Hollywood Punch Read Online Free PDF Page B

do I love saying that?! But, how typical is this? The second you’re attached, you’ve got random hotties approaching you in the street. And since you’re already involved, you can’t do a thing about it. When I was single, this sort of thing never happened to me. Life can be so unfair sometimes.
    â€œAren’t you Brooke Miller?” the hottie says to me as he follows me into the building. Did he just call me by my name? Um, how does he know my name?! Okay, so, now I’ve got random hotties stalking me in the street. I’m strangely conflicted about this.
    â€œHow do you know my name?” I ask, edging my way towards the security desk. In a split second, I formulate a positively brilliant plan for getting away from hottie/stalker, should things go awry. I will simply throw my briefcase at his chest and distract him momentarily so that I can run to the safety of the security guard. I don’t think that the guards are real cops or anything, but they’re still pretty darn imposing. Especially Margie Ann. That woman will put the fear of God into you with just one look. Now, if hottie/stalker actually catches my briefcase instead of getting distracted by it, my plan was pretty much blown. But none of that mattered in the end anyhow:
    â€œYes, I thought it was you. Brooke Miller,” he says, reaching into his briefcase. “You’ve been served.”
    *
    â€œI don’t get it,” my ex-boyfriend Trip says, walking into my office unannounced (it’s like there’s just no point in actually having an assistant in the first place). “I thought that Douglas was cool with all of this. He seemed fine when I told him the other night about the movie we were making about a girl who goes to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding. We had that great dinner all together at Pastis, but now, this.”
    â€œYou mean the movie you’re making about my life,” I said.
    â€œNo,” he says with a nervous laugh. “I thought we already established this. It’s my story about getting married and then inviting my ex-girlfriend to come to the wedding.”
    â€œYou say tomato,” I say, under my breath as I roll my eyes at Trip. Then, in my sensible lawyerly voice, without the eye roll: “I don’t get it, either. Let me give him a call and I’ll call you as soon as I hear back from him.”
    Trip settles into one of my visitor chairs, clearly ready to watch as I make my phone call, which confuses me. If he thinks that I’m about to call my fiancé to ask him why he’s suing me, does he really think that I want my ex-boyfriend here to watch? Trip can be such a moron sometimes. Which reminds me….
    â€œTrip, I thought you told me that I couldn’t sue you for making a movie out of my life?” I ask.
    â€œDidn’t you get a A in torts?” Trip asks. “I got a C, but I still remembered that a private citizen can sue for their rights of privacy.”
    â€œI knew you were wrong!” I said. “I just had too much wine and got confused.”
    â€œOr maybe it’s just that,” he says. “After all, you’re just not really a better lawyer than me.”
    I think but don’t say: “No. I still am.”
    â€œThat’s why I took you guys out to Pastis that night,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I thought I had your consent. And Douglas’s, too.”
    â€œI never consented to anything,” I say, my hand involuntarily flying up to my chest. “But, I thought it was strange that you were hounding me to go out for dinner.”
    â€œIt was my assistant who called you,” Trip points out.
    â€œWhatever,” I say under my breath.
    â€œThe strange thing here,” Trip says, “is that you’re a named party in this lawsuit, too. Which means that your fiancé has just served you a lawsuit.”
    â€œI know,” I say, trying to formulate a reason