Blonde Ambition Read Online Free

and handed it to Anna. There was a noise in the doorway. Anna looked up.
    There stood Cammie Sheppard, looking as gorgeous as Cammie always looked but also, at the moment, more than shocked to find Anna in her father’s office. “Hi, Anna,” she said smoothly. “How nice to see you.”
    Which, Anna knew, actually translated to:
Die, bitch.
But Anna smiled politely anyway.
    Clark went to the door, took his daughter by the arm, and apparently spoke to her outside. Then Clark returned and closed the door behind him. “Where was I?”
    “Hermosa Beach,”
Anna reminded.
    “Right.” Clark paced as he spoke. “Anyway, the show just started shooting. Our agency is as involved in the production as the network that will air it. It premieres in two weeks, and don’t listen to the good buzz on the street, because right now it’s in deep shit. Studio and network can’t agree on what to do. Assholes. All of ’em. So you’re gonna spend a lot of time on
H. B.
Got it?”
    Anna’s head was swimming. “I do have one question, Mr. Sheppard.”
    “Shoot.”
    “Why me? There have got to be a thousand people in this city more qualified to work with you on this.”
    “Any kid who can stand toe to toe with Margaret Cunningham has
cojones.
I like
cojones.
You never raised your voice, but you held your own. Plus you get brownie points for the pedigree. Your looks don’t hurt, either.”
    Anna couldn’t quite decide if this was a compliment or an insult.
    “What about what Margaret said in there?” Anna wondered aloud. “She said that me being fired was a group decision.”
    “It was,” Clark said. “Then I changed my mind. So you remember what I said about Margaret. She’s dead to you. You fuck up, you’re out. Leave your address with my assistant, and I’ll send over the show bible. Clear your weekend. We’re going to be busy.” Anna could see his foot tapping the floor under his desk, a clear sign that he was ready for her to leave his office.
    She stood—the couch so low that getting to one’s feet was more easily said than done—shook Clark’s hand, and said she was looking forward to working with him. By the time she left the office, he was already barking commands to Gerard.
    Anna looked both ways when she got outside his door, thoroughly prepared for a confrontation with Cammie. Fortunately she wasn’t around.
    “Anna!” Margaret headed in her direction. “Anna, can you stop in my office before you go?”
    She’s dead to you.
Clark’s words came back to her. Maybe she’d call Margaret from home to let her know that she really didn’t have any hard feelings. But right now Anna knew that Clark Sheppard might be watching her. So as she passed Margaret, she kept her eyes fixed on the carpet.
    Welcome to Hollywood.

Minor Players
    T able 8 on Melrose Avenue was the hottest new restaurant in Los Angeles. Upstairs was a tattoo parlor, where local hipsters and daring girls from Lakewood came to get painted and pierced. Downstairs from the parlor was Table 8, the “it” place of the moment, where it was impossible for anyone—tattooed or tattoo-free—to get a reservation.
    But Samantha Sharpe wasn’t anyone. She was the daughter of the best-loved movie star in the world, Jackson Sharpe. Her name, associated with a place or a product and read in the supermarket tabloids by the unwashed masses, guaranteed popularity.
    At four in the afternoon she’d had her father’s assistant, Kiki, call Table 8 to say that Sam Sharpe wanted to book a table for two that evening, in the back. At two minutes after four Sam had her reservation.
    The owners of Table 8 were no dummies. They knew that by March, their restaurant would be toast with insiders who’d already moved on to the Next Big Thing. They’d need tourists and diners from Van Nuys and Encino to survive. Giving Sam Sharpe a table today ensured that there would be customers tomorrow.
    It seemed to Sam that trying to pick up Adam Flood on the rebound from Anna