Lauren Conrad - Starstruck

“Oh! There you are,” said her lawyer, appearing at her side and looking pleased with himself. “I lost you for a minute.”

Madison took a small step away from him. Andy Marcus wore too much hair product and even more cologne. “You’re the one who disappeared,” she pointed out. “I’ve been standing here in the middle of … well, where I can only assume people are sent for crimes against fashion. I’m surprised everyone isn’t walking around here with black bars across their faces.”

Andy laughed. “Down but not out!” he said. “There’s the Madison Parker the world knows and loves.”

“Whatever,” she said, noting his own poor choice in suiting. “We should probably walk out together, right?”

Madison knew what was on the other side of the courthouse doors: a sea of photographers, TV cameras, spectators. A crowd of people waiting to see her. A few of them were her fans, of course. Most of them were not, though, and they waited impatiently, holding signs painted with mocking slogans, itching to unleash what she knew she had coming. While Madison was thrilled to have avoided jail time, there were plenty of people who felt differently. They wanted her to pay for what she’d done.

She thought of Lacey Hopkins, the young actress who’d been in Madison’s shoes more than a few times herself, thanks to a fondness for prescription drugs and petty shoplifting. Would Madison’s career suffer the way Lacey’s did? She told herself that it wouldn’t. It couldn’t. She’d do her community service and be a model citizen from now on.

Andy Marcus’s phone rang. “It’s your publicist,” the lawyer said, glancing at the screen. “She’s calling because you need to make a statement. Or I can do it, if you want me to. I like to think that talking to the press is one of my personal strengths.”

Madison snatched the phone from his hand and answered it. “Why are you calling the lawyer instead of your own client?” she demanded.

Sasha didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, hello, Madison,” she said smoothly. “I wasn’t sure how you’d be feeling, so I thought it would be best to call Andy.”

“I’m great, thank you,” Madison said. “Best day of my life.”

“I’ve been so worried about you.”

“I’m sure you have,” Madison replied. She liked her publicist fine, but she understood that Sasha was actually more worried about herself. It was always a hassle for publicists when their clients got in trouble; they had to field calls from every gossip blogger and magazine out there. It was a headache. And whoever said that all press is good press hadn’t posed for a poorly lit mug shot recently.

“Well, I have great news,” Sasha said.

“Really?” Madison felt her heart lift a little.

“Yes. I just got off the phone with Veronica Bliss, and she has agreed to run a huge spread on you. An exclusive. A sit-down with Madison Parker, with a photo shoot and everything. Isn’t that incredible?”

“So Veronica wants me to tell her Gossip readers all about my troubles,” Madison said, her voice flat. This wasn’t the kind of good news she’d been hoping for. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Andy give her the thumbs-up. God, he was such an idiot.

“Yes. It’s your chance to tell your side of the story, Madison. Your chance to regain some of the sympathy you’ve … well, temporarily lost.”

Madison smiled grimly. At any other time in her life, she would have cut off a limb to get a two-page spread in Gossip. But today? Today was a different story. Today she couldn’t tell anyone what really happened: not Trevor Lord, her boss; not Kate Hayes, who seemed like she’d be a sympathetic ear; and certainly not the entire circulation base of Gossip magazine. Besides her sister no one knew the truth, and Sophie wasn’t going to let that one slip. She was more than enjoying Madison’s fall. Funny how things worked out. “No thanks,” she said. “I don’t want to talk about it. Besides, given my history with Veronica, I hardly think it would be a positive story.”

“Are you sure?” Andy mouthed.

Madison waved his question away. “Let’s just make a statement,” she told Sasha. “Something about how I support the judge’s decision and I’m looking forward to starting my community service immediately and putting this all behind me, blah blah blah. You can make it sound good, right?”

“That’s what you pay me for,” Sasha said.

“Well, then you’ve earned it today. Here, Andy can give you the details.” Madison shoved the phone back into her lawyer’s hand. He looked at it in surprise for a second, as if he’d never seen it before. Then he held it to his ear. “Sasha,” he said.

Madison watched him for another moment and then turned to go. She didn’t need to wait for him. She had a life and an image to rebuild … again.

She strode toward the exit, still holding her bag in its death grip, and paused for a moment before the huge oak door. A large, red-faced security guard appeared beside her.

“I’m going to escort you to your car, Miss Parker,” he said. “There are … a few photographers outside.” He was six foot three and well over two hundred pounds, but he looked a little uneasy as he eyed the door. This didn’t help to calm Madison’s nerves.

Own it, she told herself. Own it. The perp walk is the new catwalk, after all.

She gave the door a defiant shove, and the bright September sunlight that came pouring in nearly blinded her. Or was it the burst of what felt like a thousand flashbulbs? Madison couldn’t be sure. All she knew was that she’d never been more thankful for her superdark sunglasses.

She walked down the steps, keeping close behind the security guard as he created a small path ahead of her. People were screaming her name. A woman in a jade-green suit pushed through the crowd toward her. “Madison Parker,” she said, holding out a microphone. “How do you feel about the outcome of today’s hearing?”

Another reporter appeared to her right. “Miss Parker, has Lacey Hopkins offered you any words of wisdom on dressing for court appearances?”

“Hey, Mad,” someone yelled, “what’s it like to be a convict?” (It was the TMZ guy. She didn’t even have to look to know.) The shouts from the crowd grew more deafening. Meanwhile the camera shutters kept clicking and the flash-bulbs popped like fireworks around her. It was exactly the sort of chaos that she usually loved. Usually craved. (Once a reporter had asked her where her favorite place to be was. “That’s easy,” she’d purred. “Right in the center of all the attention.”)

But now, in this moment, she wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Hey, Parker, nice shoes. Did you steal those, too?”

“Madison, are you going to rehab like your sister?”

“Madison, Madison, stealing is a sin—”

Madison tossed her blond hair and held her head high. She took slow, defiant steps to the waiting car. She imagined that the shouts were coming from her fans, the ones who used to scream and beg for photos and autographs as she walked down the red carpet.

The PopTV camera crew had staked out a place right near her car. On Trevor’s orders, Bret, the camera guy, moved toward her. She could practically feel the camera focusing in on her face, searching for any hint of emotion.

Of course PopTV wanted to broadcast her humiliation, the same as everyone else did. But at least their version would be sympathetic. If Madison had to exit a courthouse on TV, she might as well have the shot color-corrected in postproduction, slowed down for dramatic effect, and set to the tune of Kelly Clarkson’s most recent hit.

She reached up and took off her sunglasses. Let them see exactly how strong she was.

A girl—a freckled, redheaded teenager—came running toward her. “I still love you,” she called. “I still do!” And before Madison’s driver stepped in front of the girl and cut her off, she tossed a single red tulip at Madison’s feet.