The dance finally ended, and the people around us clapped. Grant took hold of my arm with one hand and waved at the crowd with the other, then led me off the platform.

To tell you the truth, I’d completely forgotten about Stefano until I saw him glaring at us from the corner of the dance floor. He walked up to me and thrust his hand in the air between us. "You left your sprinklers running, eh? The next time you want to get rid of a guy, tell him the truth.” Then he turned around and stalked away.

Grant raised his eyebrows. "Is that where you were going—to turn your sprinklers off? When did you start doing your own yard work?”

I didn’t answer, just looked at Stefano's back retreating into the crowd. I should go after him. Only I couldn’t. Not when Grant Delray wanted to talk to me. I had to find out what he wanted, didn't I?

"So you really were ditching him?" Grant asked.

I didn’t know how to answer. Saying "No, I wanted to be with you instead” sounded borderline starstruck, which Kari wouldn’t be, even if I was.

When I didn’t go after Stefano, Grant laughed under his breath, then took hold of my hand again and pulled me toward the back of the club.

"You could have least told him 'I left something on the stove.' That’s nearly believable."

He spoke to me so casually, like he knew Kari. Maybe he hadn’t realized I was a fake in the low lighting of the club, but we were heading toward a back door with a sign that read employees only. Would his tone of voice change then? A bouncer stood by the wall, surveying the crowd. When he saw us and our entourage of bodyguards he said, “Is there anything I can get for you, Mr. Delray, Miss Kingsley?”

“We need a place to talk alone for a few minutes."

The bouncer stepped aside—just like that—and let us by. Grant opened the door and we walked into a supply room, leaving the bodyguards outside. He hit the light switch and I blinked, adjusting my eyes to the harsh white glare. I was afraid to turn and face him, so I stared at boxes stacked against the wall labeled “napkins, cups, straws”.

"I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” Grant said tightly. “I shouldn’t feel obligated after what you've done.”

He knew then. He knew I was a fake. I turned to him, trying to think of the right words to plead my case. I had considered the fact that I might not be able to pull this charade off. I had even thought out justifications for my position when I got caught, but I had never once thought I'd be busted by Grant Delray in a supply closet.

Before I could say anything, he went on. "I guess I'm telling you this because, despite everything, I hate it when people make a profit trashing celebrities, and this time I feel partially responsible. So I'm giving you fair warning. You know I helped Lorna Beck get a job?”

"What?” I asked.

"Lorna Beck. I got her a job working for my agent. She's his personal assistant now.”

"Oh.” Maybe he didn’t know who I was. That was good news, except that I had no idea what he was talking about.

"She’s a good assistant—has a photographic memory. You might not have realized that about her."

I smiled. It seemed like I should. After all, he got someone a job, and she was good at it. "That’s great," I said.

His eyebrows drew together at my words, and he scanned my face to see if I was serious. "You think that's great?” Which meant I'd given the wrong reaction, but I didn’t know why. I swallowed hard. "I mean, I'm glad your agent likes Lorna...’’ That seemed like a safe statement.

More doubt shadowed his face. He took a step closer, examining my expression. "You’re serious.” This seemed to surprise him. "You don't hold any bad feelings for her?”

I shrugged. "Why should I?" And I wasn't being rhetorical. I really wanted to know.

"Well, you're the one who fired her. Remember that entire bit about 'you’ll never work in this business again’?"

Oh. Kari had fired Lorna. That was an important detail, but how was I supposed to react now?

Right there staring at the paper towel box, I decided that as long as I was being Kari, she could be gracious about her ex-employees. I nodded sadly. "Right, well, sometimes in the heat of the moment, we all say things we don’t mean, and I'm sorry about that. Really. I'm happy she's got a good job now.”

"Uh-huh." He watched me, still not convinced.

"Tell her I said hi the next time you see her."

He folded his arms and regarded me silently.

It was easy to smile back at him because I was Kari and she was important enough to hold his attention. For the first time since I'd become her, I really relished her status. I was looking at Grant Delray, and he was staring back at me with deep blue eyes. "Is that all you wanted to talk about?’’

He shook his head. "No. I thought you should know she's writing a tell-all book about you.”

"What?” I took a step backward. "What is she saying about me?”

“That you're a gambling addict, for one thing.”

"I am not." The denial came out before I could fully process that he meant Kari. I had no idea if she was or not.

"Lorna says you owe half a million dollars to casinos, and she’s seen the documentation herself—dates, amounts. She's got photographic recall." He said this as a challenge. He expected me to deny it or explain it away. I couldn't do either.

"She's an ex-employee with an ax to grind," I said, perhaps more to myself than to Grant. I didn’t want the claim to be true, even if it did make sense, and maybe it did. Kari had brought me in to make money. Why would she take the risk unless she needed the money fast? I hated the thought of being used that way—to pay off casinos.

I didn't want to hear any more bad things about Kari—my sister—and yet I had to ask. "What else is Lorna saying?"

Grant didn’t speak for a moment, his expression turned from accusing to something else, contemplative maybe. His voice had gone quiet. "That you're a spoiled prima donna, raised with a silver microphone in your mouth. I don't know a lot, only the things my agent has let slip—’’

“Is she saying anything about my father?”

My question seemed to take him aback. “What are you afraid she’ll say?”

I was afraid if anyone dug into Kari's past—or her father’s past—they would turn up information about my mother and me. The thought of my life being laid open that way made my throat feel tight. Would the tabloids try to track my mother down? Would they come after me?

"I don't know,” I said. "I just want her to leave my family out of it. If she has something against me, that’s one thing. I might deserve it, but they don't.” I realized my mistake after I'd spoken. I had referred to my family as "they” instead of "he." Kari only had her father as her family.

Grant’s eyebrows rose, but if he noticed my mistake, he didn’t mention it. "I don’t know what she’s saying about your father.’’

"Can you find out what’s in the book?”

"You mean like ask to see the table of contents or something?"

"Wouldn't Lorna tell you?"

He put his hand on his chest in disbelief. "You're asking me for a favor? Me?”

I weighed his words and then decided I should answer him anyway. "Yes.”

He tilted his head, blinking. "And what did you say when I asked you for a favor?"

Well, that was a question I couldn’t answer. Although I imagined it was some sort of no since he was acting like I'd sprouted a second head. I shrugged and held my hands out to him as though reaching to make amends—anything rather than stand there and stare at him like I had no idea what he meant.