When It's Real. Erin Watt

      I hang up and toss the phone to Spencer. “Here, you brats. Go call your precious Kenny.”

      After they dart off, I collapse on the bed and curse the day I let Paisley convince me to meet with Jim Tolson and his entourage.

      Claudia believes that someone could pull our phone records, so for two months I can’t call W on my own phone or my sister’s, which means I’m at the mercy of two twelve-year-old boys.

      And I actually had to ask Claudia’s permission before I could make the call. And then she had to hold a stupid brainstorming session with her PR team to determine if it makes sense for W to keep in touch with his ex-girlfriend’s little brothers. I reminded her that W was a part of my family for two years, so of course he would be close with my brothers.

      “Phone,” my sister’s voice says, jolting me out of my thoughts. Paisley walks into my room and holds out her iPhone. “Claudia.”

      A silent scream goes off inside me. Oh, my God. I cannot deal with another one of Claudia’s dumb requests right now.

      “You’re going to make your account private today,” Claudia says instead of hello.

      “Why? Because of all my new followers?” I woke up this morning to discover I have twenty-five thousand new followers on Twitter. I almost died from shock.

      “Because we want to fuel the fire even more. If you suddenly go private, Oakley’s fangirls won’t be able to follow you and it will drive them crazy. They’ll start gossiping on their own feeds and speculating about why you’re private, and the ones who are already following you will start screen-shotting your Tweets and turn you into an even hotter commodity.”

      I don’t bother to argue. I’ve given up on trying to figure out the logic of a publicist.

      “Fine,” I say. “Anything else?”

      “Yes. Amy’s emailing you an archive of your Twitter account. Start deleting all the pictures with your ex-boyfriend.”

      I’m outraged. “How did you get an archive of my account? And how did you get my email address?”

      “From Jim. Don’t ask how he got it. He’ll never tell,” Claudia chirps. “Anyway, we’d like all traces of your ex-boyfriend gone from your account by tomorrow. You did it, of course, to erase him from your life.”

      Bitterness climbs up my throat. “If you have access to my archive, why don’t you delete them?”

      “Oh, of course. We’d be happy to do it for you. We just thought you might like to do it yourself. Getting over an ex is a difficult process for a teenage girl.”

      I imagine some stranger going through my pictures of W and clicking the little trash can button, and I realize she has a point. “Forget it. I’ll do it. And he’s not my ex, Claudia!”

      “He is in the eyes of the world.” She’s starting to sound annoyed with me. “One last thing. We need you to go out to dinner with your family tonight.”

      I wrinkle my brow. “Why?”

      “Lord, Vaughn, is that your favorite word—‘why’? Careful, sweetie, or I’m going to start answering with ‘because I said so.’”

      I clench my teeth so hard my jaw twitches. “Why do I need to go out for dinner, Claudia?”

      “Because it’s family night. As of right now, you and your siblings go out once a week for family night.”

      I respond with her favorite word. “Why?”

      “Because that’s what wholesome people do!” There’s a loud, frustrated huff in my ear, and then her voice softens. “Is your Instagram linked to your Twitter?”

      “Yeah. Wh—” I halt before the rest of the question slips out. She’s already pissed off at me as it is.

      “Good. At dinner tonight, post a picture of you and your family. It doesn’t matter if the brothers are in it. But your sister has to be.”

      “I assume you know what I’m going to ask.”

      She heaves out an exasperated sigh. “It’ll be an organic way to reveal that your sister works at Diamond. Oakley will comment on the picture, and then that bit of information will come out.”

      “Fine. I’ll post something tonight.”

      I hang up without saying goodbye then holler at the door, “Paisley, get in here.”

      She appears within seconds. “What’s up?”

      “Tell the twins to put on some nice clothes,” I say as I toss her cell phone over. “We’re going out to dinner.”

      “Why?”

      “It’s family night.”

      My sister arches a brow. “Why?”

      Oh, wow. That word really is annoying. “Because that’s what wholesome people do!” I shout, and then I march to my closet to find something to wear.

       10

      HIM

      #squadgoals #dinnertime #whyisthewaitsolong

      I stare at the picture of Vaughn’s family on Instagram. They’re all squeezed together as they wait to be seated at some random restaurant I don’t think I’ve ever heard of before. I can’t remember the last time I ate with my mom and dad. Hmmm. The last time I sat down at the same table with Mom and had a fork in my hand was...the Golden Globe Awards last year?

      Holy shit. I almost laugh at the sad absurdity of the situation. Dad, on the other hand, I haven’t eaten with in years. Old man can hold a grudge like nobody’s business.

      I feel a strange tightness in my chest. That isn’t...nah...it isn’t envy. I flick the app closed and stare out the windows. What I need to do is get out of the damn house. I’ve been stuck inside these walls and the studio—where nothing but garbage is getting recorded—for too long.

      Purposefully, I stride to the kitchen where I find Tyrese. “Let’s get some grub.”

      He tucks away his phone. “What do you have in mind?”

      “I don’t know. How about—” A wicked idea pops into my head.

      “Uh-uh.” Ty rocks back on his heels. “I’m not liking the look of that smile on your face. It says we’re about to get into trouble.”

      “How about fondue?” I reply innocently.

      I need to figure out what to wear. A hat and sunglasses aren’t going to be enough.

      “Sure. There’s a place over on La Cienega Boulevard,” he says.

      Ty’s a foodie. Man knows all of the good places, but I don’t want to go to Restaurant Row.

      “I was thinking about Fondue Heaven over on—” I open the app, and sure enough, Vaughn has her Instagram geo-location on. “El Segundo. It’s on Main Street.”

      Ty looks offended and faintly disgusted as he trails after me into my room. “A chain, brother? In El Segundo? That’s an hour away.”

      I ignore him as I rifle through my walk-in closet. I should wear my lowest slung pants. The ones that hover around my ass crack. I wonder if I got rid of those? I dig around in the back of the closet.

      “Those folks are gonna be gone before you get there,” Ty says from behind me. He’s not slow.

      “Not if we take a chopper. That’s fifteen minutes. The apps are probably being served at that time.” I find the pair of ratty jeans that I hate in a pile under an old pair of sneaks. I lift the denim to my nose. They smell clean. Musty but clean.