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“Nancy,” she answers quietly, almost like she doesn't want me to know.

Somehow, it reminds me of something…but what?A lamb to the slaughter.An image of the sheep we raised on our small farm flashes across my mind—they are standing in the rain, the lambs close to their mothers, my father striding through the storm to do his duty.

"My real name is Stacy," I admit boldly, strangely, out of the blue.

Nancy turns to look over her shoulder, her brows conferencing in confusion.Why did I tell her that?She gives me a half smile. "I'm sure lots of actresses change their name. You're Angela now, dear, as long as you want to be."

I nod, blushing. I'm acting like an idiot.And that is so not new.

But I got here, didn't I?

Nancy reaches the sliding glass doors we've been walking toward and pulls one open, revealing the back patio. The view stops me again. All of LA is spread before me. It's glittering. And there—oh, right there! The Hollywood sign is lit up, seeming so tiny in contrast to the sparkling city.

Archie stirs from within the purse Mary gave me to carry him around in and pokes his head out, looking around for a second before licking my hand. All he sees is a blurry screen of black and white, from what I’ve read about puppy development.

Maybe I really should have named him Toto…

Jack rises from a cushioned chair and steps forward, his movements as elegant as his pressed linen shirt and casual jeans. He's barefoot, and something about that sends a thrill through me. It's strangely intimate. Jack Axelrod, Oscar-winning director, is smiling at me, holding out a hand…not wearing any shoes…all of LA behind him. Almost like he's offering it to me.

But what is the price?

Your soul,my grandmother's pinched voice pierces through me. A smile comes to my lips as I boldly walk through the opening. It's just me and Jack, here to talk about my starring role in his movie.

I throw on my warmest, most intimate smile—the one that saysI’m totally fascinated by the person in front of me.And in this case, it's not acting.

Jack poursme another glass of wine. My second and last, I note to myself, as a warm flush is already moving up my neck.

So far, it’s going well. My limbs are loose, my laugh genuine, and Archie is doing a good job of being a cutie pie.

Jack has bright eyes—they look like sapphires and emeralds had the most beautiful babies. They remind me of the deepest waters of the Caribbean… I went there once. On a photo shoot. Was sick as a dog on the boat.

But I got the shot.

And I saw that pristine turquoise water, I luxuriated in it.

"Are you ready to eat?" Jack asks me.

"Yes, please."

He smiles and stands, offering me a hand.Gentlemanly.He's not coming on to me.Doesn't mean he won't.But I'm prepared. I'm not going to sleep with him. Not only is he old enough to be my father, he’s also my boss. I might be from Podunk, Kansas, but I know that's a bad idea…lessons can be learned the easy way sometimes.

The light breeze is sweet, and it plays with my hair, almost like a lover’s touch.This city loves me.I trip, falling forward a little. Jack catches me, his arm warm and tight on my waist.I'm drunker than I thought.

"Sorry," I say, my speech slurring enough that a flicker of concern tightens my gut.I only had one glass.This is three-whiskey drunk Stacy, not one-glass-of-fine-Sancerre tipsy Angela.

Jack's eyes are close, so glittering…like the city.

Will he hurt me?What a strange thought. I shake my head, trying to clear the fuzziness. "Do you need to lie down?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. He's a good actor, too. Started out in front of the screen back in the late 70s. He was a real hottie then. Still is in his early 60s. But I don't want him to touch me. There is an edge to that glittering gaze, the sharp edge of hard stone.

He does not care about me.

You're a slut. My grandmother's seething voice sends a wave of nausea through me.

"I think…I’m not sure what's happening," I admit, bringing a hand to my forehead. It's clammy.I'm clammy. Archie pokes his head out of the bag again, licking my forearm.

"Here," Jack says. "There is a couch in the living room; you can lay down and take a rest. We can eat later."

He's moving me into the house. My feet are numb, and I'm tipping side to side, the only thing keeping me moving is Jack’s hold around my waist. I wince; God, he's holding me tight. It's like the pain is the only thing holding mehere. I'm on the verge of drifting away. I'm on the verge of losing something...