Fame ***

Harry gasped loudly as I pulled away from him, climbing off his torso and shaking out my long hair. “Alright, we’re done,” I stated plainly, starting toward my closet, swinging my hips oh-so-subtly to keep him going crazy.

“Wait, what?” he called after me, still breathless. He was shirtless, the only thing left on his body his tight boxer briefs that left very little to the imagination. I could feel his dark green eyes lingering on my toned back, skating over my curves, wishing that he could shed the panties and bra that were still on my body.

But instead of climbing back into bed with him and taking this all the way, I slid on a pair of short denim shorts and a flowy blouse that a designer had sent to me. “You heard me,” I responded, giving him my signature smirk again. “We’re finished.”

“Are you seriously leaving me like this?” he groaned, throwing his large hands over his eyes. “I didn’t even get to touch your boobs without your bra on.”

“Sucks,” I commented drily, walking over and picking up his pants off the floor. “Now suit up and ship out. And don’t make me call my bodyguard to come get you.”

The mention of bodyguard was all it took for him to climb off the bed and put his clothes back on, though he took his sweet time doing it. He seemed very aware of the fact that I was watching him, observing the way his various muscles twitched and moved as he pulled his pants up his legs, slipped his shirt onto his arms, layered the jacket over it.

But then came the tie. He tried to put it on a couple of different times, flipping it over each other, making pathetic attempt after pathetic attempt to make the knot it had been in before.

It was just all too much. Being the perfectionist I was, I marched over and hooked it around his neck for him, looping it with ease, and tightened it.

I had no idea if he was really that much of a failure or if he was just looking for an opening, but when I looked up at him to make a snarky remark, he captured my lips with his.

I actually humored him for a second, moving my mouth with his, allowing him access when his tongue moved forward to mingle with mine. And then, after a couple minutes, just when he started to give me the vibe that he was going to advance things again, I pulled back. “Harry, I don’t know what kind of girl you think I am, but I don’t have sex on the first date.”

“We didn’t even go on a date,” he responded with a confused look.

“Even more reason not to sleep with you. Now you’re free to go.”

He gave me a huffy look as he stepped back and started to walk away, attempting to make his curls lie flatter, but it wasn’t working. I’d made out with him just long enough to ensure that he’d have sex hair, so when he left, he’d get pictures taken of him, and bam. We’d be all over the front pages of all the gossip magazines, and my popularity would take a pretty good raise.

I didn’t even care that all the little Direction fans, whatever the fuck their name was, would be all over me like flies on a pig. What was the worst they could say, that I should die? That I wasn’t good enough for him? That I was fat? I knew none of that shit was true. And they’d just say it because a) they were insecure about themselves because they were fat and ugly or b) they actually deluded themselves into thinking they had a chance with one of the most recognizable music stars in the world.

I chuckled to myself when I thought about the various things the tween girls would send me as I turned my iPhone back on. I hadn’t wanted it to go off while I was fooling around with Harry, just in case he insisted that I check whatever message came in.

And I opened it to find a message from my agent, Heather Dawes, demanding that I call her immediately.

Sighing and rolling my eyes, I pressed on her name in my Contacts list and hit the speaker button so I didn’t have to put the germy device near my face. Talk about pimple central.

“Lilah Monroe,” her familiar raspy voice nearly shouted into the phone with excitement. “You, my love, are the most brilliant and media-savvy star I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.”

Well, that certainly wasn’t news. But I accepted the compliment anyway as I sank into the plush couch that was the centerpiece of my specially-designed living room. “Why, thank you. Did you need me to call you just so you could flatter me?”

“While that would certainly not be a waste of my time, of course not,” she replied sarcastically. “But I got called by three different magazines already, asking why you and Harry left the PETA event together. I gave them the original bullshit that would get the ball rolling, that you and Harry are just friends, and it’s nothing but a completely platonic relationship.”

“Which will make them jump to the conclusion that it’s not at all.”

“Exactly. But this whole thing got me thinking. You ready to hear me out?”

“Of course.”

There was the sound of buzzing, and I didn’t know whose end it had come from. But I found out when Heather burst out laughing. “Oh my God, what did you do to that poor boy? I just got a text from OK! asking if you and Harry have an intimate relationship.”

I told her the events of the afternoon, which made her laugh again. “Oh, Lilah. What wouldn’t you do get your name in the headlines?”

I tried to think about it, but short of murdering someone who didn’t deserve it, I couldn’t think of anything. But I figured it was a rhetorical question anyway, so I just kept my mouth shut.

“So, anyway, my idea was this: in Hollywood, what gains the most attention?”

“A breakup,” I replied. “Especially if there are kids involved.” Oh my God, she wanted me to get pregnant with Harry.

“Right. But you’re young, and I really don’t think you should submit your body to that yet. Especially since we won’t know what to do with the kid.”

Oh. Good point.

“So I was thinking that you should hook up with one of the members of One Direction. Like, a relationship. Make it be fairly long term and serious, a few months, at least, and then we’ll make the most vicious breakup ever. Like…he cheats on you.”

“How will we get him to cheat on me?” I questioned. ‘Cause if the guy’s got good morals, then he won’t exactly do what he’s told if someone goes up to him and says, “Have sex with that girl over there” and points.

“He doesn’t have to. We’ll just say he did.”

It vaguely crossed my mind that the situation could get us sued for deformation of character, but then I realized that if we kept the source anonymous, no one would ever know who it was that leaked the information. And no matter how famous a person was, he or she could not sue the idea of an unknown person.

“That’s brilliant,” I agreed enthusiastically. “Which one should I pick?”

“Well, probably Harry, if you can,” she told me, “since now people are already speculating that you guys are together. But if you lost that opportunity, then go for whichever one shows an interest in you first.”

The old me would have asked how she knew one of them would eventually start thinking about my naked body, but the new me knew very well that it would just take a little work on my part, with some strategic makeup, a strut-like walk, and a really great wardrobe, and I could ring in whichever one I wanted, whether he had a girlfriend or not.

“Okay,” I agreed. “But I don’t know if I want Harry. Now I’ve been there, done that. Well, not exactly done, but you get my point.”

“I do. And if you don’t want Harry, then pick one of the other ones. I’m sure they’ll all be falling over themselves to get you.” There was a short pause before her distinctive voice came back over the phone connection. “Alright, I have to get going. There’s a media-frenzy over the stunt you pulled this afternoon. Talk to you later!”

The line went dead before I had time to agree, and I put my phone down on the glass coffee table in front of me.

Well, I knew what I was doing the next day. All I needed was to find someone to do it with.