FAME: Not Like The Movies, #1

By Lauren K. McKellar

She’s supposed to cover the stories.

Not be one.

Madison Winters has life in the bag. Gorgeous fiancé? Check. Promotion to become editor of the country’s hottest fashion magazine? Check. Limited edition pair of Manolo Blahniks? Checkity-check.

Catching her fiancé with his pants down isn’t something she expects. In the space of twenty-four hours, Madison loses it all—not even her shoes will be saved.

Swapping sass + bide for sweatpants and Dior for the downward dog is going to be hell. The last thing Madison’s broken heart needs is a run-in with America’s newest playboy. Can she ever recover from this?

Tate Masters has it all—Hollywood’s latest golden boy has washboard abs, a killer smile, and a leading role in the next A-list movie.

Until a secret from his past is splashed all over the headlines, and that ‘good boy’ image fast-tracks to the gutter.  

Now the media hunt is on, and they’re baying for Tate’s blood. One night of wild behaviour sees him wake up next to a gorgeous Aussie brunette—and she’s everything Tate’s afraid of.

Keeping secrets has never been this hard.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lauren K. McKellar
• Release date: Feb 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524274764

Book preview

For anyone who fell for the person of their dreams from the very first glance.

Because when you know, you know.

Chapter One

Madison

My twenty-third birthday was supposed to be one of the best days of my life. I mean, besides my wedding, of course.

But anyone who’s worked in magazines knows the importance of a staff reshuffle, and when you’re next in line to be crowned deputy editor of Lola, Australia’s number-one fashion and celebrity magazine, you place weight akin to a new Marc Jacobs pantsuit on the day when the announcement will be made. You take your Coach handbag by the soft leather straps, you buckle those Balenciaga shoes and you stride into work like you mean it. After all, dressing for success isn’t just a suggestion at Williams & Co.

It’s a directive.

Today’s the day, my best friend Courtney sings, and I look up and smile. Are you excited?

I lean closer to make sure no one in admin can hear. I couldn’t even eat breakfast this morning.

Maddie! Courtney shakes her head, honey-blonde locks swaying with the movement. You know you have this in the bag. Even Jack McWilliams said this would be a big day for you.

I shrug, the words of Jack, our CEO, playing over in my mind. Pack up your bags, Madison. You won’t be at this desk after our staff reshuffle on Monday when Kara moves on. I’m just trying not to be too cocky. Although ... Shooting a quick glance over my shoulder at the large empty office with the bright red couch and the cowhide rug, I grin, then open a browser and pull up the David Jones website, flicking through to the ‘purchased items’ section. I may have already put a deposit on a new couch. Just to put my stamp on things in there, you know?

I point to a white leather couch. I already know where I’m going to put it—the side wall on a slight angle, so it faces the window. From there I can recline, enjoying a glass of wine, a cup of tea, entertaining designers in front of my city-scape view that ends in the twinkling blue of Sydney harbour .... Yes. Today is a very good day indeed.

That is perfect! Courtney ohs and ahs over it with me for a few minutes as we scroll through the range of pictures.

So what about you, huh? Are you hoping for a big promotion? I ask my best friend.

Oh, you know ... Courtney shrugs, looking down at her manicured nails. I’ve been here a year longer than you have. And no one has said Yoko is moving on, but if she does, I would be so happy to bump her off her fitness ball.

We both laugh at Courtney’s reference to the editor of Live Well. So even if you get the job, you’re not about to turn vegan? Take out a yoga membership at your local club?

Can you imagine? Courtney snorts. I might work for the hippy mag now, but I love meat. And the only kind of ‘downward dog’ I want to be involved in is more of a bedroom position, less of a relaxation move.

Oh Madison. Taylor the receptionist’s voice carries from the front of the office. I raise my head above the low-walled cubicle.

I can’t see Taylor face. She’s hidden behind what may be the largest bouquet of roses I have ever seen.

There has to be at least twenty of them, blood red blooms and long green stems arranged in an exquisite group accented with just a hint of baby’s breath.

Looks like someone’s fiancé loves her very much, Courtney murmurs, sliding off the desk to make room for the arrangement Taylor places down. The floral scent hits me and I suck it in, right down to the bottom of my lungs. It’s sweet.

Exactly what I imagine success will taste like.

Is it from Mike? Taylor asks, a smile on her lips.

I pluck a small white envelope from the front of the bouquet and slide it open with a manicured nail.

Dear baby cakes, I read aloud. Congratulations on your promotion and of course, your twenty-third year of being alive. Love you to the moon and back, your soon-to-be husband.

Aw! Taylor clutches her heart. That is so damn sweet!

I know. I smile. I am incredibly lucky.

And in that moment, I feel it. The man of my dreams and I are getting married in just a fortnight’s time. I’m about to go into a meeting and be gifted my dream job, if Jack’s hint last week is anything to go by. Not only that, but I’m wearing white and I haven’t spilt a thing, not even coffee, on my pants.

Twenty-three may be the very best year of my life. And I intend to rule every minute of it.

If only we all had fiancés like that. Courtney smirks, and elbows my side. Hot, thoughtful, and loaded? You sure landed yourself a catch.

I did. With that, I pick up my desk phone and dial out, calling Mike to thank him for the thoughtful gift. As per usual, it goes straight to voicemail, so I leave him a message.

I’m disappointed we don’t talk, but it’s not as if it matters. After all, I’ll see him at the Chandon function late this afternoon.

That’s the benefit of having a partner who works in the same industry as you. You see each other everywhere.

I put the phone down and resolve to text him later. As I glance back up at my best friend, envious looks flash around the staffroom. Congratulations quickly morph into coffees, and soon the room filters out for the ten a.m. staff reshuffle meeting, and it’s just Courtney and I left.

You ready? She holds out her hand.

Sure am. I entwine my fingers with hers, and we walk. Are you?

Courtney grins. Let’s both go get kick-arse promotions.

Together. I squeeze her hand.

She gives my fingers a curl back. Together.

When we walk into the boardroom, at least thirty of the fifty-plus heads in there turn to look, some narrow-eyed and judging, others glancing at their phones, all soft smiles and bored dispositions.

For me, there are only three faces that count.

Jack McWilliams, CEO.

Kara Knight, the deputy editor whose position I’ve been told is more or less mine.

And Chloe Kennedy, Lola’s editor-in-chief.

They all stand at the front of the room, Chloe with her hands firmly clasped in front of her, Jack mid-gesture to a PowerPoint presentation projected behind him showing our latest company figures. As per usual, Lola leads the pack. Moto Monthly follows close behind, then Bridal Beauty, Gossip!, Live Well, and all the others in dribs and drabs.

Welcome ladies. Jack nods, then stabs his finger at the board behind him, the million-dollar-smile plastered firmly across his face. Right. Let’s get started, shall we?

A polite smatter of applause floats through the room.

We have reached record sales in the last few months. In a market that’s supposed to be declining, you lot have produced quality publications that seem to go from strength to strength. Jack smirks. His red cheeks gleam in the yellow light. As you all know, once you reach the top it’s essential to shake things up. To introduce new tactics to ensure we don’t become stale, but remain market leaders in our ever-changing industry, Jack says, as the screen changes to the company’s logo. "And that’s why we’re having this meeting today. As you all know, there are some huge staff changes about to take place, not the least of which is the resigning of the fabulous Kara Knight, leaving room for a new deputy editor at Lola."

Golf claps pitter-patter across the room as Kara, Chloe’s second-in-charge, gives an insincere smile.

If I should ever become that fake, stab me, Courtney mutters, and I stifle a giggle.

So, without any further ado, it’s time to make our announcements. The biggest being Kara’s position, and Chloe’s right-hand gal. Jack smiles. I have to admit, filling this woman’s shoes was no easy job. Kara has been with the company since 1996, and her sense of style, her ability to predict trends and fashion, and her everlasting good nature have seen her go from strength to strength. Jack nods at Kara, and she graciously dips her head. It’s attributes like these that have made her replacement so hard to come by.

Courtney nudges me, and I try to keep my smiles under wraps.

I try, but I fail.

After what Jack said the other day, his words are practically a personal tribute to me.

"The new deputy editor of Lola is fashion-forward. She’s organised, capable, and fabulous in an emergency, Jack says. She’s been waiting in the wings for several years, and she’s one of the youngest people to ever move through our company so quickly." Jack gives a nod in my direction. A nod. A freaking nod.

I’m in.

I am so damn in.

It may come as a surprise to some of you—Jack flashes his award-winning grin to the corner of the room, then focuses his attention back to the general masses— but I’m sure to the majority, this candidate will be no astonishment. She’s hardworking—

Check

Dedicated—

Well, I did leave my own engagement party early to come in and cover the Grammys fashion disaster ...

On trend ...

I glance down at my Marc Jacobs suit once again and give a smug smile to myself. Straight off the runway. I only had to pay a Vietnamese lady operating a tailor service around $30 to get it altered to fit my non-size six figure.

And undoubtedly one of the biggest movers and shakers to not only fill the shoes of junior roles in this company over the past few years, but to style them up and make them her own. Jack finishes his speech with a flourish in my direction, and heads turn. Heat rushes to my cheeks, and for the first time since I started here, I breathe. I truly breathe.

It hasn’t been easy dedicating my life to a magazine and to keeping my relationship with Mike secure, a man who was used to me being Maddie from rural Australia through my transition to Madison from the upper north shore in Sydney.

But now, after all the blood, sweat, and financial tears, I’m about to reap my reward. Finally, after working twelve-hour days as a standard and bringing dye lines home on the weekends, I’m about to claim my just deserts.

Ever since I turned twelve and worked my first day at my grandparents’ newsagency, I’ve wanted to work in magazines.

And not just any kind of magazine.

Fashion.

There’s something so inherently glamorous about design and celebrity that I’ve always found irresistible.

"And that is why it is my absolute pleasure to announce the new deputy editor of Lola, our flagship monthly publication and the very stone on which Williams & Co was created," Jack says. He points to me and I step forward, all eyes in the room torpedoed in my direction. I glance down at my nude shoes. Thank God I chose neutral colours today. They no doubt counteract the bright red display setting fire to my face.

"Let’s put our hands together for the new deputy editor of Lola, the fabulous Courtney Orriss!"

I step forward again, already on my walk to the aisle down the middle of the seats when Jack’s words truly sink in.

Courtney Orriss.

My heart stammers. Air thickens, sticking in my throat, and I press my eyes shut to stop the impending tears. How did this go so wrong?

Shit.

Chapter Two

Madison

To my left, my best friend clasps a hand to her chest, staggering back. Me? She frowns, her voice high as a set of shorts in the early 2000s. Are you sure you mean—

Don’t be so modest, Courts. Get your arse up here. I mean, that is if you want the job. Jack gives a big ol’ roll of his arm, inviting Courtney to join him and Chloe centre stage. Excess saliva fills my mouth as I step aside and let my best friend in the entire world step forward and take the job I’d always thought was meant for me.

To the left and right, people congratulate Courtney as she steps forward. She blushes and smiles, and my heart sinks a little more.

In front of the room, Jack claps Courtney on the back, then Chloe pulls her in for a faux hug. The older woman’s eyes glaze over as she glances at the clock on the wall over my head, as if just being here is a waste of her time.

A few words, Courtney? Jack cocks his head, and for the first time since this happened, I look at my best friend. I really look at her.

Her cheeks are flushed, and a smile graces her rosebud red lips. She’s gracious and ecstatic, all at once.

The worst part, though?

She deserves it.

She’s excellent at her job.

Sure, she’s never expressed an interest in fashion before, but I can see how she’s a good fit for it. She works hard. She puts in the hours. She attends meetings, and networking sessions, and company cocktail parties, just like I do.

And that’s what burns the most.

I didn’t ... I ... Courtney catches my eye, and she cries an unspoken apology from her large, oval-shaped blues. How am I going to handle this? How am I going to handle my best friend becoming my boss? I truly never expected this to happen to me.

Voices erupt in a hum of congratulations and chatter. Chloe smiles, a grand close-lipped smile, and her gaze travels over the congregation as if we are all her loyal subjects. And in a way, we are.

I back toward the door. I need to be alone. I need to call Mike. He’ll know what to do. My rock.

I have him. And soon, we’ll be married.

And at least now I don’t have to worry about the possibility of taking work with me on my honeymoon.

My hand clutches for the door handle, and soon my fingers find the cold metal knob. Just as I’m about to twist it, Jack speaks again.

Of course, we have some other announcements to make, including one very special one. Madison Winters, where are you?

My fingers release the handle. I smooth down the sides of my outfit to try and calm my nerves. What could he possibly have in store for me? If I’m not being announced as deputy editor of Lola, I could only be—

You are one of the company’s brightest young stars. I’d say the youngest to advance through this company, and with the hours you put in and the work you do, I’m not surprised. Between yourself and Courtney, the company is headed in a strong direction, Jack says, and I prickle as fifty pairs of eyes latch on to me, then flick back to him. "And that’s why I’m so excited to announce you as the new deputy editor of Live Well, to replace Courtney, effective immediately."

Golf claps scatter around the room.

What?

I freeze. No. Please, no. He can’t be serious ... can he?

Congratulations. Jack nods and smiles, and I swear his teeth glint as he does so. All around me, people pat me on the back, offer their good wishes, but I’m stuck on two words.

Live. Well.

The hippy magazine. The glossy that focuses on yoga and bloody sustainable farming, not fashion and celebrities.

My stomach lurches.

I think I’m going to be sick.

Yoko, the editor of Live Well, worms her way through the crowd and stands before me. She’s wearing culottes. And not in an ironic way.

I know we haven’t worked together before, but I’m looking forward to this. She nods at me, and I work my lips into a smile. I have some very rewarding assignments lined up for you in the handover period.

I nod and thank her, but I’ve mentally checked out of the situation. My brain is a million miles from here.

I’ll go home. I’ll search the Internet for a new job.

No.

I’ll drink a lot of vodka.

I’ll have sex with my fiancé.

Then I’ll search for a new job.

The door handle stabs me in the butt as it opens. I stumble forward, righting myself before I fall from my six-inch stilettos right on poor Yoko’s hemp-smelling head. I reach for my back, rubbing the spot where the hard metal made contact with my soft flesh.

Sorry, ma’am. A young man nods at me, then wheels a trolley into the room. Bottles of sparkling wine clink against glasses as he goes, and soon the pop of champagne corks fills the room.

Would you like a drink? I ask Yoko.

She shakes her head. Judgment laces her eyes. Oh no. I don’t drink. Certainly not at ten in the morning.

Extenuating circumstances, I mutter and move past her to grab a flute that the white-shirted man behind the cart offers.

Thank you. I nod, and tip the glass back, downing all the contents in one long gulp. The bubbles fizz down my throat and through my body, and I slam the glass down on the tray and take a second one.

Maddie.

Courtney.

Maddie, I’m so sorry. I—

Nothing to be sorry about. The words come from my mouth, and I know it’s me who’s speaking, but somehow, I don’t feel as if I’m really there. You deserved it. Fair and square.

But I know how much you wanted this. I know—

Don’t worry about it. I shrug. The sound of the rest of the room speaking and laughing seems particularly loud as a silence stretches out between us. Here. I hand her the glass in my grasp. Congratulations.

Thanks. Courtney takes it and gestures to the cart with her head. Are you going to ...?

No. I ... I think I’m going to go ... wedding stuff. You know how it is. I shake my head and turn, then skirt around a cluster of people from accounts and head out of the room.

I press the door shut behind me, even though I want to slam it, then I walk toward my desk, one foot after the other. The air is cool out here, and I suck it in.

Light boxes with magazine covers line the walls. Magazine covers I was at the shoots for when I was just editorial assistant, first starting on Lola. Magazines I helped make.

A brand I will no longer be working for.

I think of the fashion room, where we store all the outfits in between shoots. The prize cupboard, stocked with the latest perfumes and beauty products, all waiting to be tested out. The view from the Lola floor, just that much higher than Live Well floor’s view ...

One glimpse at the bouquet that still sits proudly on my desk, one inhale of a waft of rose perfume thick in the air, and I can’t handle it. I have to leave. I need my Mike. He’ll know what to do.

Now.

The elevator ride seems unbearably long. When I get to the bottom floor, I scoot past the intern who replaces last week’s Gossip! cover featuring some supermodel’s bad Botox job to a new one announcing an up-and-coming Hollywood golden boy’s cheating ways.

Outside, I hail a cab and slide into the back seat. Keeping it together. I am keeping it together.

All I have to do is keep it together until I’m safe in my fiancé’s arms.

And hope like hell I can find a solution for this.

Chapter Three

Madison

The ride from Williams & Co to my house is short—twelve minutes. Twelve agonising minutes where I twist the new turn my life is to take over and over in my mind.

I can do this. It’s a stupid hippy magazine, but I’ll find something else. Hell, Mike is on a good wage. Maybe I can even take some time off. I mentally reassess my five-year plan; is it too early to start having kids?

No. I am a career woman. It’s definitely too soon.

I ride the elevator up to the fifth floor and pad down the carpeted hall, sticking my key in the lock when I get to number 528. Our home.

I twist open the door ...

And everything about my bad day gets worse.

Because there are some things in life you never forget. Some things that stick in your mind, over and above all else.

I’ll never forget the sight of my fiancé’s penis.

Especially as it pumps in and out of another woman’s mouth.

Pink talons clutch his arse as some blonde lady goes to town on his cock. Mike’s head is back, his eyes shut, his hands fisted in strands of her hair.

I drop my keys to the floor, but the carpet softens their landing. My heart lurches to my throat and sticks as the sick feeling from earlier twists my stomach once more. Excess saliva fills my mouth, and I wonder if I’ll vomit before they realise I’m standing here. What the ever-loving hell?

I ... I clear my throat, but they don’t hear me over Blondie’s groans. I try again. I came home early ...

Snap.

If you could photograph a moment, lodge it in your memory, this would be it. Mike’s eyes, wide open. His hands lifting in the air, as if by dislodging his hands from the woman’s hair he will somehow be less guilty. The blonde turns to me, her brows in a V but no lines marring her forehead. Botox. The pop sound of Mike’s dick as it’s suctioned out of her mouth.

Thoughts seem to war over Mike’s expression for an endless few seconds, then he jolts to action. He pulls his tan chinos up and belts them around his waist, shaking his head. Happy birthday, darling. He steps closer, as if nothing has happened. As if I haven’t just caught him halfway to orgasm in someone else’s mouth.

No. I hold out my hand to prevent him coming closer. I’m losing control. How is this happening?

As if reading my mind, Mike gives a small shrug. Oh. This? Mike turns to the woman on the floor, who rises to her feet, pushing her white skirt down over tanned thighs as she goes. This isn’t anything. You’ve got the wrong idea. This was an accident.

An accident? I scoff, my brows almost reaching my hairline. I grip the chair closest to me, desperate to hold onto something while everything else in my life falls to pieces. Like she tripped, grabbed your pants to stop her from hitting the floor then hung onto your cock in case she got carpet burn?

Mike seems to consider the idea for a moment, and I shake my head.

I can explain, he tries again. He grabs a black clutch from the dining table and thrusts it at the woman who takes it, pulling it close to her chest.

She looks from me, to Mike, to the door, then says, Do you want me to—

Yes! Mike and I answer simultaneously, and she all but runs from the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

We’re left in silence. Well, the apartment is silent. My head is not. It’s filled with the rapid thu-thumping of my heart and the blood roaring in my ears.

At the same time, I feel as if I’m looking in on the situation from somewhere else. I’m an innocent bystander to my own life.

I’m so sorry, Maddie. It was a one-time thing. It won’t happen again. Mike steps closer, his arms outstretched. They’re hot when they land on my shoulders.

Then ... why? My voice is small, and I have to concentrate to stop it from squeaking over the last word.

I just ... Mike shrugs and runs a hand through his blond spiked hair. You’re always so busy with work. Canada pays attention to me. Does things I like to do, like eat burgers, and watch sports. He sighs, and if I hadn’t just walked in on what I did, I’d be tempted to comfort him. To try and rub those worry lines from his forehead. You control our lives, from where we live to what I do, and I just wondered what it would be like to be with someone who ... but I’m sorry. I don’t mean that. You’re going to be my wife.

I ... am? I don’t know who I’m asking—Mike or myself.

Of course. I mean, that’s what you want, right? Everything’s set for two weeks. And hey, how’d your promotion go?

The knife twists in the wound. I didn’t get it.

"Oh honey,