It was the insistent tapping sound that woke Ines Andrada up. Blinking at the morning sunshine that assaulted her eyes, she looked around to discover she was still in the driver's seat of Piper Scanlon's car.

Once again, the police officer rapped his knuckles on the window of the Porsche.

She rolled down the window. "Sorry, officer," she said. "I was waiting for my boss and I must have fallen asleep."

The officer glanced at her outfit. "The Fischer party?" he said.

"Yeah." She smiled apologetically. "Parking was full inside the house." Half the guests had parked along the road in front of Ester Fischer's mansion.

"Fine." He nodded. "Just so long as you move on along—"

"Oh, I will." Ines gunned the engine to life to demonstrate that she was, indeed, leaving.

Satisfied, the police officer left to go back to his patrol car. Ines picked up her phone which was lying on the front passenger seat. She gasped in horror when she saw it was nine thirty a.m.

There was one message from Piper:

Leaving with Tom Stockwell. I won't be needing you till Monday.

Ines groaned. The message was sent at 4am. She'd been waiting for Piper since two, and she must have fallen asleep right before her boss had texted her. A certified Hollywood A-lister, the actress either had Ines rushing to fulfil her demands or waiting hours while she took her own sweet time doing whatever it was she needed to do, whether hobnobbing with the rich and famous or getting her nails done.

No, Ines was used to this kind of treatment. The problem was that she had an appointment with film producer Jamie Kilborne in an hour.

She started driving towards the address Mr. Kilborne's assistant had given her. There was no time for her to go back to Piper's house to retrieve her car, or to change out of the white evening dress she had on. As it were, she'd have to hurry if she wanted to make it to Kilborne's place on time. Luckily she had a copy of her manuscript in the bag she'd stashed in the trunk.

She couldn't screw this up. It was already a huge risk trying to get her screenplay into the hands of a film producer — or anyone else,for that matter — without tipping off her employer. She was almost entirely certain that if Piper ever found out, Ines would not only lose her job as Piper's assistant, but she'd be blackballed from working in the industry ever again.

It wasn't fair. Piper knew she had taken this job as a way into Hollywood. Being Piper Scanlon's assistant was supposed to open doors for Ines, give her to opportunities to meet people who might give her a chance at working as a screenwriter. Instead, the actress assured her she would personally have her agent shop her script around to the right people and that Ines should focus her energy on her job as an assistant.

"You can trust me," Piper had said. "And in return, I'll trust you not to make any moves to get an agent on your own. I can't have my staff signing up with just any two-bit con artist out there. I have a reputation to protect."

However, a year and three scripts later, she hadn't heard from anyone. Whenever she asked Piper for progress, all her replies were vague and discouraging. It had become painfully clear that Piper had no plans of helping her.

And why would she? Ines knew she was the best assistant Piper ever had. She was the only one who could put up with the woman's unreasonable demands day in and day out without breaking down in tears.

Not anymore, Ines thought. She'd had enough of Piper's b.s. to last her a lifetime. She was going to risk her boss's ire by doing what she should have done a long time ago — get herself an agent. Or even better, an actual job writing movies.

Jamie Kilborne was an opportunity she wasn't going to waste. His assistant Mikey Tobin was an old college friend of hers, and he called her up yesterday to say Kilborne was willing to meet with her and take a look at her script. Most important of all, if he decided he wasn't interested, he would keep the meeting confidential.

Piper would never find out.

***

Girl will be there at 10. You'll like her, I swear.

Mason Kilborne grimaced as he read the text. It was from the actor Michael Sorensen, star of the small independent film Mason agreed to help bankroll when it went two weeks over its filming schedule and half a million dollars over budget. To express his gratitude, Michael promised to treat him to the services of his favorite escort.

Bloody idiot. He'd brushed off the offer as a joke. The actor had been drunk — and high, if Mason's suspicions were correct — at the time. There had been no reason to take him seriously. Yes, everyone knew Michael Sorensen had a penchant for escorts. But just because he paid for sex, it didn't mean everyone else did.

Mason, least of all.

There were already too many women more than willing to get into the sack with him. It was the money, obviously. He had no illusions about that. He knew women found him attractive, but Hollywood was full of good-looking people.

No, it was the money. And the power that came with it.

People were shallow creatures, after all. And in L.A., you'll be hard-pressed to find a single soul that wasn't desperate for either money or fame or sex. Not his friends. Not even his own cousin Jamie who ran his own film production company.

He tried calling Michael once. Twice. All he got was voicemail. He had no choice but to leave a message that he had no use for Michael's girl, and that under no uncertain terms should Michael send her to Mason's place.

"And for God's sake, maybe if you showed up on the set on time, you'll be able to keep to the schedule," Mason added before hanging up.

Even if Michael never got his message, it didn't matter. Mason was spending the rest of the weekend in his estate in Hidden Hills. He'd lent the apartment to Jamie who needed a new place to host his party tonight after his wife caught the flu earlier this week.

Where was Jamie anyway? He was supposed to come by at eight a.m., and it was nearly ten. Mason tapped the button for the reception desk on the intercom.

"Edgar?" he said. "I'm expecting my cousin Jaime Kilborne and his assistant. Just send them straight up."

"Will do, Mr. Kilborne," Edgar replied.

Mason made a mental note to let his cousin know the escort might be dropping by tonight. Even if she lost him as a client, at least she might enjoy the party.

He walked toward the balcony, yanking his shirt off. He tossed the shirt over a bench between the pull-up bars and the treadmill. It was a beautiful sunny morning and when the weather was this good, he preferred working out in the open air. Clad only in his grey gym shorts, he positioned himself under the pull-up bar. He grabbed the bar with both hands a little more than shoulder width apart and slowly lifted himself up.

***

Ines manged to clean up her make-up as she drove without getting into any accidents. It was a bit reckless, she knew, but she had no time to stop and find a ladies' room. The skin on her face was on the oily side, and after a night sleeping in her makeup, it was all hopelessly smudged. According to her mom, it was the Asian genes Ines had inherited from her father. "On the plus side," she added with an envious sigh, "you probably won't get a wrinkle till you're forty-five." Being half-Filipino was great for ageing gracefully, not so much for keeping her make-up from sliding off her face.

The apartment building on Wilshire was just as grand as Ines expected it to be. The driveway snaked around huge twin fountains, and the wide front doors opened up to a large reception area with dark gleaming marble floors and an arched ceiling.

She gave the valet the keys to the Porsche, and walked inside to the receptionist behind the desk. Nervous and self-conscious about the evening dress she still wore, she blurted out, "Jamie Kilborne. Penthouse."

The middle-aged man in the dark suit gave her a wide smile. "Ah yes," he said. "Mr. Kilborne is expecting you. Take elevator six down there." He gestured behind him. "It goes straight to the top floor."

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Thanks for voting for this chapter! Keep reading for Chapter 2 "Mr. Kilborne, I Presume?"