"Kane what?" Lauren squealed as I reached the end of my blow-by-blow account of yesterday evening. "Say it again. I think the line's bad."

"You heard. He came on to me."

"That's brilliant!"

My silence said I disagreed.

"Or...not brilliant?"

"Lauren, the man's a womanising slug. He actually expected me to hop into bed with him."

"It might have been okay."

"Okay? I don't want a man who's just okay, and I definitely don't want Kane Sanders."

"At least he wouldn't sell your story."

I picked at the bowlful of fresh fruit from the room service cart. I'd longed to order waffles and bacon, but my soon-to-be-naked-on-camera-again waistline had vetoed that idea.

"But he'd probably tell his friends. And he's so two-faced. He's nice to Mikki when she's around, but yesterday, he said really insulting things about her."

"Hmm, maybe it's time I start throwing darts at my Kane Sanders calendar?"

"Save some for me. I have no idea what I'm going to say to him next week."

"You haven't spoken to him yet?"

"Not properly. This morning, he muttered something about catching up with an old buddy, then checked out of the hotel. Said he'd make his own way back to San Francisco."

"Sounds as if he's embarrassed too."

"He's lived through ten years of Hollywood drama, including a cocaine scandal. I don't think he gets embarrassed."

"Well, pretend you don't either. What did he say? Rule two?" Lauren laughed and mimicked Kane. "Never admit that you're not one step ahead."

"Is it too late to emigrate?"

"Hey, it's not all bad."

"How? How is it not all bad?"

"Because I saw Kane Sanders on Twitter with his hand on your ass. Did he squeeze?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"So he did." Lauren let out a low whistle. "But as I was saying, this is good news. Because if I saw you and Kane on Twitter, I bet you five bucks that Trent did too."

"Oh, heck."

"Sweetie, he's gonna be so jealous. I bet he messages you before lunchtime."

"He already did. Nothing exciting, just asking how yesterday went."

"See? It's working. OTT is working!"

"I still think emigrating is a better idea."

"Ten more weeks, and then you're done. Want to take a girl-trip to somewhere with plentiful tequila afterward?"

"Deal."

***

On Monday, I didn't have any scenes, but Kane, Mikki, and Lucas did, and I revelled in the relative peace of the house. Eight whole hours alone, but it wasn't long enough, and the others caught me eating salted caramel ice cream in the kitchen when they arrived back.

"Is that full fat?" Mikki asked, peering into my bowl.

"Probably."

"Gross."

My mom had always told me that if I couldn't say anything nice, I shouldn't say anything at all, but Mikki obviously hadn't gotten that memo. I blocked her out and focused on Lucas instead.

"How was filming?" I asked.

"Good. Better than yesterday."

Yesterday while I was still in LA, Mikki had thrown a hissy fit because her make-up artist was off sick, and she didn't like the replacement. So she'd insisted on an alternative, which had delayed everything by an hour and meant the whole crew left in the dark. At least now, I wasn't the only person who disliked her.

"I don't suppose that was difficult."

Lucas put a pile of envelopes and a gift-wrapped box on the counter next to me. "I brought your letters in case you wanted to reply to them this evening."

"Thanks, that's—"

"You actually write them back?" Mikki asked. "That's so cute. What's in the box?"

"Does it look as though I've opened it?"

"I'll take a look for you."

"No!" I snatched the box away, and she pouted. "It's for me, not you."

"Suit yourself. Ishmael already sent me a package today. A necklace and matching earrings. I might wear them when me and Kane go out to Capparo on Thursday."

"What's Capparo?"

"The new restaurant in Pacific Heights. We're going with David and his wife."

Phew. A night of quiet to look forward to. I settled for ignoring Mikki and her gloating while I tore the layers of paper off my gift. Chocolates. Somebody had sent me chocolates, and in an expensive-looking box as well. I untied the ribbon and picked off the little gold sticker that held the lid closed.

"Do you want one?" I asked Mikki. Kill people with kindness, another one of Mom's sayings, and I refused to stoop to Mikki's level of bitchiness.

"Ugh. What are they? Belgian truffles? Do you know how many calories are in those things?"

The label just said Luxury Truffles, and in smaller writing underneath, Handmade by Artisans. At least it was a nicer surprise than Lucas's block of cheddar.

"No, it doesn't say how many calories."

"Hundreds. Thousands if you eat the whole box."

Well, maybe I would. I'd spent three hours in the gym this morning, and every muscle still ached because of it. I bit into a chocolate, and the sweet taste of cocoa burst on my tongue. Delicious. Then I chewed, and something...something wasn't right. Were Belgian truffles supposed to be crunchy?

I squinted at the half of the chocolate I was still holding, and instead of a smooth filling, little legs poked out at me.

"Are you okay?" Lucas asked.

Instead of answering, I shoved the chair back and ran toward the sink. I got most of the way there before I vomited, and bits of beetle and chocolate and ice cream dripped down the pristine cupboard door, brown against white.

Mikki shrieked, and she didn't stop even when Kane covered her eyes.

"Don't look, babe."

But he did, and I didn't miss the expression of disgust on his face. Only Lucas managed sympathy, sidestepping the mess to pour me a glass of water.

"Drink this."

I took a sip and retched again, visions of dead things floating before my eyes. Giddiness washed over me, and Lucas helped me onto a stool before I keeled over.

"Just sit."

"I swallowed a freaking beetle!"

Mikki ran out of the room, and Kane turned his attention to the chocolates.

"I think it was a locust, actually." He picked up another and broke it in half, then another and another. "They all have locusts inside."

"I'm so sorry," Lucas said, lips close to my ear. "If I'd realised..."

"How could you have known?"

I wiped my mouth with a tissue and tried another mouthful of water. This time, it stayed down, and I drained the glass in an attempt to take the taste away. And the feel. The feel of those little legs tickling my tongue and crackling between my teeth.

"Who sent them?" I asked.

Kane flipped the box over. "Who knows? There isn't a card attached. Did you have to puke? It stinks."

"I couldn't help it, okay?"

"When I filmed Dogs of War in Cambodia, we ate crispy tarantulas. They're not that bad."

Lucas turned to him. "Stop being a prick, Kane."

"What? I'm just saying she overreacted."

"She didn't. Who expects to find dead bugs in their candy? If you want to be helpful, find a mop."

"Do I look like a maid?"

I thought Lucas was going to say something else, but he bit his bottom lip, took a deep breath, and gave my shoulders a squeeze.

"Go get changed, and I'll clean up."

"Changed?"

He pointed at my top, and I groaned out loud when I saw the streaks of second-hand ice cream decorating it. "You shouldn't have to do that. I'll clean up."

"Just go and change, Violet."

"Sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for." He helped me to my feet and gave me a gentle push toward the doorway. "Go."

I heard Mikki laughing in the living room as I fled up the stairs. Was Kane with her? Were they laughing at me? Had I overreacted? Yes, puking was drastic, but I'd never eaten anything so disgusting before, and it all came up before I could stop it.

In the bathroom, I tore off my top and wadded it into the trash can. I never wanted to see it again, let alone wear it. Then I scrubbed at my skin until it was red, but the grubbiness came from the inside, something deeper, not just the beetles but the fact that this little country girl from Kansas didn't belong in the shiny, sparkly world of Hollywood.

A soft knock at the door startled me.

"Who is it?"

"Lucas."

"I'm not dressed."

Half a minute passed, and then the door cracked open. His hand snaked through the gap, holding a T-shirt and a pair of yoga pants.

"Here. Will these do?"

I tugged the clothes on and prepared to face Lucas. This was even more awkward than the Kane situation, but when I peeped around the door, he gave me a kind smile.

"How are you feeling now?"

"Better. Maybe I did overreact."

"I'd probably have puked too."

"No, you wouldn't." I sat on the bed, scrunched up into the pillows with my knees tucked against my chest. "What kind of sick freak does that? Sends somebody beetles, or locusts, or whatever?" I found a thread of hope and clung to it. "Are you sure they were meant for me? Kane said there wasn't a card."

"They were in your trailer with the fan mail. I'll ask around to see if I can find out who delivered them, but I doubt anyone will remember much, like with the roses."

"You asked about those?"

"Yeah. A brown-haired man in a white van pulled up at the front gates while Jimmy was coming in. You know, Mikki's assistant? Anyhow, Jimmy figured he'd bring them to your trailer since he was headed in that direction."

"He didn't see a logo on the van? A name?"

"Apparently not. I'll have a word with David, see if we can get some security for you."

"Do you really think I need it?"

"You should be able to do your job without worrying."

"I don't even want to be in this house. Not with Kane and Mikki. Do you think David would be furious if I moved out?"

They'd paid me fifty thousand bucks up front, so I could move into a hotel, or rent an apartment, or sleep in the freaking car that they'd made me leave at the studio because an ageing Honda didn't fit in with the ambience at the beach house and Kane had commandeered the garage for his Ferrari and his Porsche.

"It would be a breach of contract, and you know how important David thinks this reality show is."

"But if I came back for his stupid script reveals..."

Lucas switched his voice up an octave in a surprisingly good impression of David. "It's not just the moments on camera, Violet. It's the interaction between my stars off-screen, the clash of souls, the melding of psyches... It all adds depth to the atmosphere, an extra layer, that certain something that other productions simply don't have. Hidden Intent will be a masterpiece, a—"

"Enough!" A giggle popped out. "I get it. I'm stuck here."

"We're both stuck here." Lucas sat on the edge of the bed, his torso twisted to face me. "But I have an idea."

"Does it involve cameras, chocolate, removal of clothing, or floral arrangements?"

"Nope. It involves the pool house."

"The pool house?"

"It's empty. Why don't you sleep in there for a few nights? Give yourself some space?"

Hmm... That wasn't a bad idea. I'd never been inside the tiny stucco villa at the far end of the backyard, but I'd peered through the windows, and it was furnished. One main room with a couch and a bed, plus a kitchenette and a small bathroom. Even better, it was far enough from Mikki and Kane that I wouldn't be tempted to murder them in their sleep, and technically, it was still at the same address. Sure, it might be against the spirit of the game, but my contract didn't specify that I had to sleep in the main house. I practically knew the small print by heart now.

"But what about you? You'd still be here with the terrible two."

"Don't worry about me. I've spent enough time around their type to know when to ignore them and when to bite back."

"Are you sure?"

"Pick up the stuff you need, and I'll help you to carry it out."