"Hi," Claire purred, leaning seductively against the door of Miles' office.
Her agent sighed deeply. "Come in, Claire."
Claire sashayed in and plopped into the wine-red velvet couch beside his desk, stretching her legs out in front of her. "So what did you call me in for, Miles? To congratulate me on winning an Oscar two years into the movie business or to congratulate me on Mean Girls 2 breaking box-office records this week?"
Miles wordlessly slapped a copy of US Weekly down in front of her in answer.
Claire smirked, looking down at the cover picture of herself hoisting a margarita pitcher into the air with one hand and lifting up her shirt to show off her flat abs with the other while her lips remained determinedly glued to Zac Efron's. "That Caroline Herrera shirt-dress looks tres hot on me, no?"
"Claire." Miles steepled his fingers. "Claire, there's no right way to say this, so I'm just going to say it. Your party girl act is no longer something you want to continue."
"I tried to get Zac to get green streaks in hair that night, but he said he'd rather go to the club," Claire informed him. "Miley was there, though. Isn't she supposed to be the sitting-home-in-her-pajamas type? I kind of want to do a Disney show, actually –"
"Claire!" Miles cut her off. "Look, you're fab and fantastic, but this is an ultimatum: you clean up your act or you're out of work."
Claire narrowed her Clinique mascara-ringed eyes, all traces of pleasant chattiness gone. "Tell that to Mr Oscar. Or the twenty million Mean Girls 2 just grossed."
"I know you're hot right now, babe…" Miles' gaze lingered a little longer than Claire thought was totally necessary on the exposed leg that her Hollister jean skirt displayed. "But Fox is calling you unreliable and threatening to drop you from La La Land. The Sun compared you to Hilary Duff and found her wrinkles easier to work with than you showing up hung over on the sets. Warner –"
Claire stood up, ignoring him, and surveyed the office. In addition to movie posters starring her adorning the walls, there were pictures of her – her in her Chanel Oscar gown, her shaking hands with Miles, her and Abby Boyd at some MTV awards show, her and Lindsay Lohan sharing a kiss…okay, what? "Do you jerk off to my pictures, Milesy boy?"
Miles rubbed his temples wearily. "Claire, if you don't stop acting the way you do off the sets, I'm going to call up every studio working with you and tell them you're unavailable."
Claire spun on her bright red Blahniks and smiled brightly. "And I'll tell all the other agents who are dying to work with me that you are."
Miles looked her in the eye. "I wonder," he said slowly, "what everyone back in Westchester – and the rest of the world, I suppose – would say if they knew that you called a certain old friend's name out in your sleep practically every night."
Time slowed. Silence fell. Claire stood absolutely still for a long moment. Then she stalked abruptly to the desk and sat down on the couch again, back ramrod-straight.
"Fine," she said evenly, keeping her face devoid of emotion, "what does this clean-up-my-act thing entail, exactly?"
Miles shrugged. "Something entirely drastic and little-virgin-in-Missouri that nobody will expect of you."
"Rehab?" Claire asked. Miles rolled his eyes. "Okay, that would be too much to hope for. Born Again virgin? Volunteer work? A role on a Christian TV show?"
"Getting an education," Miles corrected.
"Like what, getting a GED, which I already happen to be working on?" Claire furrowed her brushed blond brows in disgust.
"No, Claire," Miles said gently. "Like going back to high school."
Claire leaned back in her seat as his words sank into her brain. She waited for him to burst out laughing or brandish a video camera. When he didn't, she took a deep breath. She wouldn't throw a tantrum – yet. "Do I look like puke-green locker material to you anymore, Miles?" she said, her voice dangerously low.
Miles raised his eyebrows. "You will have a choice of schools, Claire. It doesn't necessarily have to be public school. It can be any school, as long as it's a day school and it's in this country."
Claire walked over to the floor-length mirror on the back of the door to the office and surveyed herself. A smile spread over her lips as she took in her appearance and let herself think about what it could accomplish for a second instead of starting the shrieking-swearing-manipulating thing that generally got her what she wanted. "Okay."
Miles looked astonished, as if he'd expected her to throw her shoes at him. "Really?"
"Hell, yeah." Claire grinned gleefully.
Miles blinked rapidly. "Well," he said, clearly trying to regain his business-like manner. "Well, all right, where would you like to go? Pacific Palisades High, maybe, or Beverly Hills? You should find your peers then – but then again, it wouldn't quite be enough of a punishment. Of course, there are a few schools in Orange County, which would be quieter for you, or there's always Massachusetts if you prefer the WASP experience –"
"Westchester High," Claire announced, raking her manicured fingers through her blond hair.
Miles paused. "Westchester High," he repeated expressionlessly.
Claire cocked her head and smiled thinly. "It's time to settle old scores, Milesy boy."
I'm so sorry that was so short, but I've got exams going on! We get to more interesting stuff next chapter, I promise! Thank you to the reviewers who made my day:
2ndChild
lolo7676
Magagie
jessj822: I'm actually trying to think of a good title. Can you help me?
puppyloveallways
CriticCorner
Zashleyrocks and Zanessasucks
prettyperfecttoes