The Prada Paradox Read Online Free PDF

he’s doing a segment here? On the lot?

    He’s just cavalierly throwing it all back in my face?

    The thought makes me sick to my stomach, and I want to lash out. I want to do something.

    I want to humiliate him the way he humiliated me.

    Maybe I was reluctant at first to get back into the PR game, but I’m in it now, and I’m more than capable of upping the ante.

    I stand up, my body thrumming with anger-fueled adrenaline. It’s time to pull out the red stiletto pumps and go have a chat with the boys fromLetterman.

    I haven’t played the diva for years…but that doesn’t mean I don’t remember how.

    Chapter5

    “Ifound the lemons!” Susie trots alongside me, breathless, a mesh bag stuffed with lemons swinging in her hand. “But they’re out of Evian.”

    “No problem,” I say, without breaking my stride. “Considering my mood, sucking on a lemon will do me just fine.”

    “Oh.”

    Since I’ve clearly thrown her for a loop, I take pity on her. “I’ll take these,” I say, reaching for the sack. “You can head home if you want. Unless you have some rotten tomatoes?”

    I can’t resist the last bit, but I probably should have, because I think I just fried her brain. I wave the comment away. “Never mind. Really. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

    “’Kay.” She takes a step backward, then stops and nods in the direction I’m heading. “So, um, what’s with Blake?”

    “What do you mean?” I ask warily.

    “They had all the lights and stuff set up for some interview, and now they’re striking everything.”

    “So?”

    “So I don’t think they did the interview.”

    That stops me. “You have to be wrong. They must have done it already.”

    “Dunno,” she says. “Maybe.” Which is incrediblyun helpful, but in this instance, I can’t really fault her.

    Apparently Susie isn’t up for speculation, though, because she trots off, a lot faster in her tennis shoes than I can handle in my blood-red pumps. (And, yes, I really did change clothes. I’m wearing skin-tight distressed jeans that I bought at a charity auction, a white blouse with a plunging neckline contrasted by innocent eyelet material, and my favorite Prada pumps. If I’m going into a confrontation, I’m going to damn well look my best.)

    As I watch her leave, I spot Elliot beside the wardrobe trailer. He sees me and starts to walk in the other direction, but I’m having none of that. “Elliot!” I call in my most self-important voice. “Hold up a second.” (A command, not a request. Am I good, or what?)

    “What is it, Miss Taylor?” he asks, tapping his watch. “I’m running late.”

    “I won’t keep you. I just wanted to find out where Blake’s shooting theLetterman segment. I thought it might be good for the movie if they do a snippet with the two of us together.” I flash my widest smile. It’s phony, manipulative, and he totally knows it. I, of course, expect an equally phony yet polite response.

    “You conniving bitch,” he spits, which isn’t polite at all. “What did you say to him in your trailer? What thehell have you done?”

    “Are you out of your mind? I haven’t done a thing!” I’m completely unnerved by his rage. Elliot and I have never gotten along well (I think he’s a charlatan, and he thinks I’ve fallen too low on the celebrity totem pole for his newly hot client). So I didn’t expect him to be excited about my offer. But this? This is psychotic!

    He points a finger at me. “This interview was essential to Blake’s career. And I swear, if I could get Tobias to fire your skinny little ass, I would!”

    I hold up my hands in defense. “What did I do?”

    But he just shakes his head and walks away. I’m tempted to go after him, but honestly, I’m too baffled. What the hell was he talking about?

    Clearly my diva has nosedived, and I’m left standing on the backlot utterly flabbergasted. At a time like this there’s really only one option. I pull out my cell phone, hit number 2 on the speed dial, and tap my foot impatiently.

    “I need retail therapy,” I