“So what do I do exactly?” Pepper asked, fumbling to hold the arrow-shaped sign as she wrestled her long red hair into a ponytail.

Bert, the owner and namesake of Bert’s Burgers, gave an exaggerated sigh. “You stand on the corner. You hold the sign and maybe dance a little.”

She should have brought a hat.

Her pale skin didn’t like the sun, and Pepper knew she’d be one giant freckle in less than an hour. But she wasn’t a complainer, so instead of running screaming out the door when her mind churned up the memories of the last time she’d danced—an Academy award-winning actor, blood, and her resultant flight from Plastic-town, USA—she nodded. “Got it.”

Broken vases, expensive flowers crushed on the floor, armies of lawyers, publicists, and handlers were all in the past.

She’d been pigeonholed by her family’s expectations for too long. This was her chance to slip out of the spotlight and have slice of normalcy.

Pepper gave Bert a bright smile and pushed through the door.

She needed this job.

Not just for the money. Her father would give her anything she asked for. In fact, after paying the settlement to Christian Strand—aforementioned Oscar-winning actor she’d almost managed to de-brain with his own award—her father had technically given enough for three lifetimes.

But she was tired of being her family’s train wreck. Tired of being the thing her father threw money at even as he discounted her worth on every other level.

Oh dear, poor Pepper crashed a Ferrari and destroyed an entire film set. She’s such a mess, but hey, at least the movie is in the news.

That Pepper! She set fire to her dormitory at UCLA, and the entire building had to be evacuated when she attempted to cook a special dinner for her boyfriend. But, hey, the latest O’Brien film is set on a university campus—we can spin this.

Sigh. Pepper tried to set her class goldfish free by flushing it down the toilet and ended up scarring her classmates’ delicate little psyches. But, hey, all drains lead to the ocean, right? O’Brien Films is producing a set-at-sea drama. We’ll donate to clean water causes, drum up some positive publicity.

“Ouch,” she muttered when the door shut on her before she and the arrow had cleared it.

Pepper shoved the metal and glass panel back, wrestled her way through, and—

Le sigh.

Her talent wasn’t in traditional interviews and social media posts, not like her brother. He was brilliant at lining up A-list celebrities, at getting features on the Today Show. She, on the hand, was golden because of her screw-ups.

Everyone’s favorite joke.

A bumbling fool with a sweet face and disposition. The girl who everyone loved to laugh at, to exclaim that being born with the proverbial silver spoon didn’t give a person everything.

Like grace, she thought as she tripped on a crack in the sidewalk and nearly broke the cardboard sign in half. Righting herself, she exhaled slowly then moved toward the corner.

Hollywood might as well pat her on the head like a puppy.

“Good girl, Pepper.”

“Just stay in the news. The new movie releases next week.”

“Keep messing up. Just make sure that your screw-ups are hilarious and relatable.”

She huffed inwardly. The chatter was enough to make a grown woman insane.

But this, being here, making it on her own was her chance to prove she could do something and not screw it up.

She would not screw this up.

“Pepper!”

Bert’s head popped through the door—crazy white hair, bushy eyebrows, thick lumberjack mustache, and all.

“Yes?” She straightened her shoulders and tried to appear competent at . . . holding a sign.

“Right side up, please.” The door clanged closed as she glanced down.

Hastily, she flipped the arrow so the text—“Cheeseburger, fries, and a drink! Only $4.99!”—was readable to most normal human beings. Her cheeks were hot. “Okay,” she muttered to herself. “Not the best start, but it can only get better from here.”

She ignored her inner voice, the one that was practically screaming she’d just jinxed herself.

Enough.

After popping in her earbuds, Pepper stepped near the curb and began to make the sign do a jaunty dance, white-girl rhythm be damned.

She stood in the shade from one of the mature trees lining either side of the quaint Craftsman storefronts of Stoneybrook’s downtown area. The city had recently undergone a refurbishment to make even the most casual of its shops and restaurants—specifically Bert’s Burgers—appear sophisticated.

Cobblestone-covered walls and bright white wood columns gave the buildings a refined feel, and even the flowers filling each window box deemed it necessary to show off their brightest and prettiest blooms.

Her father had been the producer of a movie shot in the area several years before, and that income for the town had made the freshening up possible, not that she’d mentioned the fact to Bert.

She was trying to fly under the radar, not draw more attention to herself.

Pepper had enjoyed visiting before the restoration—a small town feel wasn’t exactly common in Los Angeles—but even cleaned up, Stoneybrook still felt friendly, welcoming, and . . . refreshingly wonderful.

No one recognized her here. Paparazzi weren’t waiting in the wings for her to screw up. Just blissful anonymity.

And a job to do.

Cars whooshed by as she bobbed around.

A little shaky-shaky to the left, some wiggles to the right and, crap, almost taking out a group of businessmen striding down the tree-lined sidewalk.

Thankfully, they were faster than they appeared and dodged the arrow’s point just in time.

“Sorry!” she called, straightening her Bert’s Burgers’ T-shirt and flashing her best smile before continuing her advertising specialist duties, which had been the actual title in the listing for the sign-holding job.

That was Internet job hunting for ya.

For a while it actually seemed like she was going to rock it. She bounced on the corner, didn’t hit anyone, and only dropped the arrow a few times. Nobody seemed to be paying her much attention.

Despite promotion being the purpose of her job, she considered that a good thing.

No attention meant no disasters.

Downtown Stoneybrook was busy at lunchtime. Pedestrians enjoyed the mild weather with a stroll along the slate sidewalks, and diners ate on the various restaurants’ patios, each enclosed by ornate, wrought iron fencing.

She could do this, she thought, twirling the bright yellow and black sign. She could get through one day’s work and not create a catastrophe.

A shriek pierced straight through the pop song blaring in her earbuds.

Pepper frowned.

Really, her dancing was not that bad.

Which was the precise moment she looked up and saw the car careening toward her.

Move!

But she couldn’t. Her feet might as well have been glued to the ground. Stupidly, she watched as time slid forward in slow motion and the car came closer.

She could feel the vibration of the engine, its heat on her face. Her fingers ached from where she clenched the sign like some sort of shield.

The impact took her breath away.