He snorts. “I was thinking jewelry for your weiner. Trust me, those cock rings work wonders. You’ll be as hard as nails and going at it for hours. Take my word, Katrina will love it.”

Who is Scott to know what Katrina will or will not like when it comes to sex? Just how much does she confide in him? Or is there something more? Or maybe I’m just reading into things and Scott’s just trying to be helpful.

He gives me the name of a nearby sex shop—a name that rings a bell—and I hesitantly thank him for the tip. Another errand for Zoey. She’ll need to be discreet.

“Brand-man, you’ll be thanking me again after you use it. Katrina will be way over the Globes screw-up.”

I inwardly cringe and tell him I’ll have Zoey handle it.

Scott’s beady eyes darken. “You know, Brandon, I’m a straight shooter. I don’t like that girl.”

And she doesn’t seem to like you. “What’s your problem with her?”

“She’s a little smartass. She thinks she owns you.”

She does. In more ways than one.

“On top of that, she’s been very rude to Katrina. If I were you, I’d fire her fat ass. It’s something I told you to do before your accident. You probably don’t remember.”

I don’t. And I don’t like the way my chain-smoking manager talks about Zoey. His cigarette is down to the butt. At this point, it’s moot to ask him to put it out, and I’ll wait till he lights up another. My mind right now is burning with more questions.

“Why did you force Zoey to go away while I was in the hospital?”

“For your own good. You don’t remember shit, but that little twit’s a thorn in your side.”

“You had no right to do that.”

“I made a big mistake.”

“You did.”

His lips snarl. “You’re not kidding. I should have fired her sorry ass while you were in a coma and saved you the time and effort.”

My blood is sizzling. It takes all I have to hold it together. “Scott, you may be my manager, but you have no authority to ever act on my behalf. I control all of my decisions at all times. Do you understand that? Don’t ever cross that line again.”

Scott’s eye twitches. My gaze stays on him. With silent rage, I watch as he tosses his cigarette butt onto the deck and stamps it out with one of his shiny leather loafers.

“You’ll be sorry you didn’t listen to me. Trust me, you could do a lot better.”

Zoey is perfect for me. Maybe what I need is a new manager.

Zoey

Breakfast at Tiffany’s was one of Mama’s favorite movies. She made me watch it with her a few months before she died. I didn’t understand it. I thought the cat was cute and begged for a kitty afterward. I was allergic to cats so we never got one. But many years later, I watched it again with Jeffrey, and it brought tears to my eyes. It made me think of Mama. Unlike me, she was waifish like Audrey Hepburn, and I could hear her singing “Moon River,” her angelic voice better than any movie star’s. While Jeffrey gushed about Audrey’s Givenchy wardrobe, I, the romantic, wished I could find true love like Holly Golightly. And could be ballerina-thin.

The melody and lyrics of “Moon River” play in my head as I float through the high-end jewelry store in Beverly Hills in a trance-like state. I hear Mama’s voice. Memories of last night flicker in my head. After dressing my boss and hearing him thank me on the Golden Globes, I had high hopes. Now, I know my erotic dream was sending me a message. I’m delusional. I can never have him. Brandon Taylor is my heart breaker, not my dream maker.

The reality is he’s in love with Katrina or I wouldn’t be here. Believe me, the last thing I want to be doing is shopping for a glitzy birthday present for the stuck-up, evil bitch. The morning was bad enough, having to perfect a statement from Brandon about his undying love for her and assuring all his fans that their relationship was intact. Long live Bratrina! It took me hours. By the time I was done, I hated myself as much as I hated the bullshit words I finally locked down. Unshed tears brimmed in my eyes.

With a heavy heart, I roam through the main floor of the store. The Rodeo Drive outpost is not exactly the Fifth Avenue Tiffany’s featured in the movie, but still it’s Tiffany’s. Dazzling diamond jewelry fills the display cases. Happy couples in love and wealthy matrons surround me. I don’t really belong here.

“Can I help you?” asks an impeccably groomed, Audrey-thin sales associate. She tells me her name is Beatrice.

“Um…uh…yes,” I stammer. “My boyfriend’s looking for something special to give me for my birthday. He wants it to be right.” I have no clue why I’ve launched into this fantasy. Maybe I’m so mental I need to see a shrink.

The saleswoman beams. “You’ve come to the right place. Your boyfriend must be someone really special.”

“Y-yes,” I stutter. She has no idea.

“I suggest this diamond necklace. It’s one of our signature pieces. Classic Elsa Peretti.” She takes out a necklace from the display case and lays it on a black velvet pad on the counter. Under the overhead halogen lights, the bling blinds me.

“It’s platinum and the diamonds are all D-colored stones…VVS1 quality.”

Having no idea what all that code language means, I admire the stunning necklace with its abstract pavé diamond heart pendant. So sleek. So elegant. So Katrina.

“Yes. This is perfect,” I splutter. Too perfect! “My boyfriend has an account here and told me to put it on his credit card. I hand her the “dummy” credit card Brandon gave me. To protect his identity, he has many with false names.

I stare at the exquisite necklace while Beatrice swipes Brandon’s card. It’ll look beautiful around Katrina’s long, slender neck. I’m sure he’ll give it to her at their romantic dinner tonight. The reservation at the Polo Lounge is all set. I almost didn’t make it, but I was driven by my unquenchable desire to please him.

The saleswoman’s breathy voice brings me back to the moment. “Wonderful. The charge went through.” Handing me the receipt, she smiles brightly. I eye it and gasp silently. Twenty-five thousand dollars. A bolt of jealousy tears through me. Score one for Katrina.

“Is your boyfriend coming by to pick it up or does he want it sent?”

“Actually, he’s out of town right now and wants me to take it with me.”

“Would you like it gift-wrapped?”

“Yes,” I mutter, still drowning in jealousy. “He’d like that.”

“Wonderful. I’ll call someone.” Moments later another Tiffany’s staffer comes by to take the necklace to gift-wrapping.

“Thank you,” I mumble as he skirts off.

Beatrice clears her throat. “In the meantime, can I show you some engagement rings? With that extravagant gift, I’m sure he’s going to pop the question sometime soon. Perhaps Valentine’s Day?”

Valentine’s Day is just a few weeks away. The only question that pops inside my mind is—what will Brandon get Katrina for the occasion? I’m sure I’ll be back here.

“So may I?” asks Beatrice, her voice pitchy.

“Sure,” I say with hesitation. My stomach knots. Why am I playing this cruel game with myself?

Beaming, she leads me to the engagement ring section. I immediately spot Katrina’s ring. It’s hard to miss. The sparkling elliptical-shaped diamond outshines and outsizes the others by miles.

“How much is the ring in the front row center?”

Beatrice’s smile widens. “Just a little over a million dollars. It’s a flawless ten-carat D-colored marquise.”

GAH! A million dollars? He spent that much on her? I feign composure.

“Would you like to try it on?”

Just the thought of this mega-expensive ring on my finger gives me butterflies. I shake my head. “It’s lovely but not my style.”