Blonde Ambition Read online

  Copyright © 2004 by 17th Street Productions, an Alloy company

  All rights reserved.

  Little, Brown and Company

  Time Warner Book Group

  Hachette Book Group, 237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

  Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  First eBook Edition: September 2007

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover photography (foreground image) copyright Pure/Nonstock

  Cover photography (background image) copyright Ken Biggs/Stone

  Summary: While Anna’s new job as intern on the hottest television show brings her into contact with an interesting new man and helps her see how possessive Ben has become, Cammie sets her sights on Adam.

  ISBN: 978-0-316-02894-3

  The Warner Books name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Contents

  Also by Zoey Dean

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Like a Sister

  Brownie Points for the Pedigree

  Minor Players

  Hang in There, Cowboy

  Bundle of Contradictions

  Faux Sincerity

  Semester at Sea

  Nice-ta-meetcha

  Cheap and Chic

  Spy

  Hetero and Breathing

  Five Different Camera Angles

  BAP Days

  Oops

  Crash Helmet

  Long Red Talons

  Comedy

  Mo Bad

  Mo-Theo

  Behind the Mansion

  Clark Super

  D-Minus List

  Pink-and-White Birthday Cake

  Stand in Line

  The Clique

  Also by Zoey Dean

  THE A-LIST

  GIRLS ON FILM

  For Sam, Emma, and Carrie

  “Taking joy in living is a woman’s best cosmetic.”

  —Rosalind Russell

  Prologue

  Inside suite 15 at the six-hundred-bucks-per-night Montecito Inn in Santa Barbara, California, seventeen-year-old Anna Percy stretched languidly and took in her reflection in the antique mirror over the Van Lutz chest of drawers. Same long blond hair, classic high-cheekboned, patrician features that she’d inherited from her patrician mother. But for the first time in her life she looked, she thought, wild and free.

  Those were two adjectives that never came to anyone’s mind in describing her, she was certain. Cerebral, yes. Cautious—way too often. But wild? And free? The way her best friend, Cynthia Baltres back in Manhattan, was certainly described on a regular basis? Never.

  Yet the deed had finally been done. Ben Birnbaum, the guy who at that very moment was bringing her back a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice just delivered by room service, had done it.

  Only two weeks earlier Anna had left behind her safe, elite life on the Upper East Side of New York to move in with her father in Beverly Hills. She’d hoped, like so many over two centuries of coming to California, to reinvent herself. As she took the juice from Ben, who looked about as hot sans shirt as was possible without actually igniting flammable objects, she smiled.

  Mission accomplished.

  “Hungry?” Ben asked. He sat next to her and leaned in for a kiss.

  “Starved, actually,” she admitted, sipping her juice. “You’ve kept me prisoner in this room for twenty-four hours without food or water.”

  “Prisoner, huh?” He traced a teasing finger down from her collarbone. “I don’t seem to recall any protest.”

  Beyond true. But Ben’s lips made Anna forget about food, and senior year at Beverly Hills High, and all the problems with her screwed-up family. She was able to shut down her constantly thinking/planning/analyzing mind and lose herself to the moment. The world outside suite 15 had ceased to exist. The sixty-dollar post-dinner breakfast they’d ordered remained on the tray. There was nothing in the universe but Ben.

  Like a Sister

  Rinnng.

  Bells kept going off in Anna’s head.

  Riiing.

  Her eyes flicked open. She could just make out the ceiling fan blades swirling the ocean breezes around their moonlit room.

  Riing. Now she realized the sound was coming from her cell phone in her purse. She vaguely recalled leaving it on the window seat, whose view overlooked the magnificent beach. Ben was asleep on his back, with one arm flung over his head. His short brown hair was tou-sled, and she knew how electric blue his eyes were under the closed eyelids. The bulge of his bicep was golden against the white Egyptian cotton, hand-embroidered sheets.

  The ringing stopped. Good. The real world could wait for however long she wanted it to wait. She snuggled against Ben. Her phone rang again.

  She turned to see the red numerals on the clock radio. Six in the morning. She sat up with a start, heart pounding. Who’d call twice at six in the morning unless it was a disaster? Or a drunk reaching a wrong number? Damn. She threw back the covers and padded across the room, locating her purse and her Motorola cell phone by the fourth ring. She flipped it open. “Hello?”

  “Anna?”

  Not a drunk. Her father.

  “It’s Dad. Hey, sorry to wake you, but—”

  “What happened?” Anna hissed.

  “Good news. About Susan.”

  Susan? Her sister? He was calling at six in the morning with good news about her sister? Susan hated their father. And with good reason. He’d paid off Susan’s college boyfriend to dump her because he and Anna’s mother had deemed him “inappropriate.” Fifty thousand dollars and the guy was outta there. Anna felt sick again just remembering. So what could be good?

  “I’m taking her to rehab. In fact, she insists,” her father went on. “So I’ve kinda got a dilemma here.”

  “Hold on, Dad.” Not wanting to awaken Ben, Anna went into the bathroom and closed the door. “Dad, what’s the dilemma? That’s great news.”

  “Yeah, but I’m afraid she’s gonna change her mind. And she says she wants to see you before we go. To White Mountains, in Arizona.”

  “Where is she now?” Anna asked.

  “She went back to the Beverly Hills Hotel.”

  “Don’t let her out of your sight,” Anna commanded. Her dad laughed. “Not a chance of that. She’s at her bungalow, packing. I’m in the lobby. And I’ve got her car keys.”

  “That’s good,” Anna allowed.

  “So, can you come?” Jonathan asked. “For a breakfast before we take off?”

  “Sure, Dad,” Anna said automatically, without giving thought to logistics … the ungodly hour … the gorgeous naked boy lying in her hotel bed … the drive … the gorgeous naked boy lying in her hotel bed… . She was just so pleased that her sister had finally decided to make a positive change in her life.

  “Where are you? I’ll pick you up,” Jonathan offered. In Santa Barbara, screwing my boyfriend.

  Ha! How freeing it would be to actually say something like that. But it was pure fantasy. The reality was that in true good daughter form, she’d be ready to leave in fifteen minutes and would arrive in Beverly Hills within the half hour.

  “Oh, that’s okay. I’m at my friend Sam’s. I can be there in an hour and a half or so. Stay at the hotel. We’ll eat in the Polo Lounge.”

  Fortunately Jonathan Percy wasn’t the kind of father who’d give Anna’s answer pause. If she said she was at Sam’s, that’s where she was. No questions asked. Never mind that Sam lived approximately six minutes from the Beverly Hills Hotel.

  “Thanks for this, Anna,” her father said.

  Anna hung up, went back into the bedroom, a
nd shook Ben awake. He was groggy but focused quickly when she explained the problem. “So I’ve got to go,” Anna concluded.

  Instead of jumping out of bed immediately to help get their stuff together, Ben wrapped his arms around her. “What’s with us, Anna?” he murmured. “We’re both trying to fix our fucked-up families. Maybe it’s time they took care of themselves.”

  She gently pulled out of his embrace. “I really have to go, Ben.”

  His hands dropped to his sides. “I guess I just didn’t want this to end.”

  Neither did she. But she couldn’t concentrate on him now. She kissed him quickly—after a fast shower they packed up and departed. Since she’d driven to Santa Barbara alone and Ben had surprised her there, they had two cars and drove back to Los Angeles separately. They convoyed it all the way to the entrance to the Beverly Hills Hotel on Sunset Boulevard, where Ben beeped his horn twice and turned toward his parents’ house.

  Ten minutes later she was hugging her older sister, Susan, in the Polo Lounge at the world-famous hotel while their father waited discreetly in the lobby.

  “I fucking hate myself, you know,” Susan said after they’d embraced.

  “That’s a good reason to go to rehab, I guess,” Anna said with a smile.Susan chuckled and sat down at a table for three. “You should hate me, too.” Rather than her usual black-on-black rock-and-roll regalia, she was dressed in a simple pair of jeans and crew neck sweater. “All I do is fuck up your life.”

  “Isn’t that what big sisters are for?” Anna quipped. “Poor you,” Susan muttered.

  Anna hadn’t been expecting an angry retort. What had she done other than not disagree with Susan? Maybe that was the problem. Still, Anna wasn’t up for pretending that Susan’s behavior was anything short of unacceptable. Instead she glossed over Susan’s remark.

  “So, what prompted this smart decision?” she asked as a waiter poured her coffee. All around them, on the open-air patio of the Polo Lounge, power breakfasts were in progress. But not the kind of power breakfasts you’d find at the Four Seasons in New York City, where everyone was in suits and ties. Los Angeles was relentlessly informal, and the garb of the Polo Lounge breakfasters reflected that. There were plenty of men in jeans and T-shirts, even tennis clothes. But from the number of scripts open on tables and movie stars who even Anna recognized, it was clear that the Polo Lounge was one of Hollywood’s deal-making meccas.

  “Turns out the Steinberg debacle wasn’t enough excitement for one week. So I went to a club,” Susan said self-mockingly—defensively. “I felt like dancing, you know? Don’t you ever just feel like dancing? This chick I knew from Trinity School goes to USC now. We arranged to meet. But the bitch never showed. I got polluted. Really polluted. A bouncer drove me home— Arman or Eman or something. I think.”

  “You’re lucky nothing worse happened.” Anna knew she was being blunt but figured that a little fear never hurt anyone.

  “I know. That’s why I’ve had enough. The end.” “You think you can stick with it this time?”

  Susan shrugged. “I hope so.”

  Just then Anna heard someone creep up from behind her.

  “May I join you two?”

  The two girls looked up. There stood their father, Jonathan Percy. Tall, lean, and tan, he was an investment banker with a very un-investment-banker spiky haircut and movie-star blue eyes. Susan waved him to the open chair at their table, and Jonathan sat down.

  “It’s good that you’re driving her, Dad,” Anna said. “Really.”

  Jonathan’s eyes slid to Susan’s. “If she doesn’t kill me before I get her there.”

  Susan held her palms up. “No weapons on me, Dad.” He attempted a half smile and turned to Anna. “Django should be along any minute. He’ll get Susan’s car back to the agency and bring you home. I should be back in a couple of days at the latest.”

  Django Simms was Jonathan’s driver. Cute, young, a jazz musician, and a man of mystery, Django and Anna had hit it off right away. He lived in the guesthouse on the Percy property in Beverly Hills.

  “I’ll be fine. And—”

  “Anna?”

  She looked up.

  Ben was standing at the side of their table. The same Ben who’d beeped his farewell at her a few minutes ago on Sunset Boulevard. The same Ben with whom she’d spent the previous day and night in several compromising positions.

  “Ben,” Anna said. Which was certainly stating the obvious, but she was just so shocked to see him.

  “I wanted to make sure everything was okay,” he explained. Before Anna could muster a response to that, Ben held out a hand to her father. “Hi, I’m Ben Birnbaum.”

  Jonathan stood and shook it. “Jonathan Percy. Anna’s mentioned you.”

  Anna noticed the ice in her father’s voice. She couldn’t really blame him. Last he’d heard, Ben had broken Anna’s heart.

  “Everything’s okay, Dad,” Anna murmured, since her father was still in a killer eye lock with Ben. “Would you like to join us?” she asked Ben, at the same time willing him to spurn her always-gracious-under-pressure offer.

  “Sure, thanks.”

  Ben pulled up a chair from the next table, then took Anna’s hand. As much as Anna liked him, she felt like snatching it back. What was he doing here, for God’s sake?

  “Ben, Ben, Ben,” Susan cooed. “I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.”

  Right. The sauna at V’s spa, Anna realized. Her sister had met Ben in the sauna not more than seventy-two hours before. But he’d had his clothes on. Well, not his shirt, maybe, but—

  “Nice to see you again, too,” Ben said, leaning closer to Susan. “How are you feeling, really?”

  “Super-duper,” Susan sang out with a too-bright smile. Anna gave Ben a significant look that meant: Please realize you’ve made an error in judgment, excuse yourself, and go. But evidently their brains weren’t communicating, because all he did was squeeze the hand that he still held tightly.

  Jonathan ignored Ben and checked his Rolex. “We really should get going, Susan.”

  “Right,” Susan agreed. “Well, Ben, nice of you to pop in like this on our intimate family breakfast.”

  “I wanted to be here,” Ben answered in earnest. Anna couldn’t tell if he was glossing over Susan’s dig or if he was oblivious to it entirely.

  “I hate goodbyes,” she told Anna, “so let’s skip it. I’m off like a dirty shirt.”

  Anna stood, too, as did her father and Ben. “No goodbyes,” she promised her sister as a lump formed in her throat. “But … good luck.”

  “Oh, fuck it. C’mere.” Susan pulled Anna close and hugged her hard. “Love you like a sister, sister. You ready to go, Dad?”

  Jonathan Percy nodded, took a hundred-dollar bill out of his wallet, and left it on the table. “For breakfast,” he told Anna, then shot Ben a last warning look. “I’ll call you from the road,” he added to his daughter.

  “Hang in there, Susan,” Ben called. “We’re rooting for you.”

  “We’re rooting for you”? But Anna didn’t have time to dwell on Ben’s inappropriate words.

  Anna watched as her father put his arm around Susan’s shoulders and ushered her out of the Polo Lounge and toward the lobby.

  Ben squeezed Anna’s arm. “You okay?” he asked. “I’m fine. But … I think I’ll just go home and … take a nap,” Anna said.

  Now he slid both hands around her waist. “Dad’s gone,” he pointed out. “We could nap together.”

  But after Ben’s out-of-nowhere arrival, she really didn’t feel like inviting him under her covers. “Another time,” she promised.

  The valets brought their cars around to the front of the hotel. Ben followed Anna out to Sunset Boulevard, then once again they sped off in different directions. But Anna kept checking her rearview mirror until she turned into her father’s circular driveway, half expecting to see that Ben had followed her home.

  Brownie Points for the Pedigree

&nbs
p; Six hours after Susan and her father departed for Arizona, Anna stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass wall of the Apex Talent Agency large conference room and looked west, out toward Santa Monica and then the Pacific. It was one of those golden California afternoons with a cerulean blue sky and only a few puffy cumulus clouds on the horizon. A strong west wind was blowing—Anna could hear the soft moan as a gust whooshed past the sides of the Apex building. But the westerly breeze had also scrubbed the ever-present air pollution from the Los Angeles basin and pushed it east. Fifty miles away, in the San Bernadino Valley, where a working couple with regular jobs might actually afford a house, people were choking on the smoggy airborne fruits of the Los Angeles freeways. Meanwhile Anna’s view to the horizon was crystalline.

  Which, Anna realized, was somehow quintessentially L.A.

  She took out her cell phone, knowing that she still needed to talk to Adam Flood—to tell him that she was back with Ben. She dialed Adam’s number. But again there was no answer. She left a message saying that she’d call him later.

  “Anna? Might I have a word? I don’t have much time.”

  Anna put away her phone as Margaret Cunningham strode into the conference room. One of three lead partners in Apex, she was the person who had offered Anna the internship in the first place. She was also her father’s current girlfriend. In a city where a forty-five-year-old, once-divorced man with a twenty-one-year-old girlfriend was the norm, the relationship was an aberration. Margaret was at least the same age as Jonathan Percy. The bizarre thing was, Margaret bore a more-than-passing resemblance to Anna’s mother, Jane Percy. The same blunt-cut blond hair, the patrician features, the understated makeup, the preference for Armani suits and vintage Chanel—even the well-bred East Coast WASP diction.

  Anna could feel her heartbeat speed up as she slid into one of the leather chairs at the conference table; she faced the door. Margaret took a seat at the head of the table. Having been dressed down by her own mother many a time, Anna was not looking forward to being reprimanded by Margaret.

  “I just got off the phone with your father,” Margaret said. “I’m very happy to hear that your sister has decided to return to rehabilitation. White Mountains has a very fine reputation.”