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table.
    "Honestly, I hate the work that goes into scouting England for the States' next pop stars, but
    More Records has built a legacy of finding the best of those and bringing them across the
    pond." He chuckled before his staff caught on that he expected them to laugh. "She's, as you
    know, a bit of a handful. We haven't had someone like this on our hands since our little role in
    Keith Richards's solo career. But I'm daring to say that..."
    Gordon's voice trailed off as all eyes turned toward the far corner of the room. Daisy Morton,
    Britain's latest sensation and Gordon's newest client, stumbled in, toting a half-drunk bottle of
    wine in one fist.
    Applause broke out around the table, and Gordon's flock stood with wineglasses raised. Ash
    gulped down his stuffed mushroom in surprise. Daisy Morton? Crazy Daisy Morton? With the
    boyfriend she'd met through a prison pen pal program? Who'd drunkenly pushed down one of
    the stoic guards at Buckingham Palace? What was his dad thinking ?
    The words hot mess weren't quite strong enough to describe her. Daisy's hair, dyed violet with
    roots the color of wet sand, was clasped to the sides of her head in two sagging buns. Her
    pretty face had been attacked by her makeup bag with a faint line of fuchsia lipstick running
    across her cheek, Joker style. Her eyes, twinkling mischievously under the dim lights,
    resembled two full silvery moons, but her ravaged black and blue eye makeup bruised the
    effect. She was all chaos and drama with--Ash had to admit--a few really catchy woe-is-me
    songs. But even the occasional good song wasn't enough to convince Ash that fans followed
    Daisy for her great music, and not for her train wreck of a life.
    "Oi, Mr. Gilmour," Daisy shouted, in a nasal voice too loud for the room. "What're you
    banging on about?"
    "Just toasting you, Daisy," Gordon said, beaming at his new find like she didn't resemble
    someone who'd just survived nuclear Armageddon. A thick layer of powder made Daisy's face
    look pasty, but healthy-looking olive skin peeked out from the straps of her long black
    American Apparel tank top, which she wore over a fluffy purple tutu, a trademark of hers, and
    a pair of red Converse high-tops.
    "Love a toast, love," she said, in her Cockney slur. She raised the wine bottle victoriously as
    she ambled to the table. She caught Ash staring and smiled, displaying a set of surprisingly
    white and nearly straight English teeth. Her left incisor overlapped her front teeth by a
    centimeter, which Ash might have found cute if not for the rest of her. She tipped the wine
    bottle back, swigging greedily, as she fumbled her way toward the table. Slamming the nearly
    empty bottle down at the seat next to Ash, she asked, "And who's this bloke?"
    "Ah, someone finally asks," Gordon said, gesturing for everyone to sit again. Daisy plopped
    down in her chair, her hand flopping lazily onto Ash's leg. "This is my son, Ash. He's about
    your age and, since I'm in Malibu most of the time, we thought he could be your right-hand
    man while you're in Beverly Hills," Gordon said, winking at Daisy.
    "I'd prefer if he used both hands on me, if you don't mind," Daisy teased, her hand sliding
    dangerously close to Ash's zipper.
    Ash felt his jaw turn to stone, his teeth fighting each other in their involuntary grinding. What.
    The. Fuck. His dad wanted him to play assistant to some crazy-train English broad who
    thought he was man meat? His eyes cut to the emergency exit, and he imagined darting for the
    door, jumping into the car, and driving to Mexico. He'd change his identity, start fresh. His
    new name could be Quentin McQueen. Or Jack Plant Page.
    Gordon laughed, his mouth still full of veal. The rest of the table followed suit, except for Ash,
    who was still in shock. Shouldn't they be horrified? His dad had basically sold him off to some
    wrecked, horny freak.
    "Don't worry, birdie. We're going to have some fun," Daisy whispered wetly in his ear, her
    breath warm