SLEAZE: A Hollywood Comeback Story (Book #1)

Chapter 5

Over a month went by before I thought about Sophie again.

Michael kept me busy at work, to say the least, and I spent most days feeling like I was a pledge again, cowering under his watchful eye. I started spending more time with Scott, although it felt kind of weird to spend my weekends at the fraternity house when I wasn't even in school. Maybe it was because being president had been the thing I was looking forward to most for this school year, but I always left feeling a little bit sad.

According to Mom, Dad had channeled his workaholic tendencies into recovering from his surgery and was close to being cleared to go back to work. Well, at least to start looking for work again. I know it's bad, but I secretly hoped that the doctors wouldn't sign off on him until he'd had a little bit longer to relax. Mom said he'd taken up designing miniature home models, which wasn't that weird for an out of work engineer to do, I guess. I just hoped that the next time I went home to visit, my room would still have a bed and not a workbench in its place.

In my spare time, I'd started really getting serious about putting together my application for LAU's film school. Unfortunately, I'd developed a horrible case of writer's block and spent my lunch breaks wandering around the streets, people watching and trying to get into the minds of characters that would impress the admission committee. So far, I'd gone through about four hundred ideas, three reams of printer paper, and countless hours, only to have a blank script saved to my computer's desktop.

As I strolled into my office one afternoon in late November, Melanie beckoned me over to her desk. She gave me a suspicious look before saying, "Your one-thirty appointment is here."

My eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me? My what?"

Melanie nodded as she repeated, "Your one-thirty. She's in your office now,"

I stared at her and Melanie's face twisted into an anxious grimace. "You don't have a one-thirty, do you?"

I shook my head and my redheaded friend swore profusely under her breath as she quickly got on her phone to call security. More curious than concerned, I slipped away towards my office when her back was turned. No one ever tried to sneak in to see the intern and I wanted to see who'd gone out of his or her way to seek me out.

As I stepped into my dust-free office, I looked around in confusion for the person I was allegedly supposed to be meeting with. No one was sitting in either the spare chair that I kept next to the copiers or standing around waiting for me to return. It wasn't until I peered over my massive computer screen that I saw a familiar blonde slouched low in my swivel chair, her ballet flats resting on my desk.

"What are you doing here, Sophie?" I demanded as I walked around to stand squarely in front of her. I nudged her feet with my palm and she gave me a lopsided smile as she lowered them to the ground.

"I could ask you the same question," she said, spinning around lazily in my chair. She stopped and looked up at me innocently. "Whom did you piss off to get stuck with this office?"

"No one," I grunted, feeling both embarrassed and annoyed that she'd pointed out my meager workspace. "Seriously, what are you doing here?"

"I came to see how your wounds are healing," she said simply. I scoffed in disbelief.

"Is this supposed to be the apology I asked for four weeks ago? You're a little late,"

She shrugged. "To be honest, you happened to run into me—no pun intended—on a particularly bad day. I wasn't at my best, as the tabloids made sure to point out for a week afterwards."

"What, did you break a nail?" I asked sarcastically. "Or did your Chihuahua escape from your Prada bag?"

Sophie smirked and replied, "Prada, huh? Weren't you wearing Armani the other day, too? You do know what they say about men who know designers..."