CHAPTER ONE

      “ACTION!”

      At her director’s prompting, Katlynn Brennon aimed her sincerest smile into the television camera, stuck out her forehead and tipped down her chin for her best angle. Her weary eyes chased the racing teleprompter all while striving to ignore her “slimming” undergarment’s malicious dig.

      What number was this take?

       Infinity?

      “Babe Paley, the socialite wife of CBS founder, William S. Paley, once said, ‘A woman can never be too rich or too thin,’” Katlynn intoned, voice steady despite the boom mic’s close dip to her head. “However, many of her fellow glamour queens might have added that riches don’t guarantee contentment. Heiresses may even share a unique kind of adversity.”

      Beneath blaring lights, Katlynn willed back the damp forming on her forehead.

      Glow not glisten.

       Glow.

      “On tonight’s episode of Scandalous History, we’ll dig into the secret lives of seven ‘golden girls’ who inherited their share of troubles along with their fortunes.”

      She paused, maintaining her pose for Editing, who appreciated extra room on the ends of takes. Dozens of eyes peered at her from the shadows.

      Nope. This wasn’t awkward at all...

      Perfectly natural to grin at nothing like a loony statue...

      “Cut!” bellowed her director, Gabe French, and she blew out a breath. A gray-haired, slouchy man, Gabe’s heavy-lidded eyes and rumpled clothes belied his legendary perfectionism. “Great job, Katlynn. Just amazing. Now, can we do another take with you repeating the intro salaciously?”

      Mary, the studio’s overzealous hair and makeup person, rushed Katlynn with a fistful of spritzes, brushes and powder. De-frizzing spray blasted in a coconut-scented cloud.

      “Salaciously?” Katlynn choked out as Mary smoothed down microscopic hair wisps only an expert stylist or a circling hawk could spot.

      “Like you’ve got a tasty, juicy bit of gossip to tell.” Gabe’s eyes gleamed. “Give me a knowing smile with your left eyebrow lift.”

      “How’s this?” Katlynn shot him her best Mona Lisa impersonation while Mary scurried around in a cyclone of powder.

      “Perfect!” he crowed before turning to the lighting director. “And can we warm up the lights? Katlynn’s skin looks like a corpse.”

      “Give us a sec,” the gaffer grumbled, huddled with his crew.

      Katlynn hid her wince, concealing her growing worries about aging in a youth-obsessed industry.

      “And Mary, do something about those dark circles under her eyes.” The director peered at the camera’s monitor.

      Mary whispered, “If he calls you a corpse one more time, I’ll put him in a grave.”

      “I’m thirty-two,” Katlynn reminded Mary as she dotted concealer under Katlynn’s eyes. “Ancient by LA standards.”

      “Pee-shaw,” Mary clucked. “You’re the most beautiful woman on TV. People magazine said so.”

      “Five years ago,” Katlynn reminded her. Yesterday’s news. What would happen when she wasn’t young enough, pretty enough, to headline a show? Would she disappear, fall into the same obscurity she’d grown up in? Become no one again?

      She shook the crazy thought aside. Six seasons and still going strong, Scandalous History was here to stay, her hosting position assured.

      So why hadn’t the network confirmed next season’s renewal?

      Mary lint-rolled Katlynn’s dress then hustled out of frame when the key grip lifted three fingers for the countdown. He curled down one finger, two, then pointed the third. The director yelled, “Action!”

      Katlynn leaned forward, lifted her left eyebrow and curled her mouth conspiratorially as she delivered the next take “salaciously.”

      One hour and eight takes later, Katlynn briskly strode from the taping room, every step agony as the heels Wardrobe paired with her tight sheath dress strangled her toes.

      “Hi, Ms. Brennon.”

      “Hey, Bob.” She flashed their set designer a broad smile without stopping. The minute she reached her dressing room she’d shut the door, kick off her shoes and wriggle free of the straitjacket masquerading as shapewear.

      A couple of interns flattened against the wall when she approached, wide-eyed