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All guests have to be personally escorted to the 30 th floor.”
    “Look,” I eyed her name plate. “Miss Hamilton is it?”
    She blushed. “Yes.”
    “Thank you for being so accommodating. Is there anything I could sign for you, anything you want me to autograph?”
    “Umm my T-shirt?” she pulled a white T-shirt from underneat h her desk and handed it to me.
    “Okay,” I signed her shirt , and as she admired it I tried again . “So there’s no way I could—”
    “Nope.”
    “Not even if I—”
    “Nope,” she a nswered a ringing phone.
    I gave her a curt goodb ye and walked outside. Joan and my driver were waiting across th e street, but I didn’t want to giv e up just yet. I turned around and saw a paint crew walking around the side of the building. I followed them.
    “Hey you!” a large man called out. “You mind holding the door for us?”
    “Not at all,” I sprinted ahea d of them and held the metal door open . After the la st of the men entered, I walked around until I found the s erv ice elevator . I punched thirty .
    When the elevator finally reached the floor , I felt as if I’d landed in side a time capsule. Newspaper clippings, vintage Hollywood posters, movie tickets, and awards c overed every inch of the walls.
    I crept past two huge conference rooms , a kitchen, and found myself in a semi-circle of closed white doors. There was no way to tell which office belonged to whom.
    I heard footsteps and ran into the kitchen. I slid into what appeared to be a pantry.
    Why do they need a pantry ?
    When I was certain no one was around, I walked back to where I had been and looked back and forth between the white doors.
    I suddenly heard another set of footsteps so I headed the other way—down a brightly lit hallway with Hollywood legends painted onto the walls.
    I turned the corner and saw Melody Carter’s nam e etched in bright gold letters above a black door. There was no one sitting at the desk to the side of it, so I made my move.
    I ran my fingers along her name before knocking.
    “Come in Sophie! ” she called.
    I slipped inside and shut the door . The back of her chair was facing me.
    She won’t even let her assistant see her face?
    “Miss Carter? It’s Matt Sterling. We need to talk.”
    The chair wh irled around and the re she was.
    “You’re definitely not fat and ugly,” I took a step back.
    “Excuse m e?” she narrowed her eyes and for a moment I forgot what I was going to sa y. She was absolutely beautiful. He r red hair fell past her shoulders, her eyes were a soft green, and her lips—
    “I only meet with talented people Mr. Sterling,” she cut through my thoughts. “How’d you get past security?”
    “I’m Matt Sterling . People actually know who I am.”
    “You came here for an ego boost?” she smirked.
    Oh my god she’s gorgeous … How old is she ?
    “No. I came here to talk about your shitty reviews.”
    “That correspond with your shitty movies?”
    “With all due respect, which is none , I don’t appreciate you taking your poor excuse for a life out on me . You trash me in every review and it’d be nice if for once, you said something amicable about homegrown talent.”
    “Please don’t use yourself and talent in the same sentence, Mr. Sterling,” she stood up. “It’s an insult to those who actually possess it.”
    “Ha! I have two other films coming out this—”
    “I’m sorry to hear that. And I’m sorry if you were offended by my words. If you feel that they are slanderous or emotionally damaging in any way, feel free to voice your concerns to the complaints department on the twentieth floor. There’s also counseling on the seventh floor. Is that all?”
    “N o!” I said louder than I intende d to.
    “Oh?”
    “I would appreciate an immediate apology… for your erratic and unprofessional review of every film I’ve been in over the past few years . In print. In next week’s paper.”
    She laughed. “Or else?”
    “Or else…I