By Zoey Dean
Fresh Yale graduate Megan Smith involves long island with great plans for a occupation in journalism or even larger scholar mortgage debt: $75,000. whilst she flails at her trashy tabloid activity, she's given an get away hatch: show seventeen-year-old exact twins Rose and Sage Baker--yes, the notorious Baker heiresses of Palm seashore, Florida, most sensible identified for his or her vast fortunes and their penchant for drunkenly flashing the paparazzi -- and get their SAT rankings up sufficient to get into Duke. very unlikely activity -- definite. but when she succeeds, her scholar bills are heritage. regrettably for Megan, the Baker twins usually are not approximately to curtail their busy social schedules for uncomplicated algebra. they usually definitely will not be overjoyed to need to sit for a examine consultation with dowdy Megan. Megan speedy discovers that if she will get her cash, she'll need to examine her Pucci from her Prada. And if she will glance the half, might be, simply possibly, she will be able to educate the ladies anything alongside the best way.
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Not only did Heather have a brain, she had straight blond hair, a swanlike neck, and the kind of pouty lips I longed to have. A mere mortal who writes photo captions for a living and is a size larger on the bottom than on the top could not possibly compete. ‖ James‘s voice pulled me out of my musings. ‖ I took a bite of steak and tried to smile. The only collectible I used to have was the Woodstock T-shirt. For the next few minutes, I ate while James regaled me with tales from East Coast. He‘d been assigned to edit the short stories of a half-dozen well-known young singer-songwriters.
Debra fixed her gaze on Lisa Weinstock, the plump and brilliant editor whose department handled celebrity couples. ‖ Lisa brushed her magenta-streaked bangs away from her eyes. ―Totally fresh scoop, including trouble in paradise for Jen and you-know-who. ‖ ―Excellent,‖ Debra said as heads bobbed in agreement all around the table. Of course, if Debra had agreed that a pictorial on donkey sex was ―totally fresh,‖ heads would‘ve bobbed. ‖ Debra asked. ‖ This was the department for which I was an underling.
The answer is yes. Frankly, I had never frosted my nipples before. Nor any other body parts. But I was determined, in spite of everything, to make this a birthday that James would remember. I was just putting the finishing touches on the lower portion of my anatomy and kind of wishing that his favorite flavor were vanilla or strawberry, because mocha brown is not really the most becoming color for a nude and edible seduction, when I smelled smoke. I checked the broiler, but I‘d turned it off. Yet the smell was getting stronger.