Award winner, and of course, People’s Sexiest Man Alive for three years running.

And the best part? He’s drop-dead gorgeous. A rebel who melts the clothes off women just by looking at them. A bad boy who’s known for picking fights and stealing women’s hearts. Last year, he was caught sneaking into the coat check at the Golden Globes with a certain well-endowed actress, and—

Oh.

I see Kevin’s point about the image problem.

“What’s it pay?” Bianca says.

Kevin’s frown deepens. “We won’t be talking numbers until we make a decision. Just know that you will be paid. Well.”

Bianca smiles. “I’m on board.”

I bite my lip as everyone turns and looks at me. Date a movie star for a lot of money…

Sounds like a no-brainer, right?

Except that this movie star is an arrogant bad boy with a long list of issues and an even longer list of conquests.

But still, the chance to rub elbows with Hollywood elite? To talk to producers and other stars at the height of their careers? It could open doors I’ll never get access to.

“I’m interested,” I say.

“Good,” Kevin says, cracking his neck. “I’ll be in touch soon about who gets the part.” He turns to the casting director. “Can I have their headshots?” She hands them over, and he turns on his heel and stalks up the aisle. He doesn’t look back.

The casting director withdraws two packets from her bag and plunks them down in front of us. “This is a background check. Fill it out and drop it off at the address inside no later than tomorrow.” She pauses and studies us both. “This would be the time to tell me if you have any skeletons hiding in your closets.”

Bianca and I glance at each other. We shake our heads in unison.

“Great!” She stands, and we do the same. “Then we won’t have a problem. Thank you, girls. That will be all.”

Bianca and I pick up our packets, grab our things from the stage, and head for the double doors. We go opposite ways once we’re out on the pavement. I have nothing against her, but I hope I never see her again, especially not from my couch as I watch her cling to the arm of Tate Gunner at the Academy Awards.

Because only one of us is going to get this role, and my God, I pray it’s me.