The Ex Files

Chapter 3 - Ally

"Stop frowning," Paisley ordered. "Or do you want cartoon eyebrows?"

"Sorry."

"Is that another briefing from Brooks?"

I lowered the phone and tried to relax, easier said than done when my next stop was a charity golf tournament at the Rolling Hills Country Club where—according to Brooke's notes—I'd have to act as a human shield against a tsunami of wealthy she-wolves who wanted to eat him alive.

"Yup." The man was freakishly organised. He always sent comprehensive notes on what he expected from me, plus a colour-coded list of issues to be aware of. Briley Beckmann and Chiara Kennedy-something-or-other both had red flags next to their names. "I should have worn false nails because there's a good chance I might have to claw someone's eye out."

"You want stiletto acrylics for that. I could hook you up with an excellent nail technician."

"By eleven thirty?"

I had to be at the country club in less than an hour, and the traffic outside was murder. I'd had to fight my way past a broken-down limo and two drivers arguing beside a fender bender just to reach Paisley's apartment this morning. Since she was scheduled on a night shoot later, she'd offered to smooth out my blemishes before she went to work and I faced off against people who applied makeup for a living.

"Eleven thirty? She's good, but she's not a magician. No, I meant for next time."

"I don't even know if there'll be a next time."

"Of course there will. You're Brooks Carrington's official fake girlfriend. Ditching you would be like chumming the waters for the sharkettes. Close your eyes for a moment."

I complied, and Paisley went to work with a dusky grey eyeliner pencil while I ran through the briefing in my head.

"Have you ever heard of Briley Beckmann?"

"Ah, crap." She cursed under her breath as the tip of the pencil skidded across my eyelid. "Briley's going to be there?"

"You know her?"

"She's a friend of Velvet Jones's. Trust me when I say you definitely want to stay out of her way, and her dogs' way too."

"Uh, I'm literally getting paid to stand in her way."

"Yikes. Okay, okay, wait a second..." She ran into the bedroom and began rummaging. Something hit the floor with a thump, and I heard more cursing, followed by a triumphant, "Found them!"

"Found what?" I called.

"These." She waved two plastic things with elastic straps hanging from them. "They're Derek's shin guards. You know, for soccer?"

Derek was her boyfriend of seven months. I still wasn't sure he'd go the distance, but Paisley was happy for now, and that was the only thing that mattered.

"But I'm playing golf."

"No, no, they're for the dogs. These little plastic bits protect your ankles. See? All you need to do is slide them on under your golf slacks and you might not get rabies."

"I'm wearing shorts." Cute little pastel plaid shorts with a pale pink polo shirt and one of those little sun visors. In Brooks's world, appearances mattered, and he even gave me an allowance so I could purchase appropriate clothes for our "dates." This week, he'd sent me a three-hundred-dollar gift card for a golf store. Three hundred dollars! I'd rather have gotten grocery money, but beggars couldn't be choosers. I'd just have to take my chances with the rabid pooches. "Are the dogs really that bad?"

"They're like furry piranhas in matching sweaters. Selina May locked herself in her trailer and refused to come out until all six of them had left the lot."