On the walk down the hall. Thirty seconds, tops. How amazing, no doubt.

We sit, do the perfunctory explanation of what we need—and honestly, I feel like we could have had this meeting over the phone. We require someone to plan some games for the group of fifty or so people over two days. We require activities that won’t (a) make us all cringe or (b) trigger our grossly competitive natures. We require alcohol. That’s it; it’s pretty simple.

But whenever possible, people like to come to the P&D offices for meetings. It’s for the exact reason I can see Libby occasionally looking out through the glass walls of the room: she’s hoping to spot a celebrity.

Unfortunately for her, she sees only Justin, who peeks his head in about five minutes into things.

“Jett Payne is here; he’s waiting for us upstairs. Also, Kylie wanted me to let you know that she overordered for the break room Keurig, and you’re free to take a box or two home.”

Carter stands with a smile. “Thanks, Justin.”

My jaw drops.

“You double booked?” I ask him, wearing a tight fuck you smile of my own.

“I guess I did. Sorry about that,” he says, as if it were purely accidental and he’s not meticulous about his calendar. He stands, reaching forward to shake Libby’s hand. “Great to meet you, Libby. Evie can handle the rest of the discussion. And make sure she validates your parking. Looking forward to what you two have planned!”

Libby, a little breathless, overexclaims, “It will be great!”

• • •

About an hour later I wrap up the meeting with Libby—still fuming—and head back to my office while checking the rest of today’s schedule on my phone.

I have forty-five minutes to get across town to meet Sarah Hill for a hair appointment. We just landed Sarah a part in an adaptation of a runaway bestselling teen novel, and the studio insists her hair be a specific shade of blue for the role. It’s in her contract that her agent and the producer be present for quality control. What it means, essentially, is four hours in a salon, trying to stay alert enough to be able to tell the subtle difference between fifteen different shades of blue hair.

Passing Carter’s office, I stop dead in my tracks, seeing that he’s already put two boxes of K-Cups in the middle of his desk.

When I was a teenager, my father was strict; it was the opposite of Daryl’s family, who basically let her run around with whoever she wanted. I wasn’t allowed to date until I was sixteen, and even then there were rules. I could date as much as I wanted, but I couldn’t have a boyfriend, which meant no consecutive dates with the same guy. I’m sure the intent there was that I didn’t get too serious with any one guy, because serious leads to sex. Their plan worked, mostly: by eleventh grade, I hadn’t had sex yet. Had never really even come close.

And then I met Kai Paialua. I managed to sneak as much time with him as I could, away from my parents’ watchful eyes. The night of the Homecoming game our senior year, we found ourselves in a bedroom at a party. Somewhere in another room Santana was playing on repeat, his sexy guitar riffs egging action along, and . . . I wanted to have sex with Kai. I was pretty damn close, too—his pants were around his ankles and he was checking to see if the condom he’d carried in his wallet since sophomore year had expired—and I knew I was at a crossroads. Go one way and that was it, we’d have sex and there would be no turning back. Or pull my skirt down from around my armpits and my hymen would live another day.

Needless to say, I never saw my virginity again.

Loitering in the hall outside Carter’s office, staring at those damn K-Cups on his desk, I feel that same potent blend of thrill and dread. If I follow through with the plan forming in my head, I won’t be innocent anymore.

And so, five minutes later, the K-Cups are all swapped out, the pods inside no longer matching what it says on the boxes. And I’m on my way to the salon, nobody the wiser.

Same great flavor . . . now in decaf!

• • •

Friday may go on record as being the best day of my life, because it’s the day that Carter Aaron can’t keep track of a single thought at work.

It’s a little like watching a lion with a limp: it’s just not something you see very often, making it incredibly hard to look away. He wasn’t kidding when he said he can’t function without coffee. Apparently, he walked into the women’s room and stared at the wall, obviously shocked that the urinals were gone, until Jess emerged from a stall and steered him in the right direction. He spluttered his way through a conference call with Smashbox Studios about the setup for the Vanity Fair photo shoot next Friday, and afterward stood in the hall, confused, before turning into his office and sitting down in front of the cup of decaf I’d stealthily placed on his desk.

I wonder if I’m turning into a horrible human being, really, because I am completely alive watching all of this. Who does this kind of backhanded crap? Well, aside from everyone in this business.

Except . . . I’ve never stooped this low, and as soon as I really start to think about how far I’ve strayed from my own ideals, my guilt begins to eat at me.

I dial Steph’s number, thankful when she answers on the first ring. “I’m a terrible human,” I say in lieu of a greeting.

“Is this for anything specific or just in general?” she asks.

I think about it. “A little of both, I think.”

“Do you want to tell me about it or should I have plausible deniability?”

I can hear voices and the sound of glasses and cutlery clinking in the background, so I assume she’s meeting someone and doesn’t have much time.

“Are you busy? I can stop by and confess tonight.”

“Just waiting on a casting agent,” she says. “And by the way, you’ll never guess what my assistant told me this morning.”

I lean to the right, where I can see Carter at his desk, staring blankly at a pencil. I bite back a laugh. “What?”

“She slept with Carter’s brother last night.”

This gets my attention.

“No,” I say, straightening. “Your assistant?”

“Yep.”

“Jesus, this town is small. Where did this happen?”

“At some party. They didn’t exactly do a lot of talking, and she only put two and two together this morning.”