Chapter 56

The bar door swung open like a bad pop-up ad, and in sashayed Cacey Sibbett, Queen of Almost-Famous. Honey-blonde hair cascaded down her back, clinging to a wraparound dress that screamed ‘Look at me!’ But her phone, plastered to her ear, told a different story. ‘Do something about the damn paparazzi, Cacey,’ the voice on the other end had hissed, laced with the familiar, infuriating blend of charm and condescension that belonged to James Tyler, her sugar daddy (more like a thimble-full of sweetener, really). Married mogul, closet philanderer, and Cacey’s only hope of clawing her way out of B-movie purgatory. ‘Like I haven’t tried,’ she muttered, scanning the bar like a hawk. Every shadowy corner could harbour a paparazzo with a telephoto lens, eager to immortalise her clandestine affair in grainy, pixelated glory. ‘Sherry’s suspicion level is hitting the roof,’ James stressed. ‘Sweetheart, take a chill pill. I’ve got this covered. Handling messes is practically my superpower.’ ‘I can’