Infamous. Lauren Conrad

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      Madison sat up straighter. This date wasn’t going anywhere and she knew it. Trevor would never air the footage if it continued like this.

      “Let’s order you another drink,” she said, patting his hand. “And then you can tell me what it’s like to attend acting classes all day while still being supported by your parents.”

      Greg’s eyes got wide. “Excuse me?” he said, looking caught off guard.

      Madison winked at him.

      Behind Greg’s head, she could see Julian the camera guy focusing in. She suspected he felt sorry for Greg.

      “Dude,” Greg said, “I don’t know what your problem is, but . . .”

      “I don’t have a problem. I’m simply curious how you are an actor if you don’t actually act.”

      “I’m acting right now,” he said sharply. “I’m acting like I actually want to be on this date with you, even though you’re a total bitch.”

      Madison smiled calmly. “And once again you aren’t getting paid, so this must be right up your alley.”

      Then she stood up, grabbed her Celine bag, and exited stage left. Sure, she’d agreed to go out on dates—but she’d made no promises about staying out.

      “Okay, let’s take a look at the latest candidates for the job of Tolerable Dinner Date.” Kate slid in a DVD vaguely labeled AUDITIONS 1/2013 and then hurried to join Madison on the couch.

      Madison put her feet up on the coffee table and settled in. That was the good part about a bad date: A girl could get home early. “Gab, can you please turn down the tango music?” she called.

      Trevor had promised Gaby an audition for Dancing with the Stars. And while watching Gaby attempt fox-trots around their new living room got tiresome, at least it had the potential to spice up her story line. Because at this point—as terrible as it was to say—the best thing Gaby had ever done for the show was overdose on painkillers.

      Gaby obediently turned down the stereo and came bouncing over to the couch. “Where’s the eye candy?” she asked.

      Madison hit the remote. Her spirits lifted as a handsome black-haired guy walked into the frame of the screen and sat down on a stool. If she was going to play the game and go on the dates, it was only fair that her producers found her some guys who weren’t utter cretins.

      “Tell us your name, please.” Laurel’s voice came from somewhere out of frame.

      “Jackson Trask,” the guy said.

      Madison noted his broad shoulders and his toned—but not too beefy—arms. So far, so good.

      “Where are you from, and what brought you to L.A.?”

      Jackson shifted in his seat and smiled right into the camera lens. Madison smiled back as if he could see her. He was a natural. “I’m from Wisconsin—go Packers!—and I’ve been here for a year and a half. I live in Studio City now.”

      “What do you do?”

      “I’m developing my portfolio . . . and, uh, waiting tables at Mr. Chow’s.”

      “Your portfolio?” Laurel asked. Madison was pretty sure she could hear her take a sip of coffee.

      Jackson nodded. “Modeling. I’ve done a few shoots. I could have done more, but, well, sometimes the photographers ask for . . . special favors.”

      “Mmm,” Laurel said.

      “Oh my God, I’ve heard about that,” Gaby said. “You know what he means, right? He means sexual favors.”

      “Shhh,” Madison said.

      Then Laurel asked Jackson if he’d dated girls in L.A., and if he considered himself a romantic, and what he was looking for in a girlfriend.

      “I like to bring a girl flowers,” Jackson said. “I like a girl to look good, so I don’t mind shopping with her.”

      Then he went on to talk about how close he was with his mother, and how he loved kids, and how he was protective of his female friends—even his exes (only two!). “I mean, feminism hasn’t quite caught up to our basic biology,” Jackson said. “I think that women, no matter how strong they are, still want someone who can take care of them. And I want to be that guy.”

      By this point, Madison was ready to fling up her hands and flee the room. “This guy is one hundred percent lying,” she said. “Like a girl with half a mind can’t see through his lines? Next!”

      “I thought he seemed really nice,” Gaby said softly.

      “No way,” Kate said, shaking her head. “Mad’s right. That guy was making everything up. He’s probably not even from Wisconsin.”

      Gaby shrugged. “Well, I don’t like nice guys that much, anyway.”

      She got up and did a quick little dance routine around the living room, and Madison took the opportunity to once again appreciate her new place. Trevor’s penny-pinching plan to put Kate and Carmen into Madison’s old apartment had certainly backfired: By the time Gaby got released from rehab, Kate’s former pad had been rented out to a pair of Las Vegas newlyweds. The only available apartment big enough for filming was the penthouse, which had four large bedrooms, three giant bathrooms, and a soaking tub so enormous Madison could practically swim laps.

      “Ready for bachelor number two?” Kate asked, poking Madison with the Vogue magazine she’d been flipping through.

      “I guess,” Madison said.

      Next they listened to an interview with a BMX biker—not because Madison would ever date him, but because he was comic relief—and then they sat through a conversation between Laurel and a Seattle native named Brian, who was in his first year of law school at UCLA. He seemed perfect until it was revealed that he didn’t like dogs. Madison picked up Samson and gave him a giant kiss on the nose. “We can’t have that, can we, Sammy?” she cooed.

      “This is harder than I would have thought,” Kate noted. “Like they say, ‘Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink.’”

      “Maybe Trevor’s picking jerks on purpose,” Madison mused.

      “Payback for the drama?” Kate asked, smiling. “The quitting?”

      “Yeah, and for the extensive, expensive rider,” Madison answered. She still felt a little thrill every time she thought about her revised contract. Her (and her trusted attorney’s) powers of negotiation had served her well over the years, from landing her first menial job in L.A. to securing her latest triumph, a campaign with an up-and-coming British makeup line (time to grow her brand on the other side of the pond!).

      “You want to borrow Jay for a night, Mad?” Gaby asked.

      Madison tried not to scoff. “Um, no thanks,” she said, unable to hide her disapproval.

      “My counselor said he didn’t think Jay was good for me, but Trevor says he’s СКАЧАТЬ