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up.”
    “Uh, huh. Medicine then?”
    “Yes.” I chewed the inside of my lip, unwilling to open the allopathic dialogue, which only a fraction of the population seemed to embrace. I was proud of my studies. However, since I was already being tagged as another dumb, rich bimbo with a sex tape out, it was not the time to be even more of a hipster. “I’ll have my B.S. in nursing.”
    “That’s wonderful. So many people look at a face like yours—and everything—and don’t see beyond that. Women like you are proof of beauty and brains.”
    The remark seemed sexist, and I gnawed my inner lip again while curving a tight smile. “As opposed to what? Ugly men who are stupid?”
    His look sharpened on my face, and his amused smile and slight shake of his head seemed genuine. With a twist of his chin, he took in the audience and elicited a round of laughter.
    As if the stage was a giant chessboard and we were the pieces, he cunningly played his next move. “So you’ve had some excitement lately.”
    “Yes!” Ignoring the cat and mouse atmosphere, I attempted to segue into the documentary—the reason I was on the show. “My first red carpet event.”
That I could remember
.
    A photo fluttered through my mind. My dad carrying a baby. My mother beside him. A backdrop behind them. Red carpet beneath their feet.
    “The documentary… I was at the premiere. The piece is truly a work of art.” He lifted a DVD case from the desktop and then discarded it for the moment. “But you’ve had your own movie recently.”
    My head seemed heavy and fell to the side as I regarded him. Was he really going there? Even after I’d done my damndest to thwart the subject?
    When I didn’t speak right away because I was too busy weighing my words, he went on with a chuckle and a glance at the audience. “It’s a work of art too.”
    Laughter erupted as spontaneously as if a prompt sign had flashed, but I was betting it hadn’t. This particular host was known for his humor and expressive face.
    “Well, I guess someone would have to watch to know.” Deciding to roll with it, I pulled my own playful expression and looked from him to the studio audience, including those on the balcony. “But whether it is or isn’t, it’s been stressful. And the timing is unfortunate. It’s taking focus off the documentary, you know?”
    “You shouldn’t stress. It is art. And you can’t say that about just anyone’s… um home movie.”
    “Well, thank you, I think.” My neck heated, spreading to my face again. “But I can’t believe you’re going to sit right there across from the person in the video and admit to watching it.”
    “I could say I didn’t watch. But everyone would know better.” He gestured into the studio audience. “Is there anyone who hasn’t watched? I dare you to deny. Because face it. This may be better than Tommy Lee and Pamela Anderson.”
    “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t have the rack.” I countered, but kept my gaze demurely on the cables and cords lining the stage floor. “But anyway, enough about
that
movie.”
    “You’re too modest. Your rack is stacked. And your… costar can certainly compete with Tommy Lee.”
    “Who raised you?” I retorted, settling back in the chair with a false air of leisure when I wanted to jump and run. Especially when the shock wore off in the next second and the reality set in.
    First, I was mortified the conversation had taken this turn. I should have foreseen the possibility. This host had annihilated Paris Hilton and Lindsey Lohan and had put many A-List celebrities in this same hot seat. Second, I was terrified. If he was being this relentless about such a delicate subject, he could take the next leap at any moment to my step-relationship with Gage.
    “Don’t talk about my mother.” His quip was joking and flippant, but he fidgeted, picking his notecards up, stacking them, and putting them down. “She can’t help if she raised a black sheep.”
    The audience