The heavy metal door slams shut behind me and I need to stop for a second and rest my head against it. It feels cool against my burning body as I slump into the chilly steel.

He was watching me.

I saw him look up from where he dropped my bodyguards like a couple of houseflies and almost made me want to face the drama to be back by his side. The way his sweat was glistening over his tight frame and how the bulge in his shorts was practically phosphorescent under the black lights of the club, glowing like the magic wand I need to finally make me cum.

My eyelids spring open as I realize that I have no idea how I’m getting out of here. If what Vince told me was true, the paparazzi have tracked me down to this place and the last thing I need is footage of me running out of a sex club all over TMZ tomorrow. They say there’s no such thing as bad publicity, and maybe they’re right, but I don’t want to risk it. Not when I have the role to make my career, hanging in the balance.

I yank my phone out of my purse and tap the message notification bubble with my finger. My agent is going haywire trying to get a hold of me. She’s blowing up my screen so fast I can’t even read her first message because it keeps scrolling down to her frantic messages.

Fiona: Where ru?!

Fiona: Get ur ass to the car!!

Me: What car?

Fiona: Behind the club, move it, papz is on ur trail.

Me: K

I step out of my heels and pick them up, rushing over the dirty sidewalk still warm from the unrelenting California sun earlier today. I turn the corner to the back alley. It’s creepy and dimly lit. I feel like I’m the dumb girl walking toward the flickering light by the creaking door in the horror movie as I squint and scurry to the waiting black car with tinted windows.

The back door flings open as I approach and Fiona pops her head out and starts yelling at me like we just robbed a bank together. “Get in! Get in! We gotta move, they’re on their way!” She waves her hand toward the car wildly.

I jump inside and slam the door shut behind me. “Okay, I’m in. Let’s go.” I let my shoes drop to the floor and Fiona jerks her frizzy puffball of red hair, that’s mostly escaped its bun, toward the driver and he starts the engine.

“God, here come the human vultures, ready to pick the skin off your bones. Look at these assholes,” she sneers out the back window at the heavy-set men carrying long lens cameras, rounding the corner behind us. “I wish we could drive right over them, do you think anyone would really miss them?” She smiles and picks up her velvet, drawstring bag from the seat between us and rifles through it.

“I can’t imagine anyone would,” I admit and crinkle my nose as she tugs her pack of smokes out from the bag. “Ugh, the only thing worse than someone smoking is someone smoking in a car,” I complain, but I know she doesn’t care. Long before Fiona was my agent she was my friend. We went through college together and both got bit by the acting bug at the same time. After a few bad experiences, she stopped going to auditions and started booking them. By now, she’s heard me give her a million stern lectures about smoking and learned to tune them all out.

“Yeah, yeah, here.” She hits the button on her dark window and opens it a crack, “Better?” The blue-gray puffs whirl around in a lazy game of ring-around-the-rosy, slowly climbing higher until they find their way out to the night sky.

“I guess,” I shrug and decide to give up. I mean, she did just save my ass.

The car veers up around the corner and we slowly make our way up the side of the club. The paparazzi disappear in our dust as the driver stops near the front edge of the building and waits for his chance to merge in with the crazy LA traffic.

“So,” Fiona hauls another long drag off her cigarette and blows it like a small smoke signal out the window, “you gonna explain to me what you were doing at a sex club?” She raises a perfectly painted on eyebrow and I squirm against the seat uncomfortably.

“It’s kind of a long story,” I tuck my hair behind my ear. “How did you get here so fast? How did you know the paparazzi were following me?” I try to change the subject but I can see from her pointed stare that she’s not falling for it.

“I was out with a friend down the street,” she smiles. “And it’s my job to know about those rat-faced bastards,” she takes another drag deep into her lungs. “You can thank me by telling me what the hell you were up to tonight. With Los Angeles traffic, it’s gonna be a long drive, so spill it.”