The Fakers

5: Liam

My manager was punishing me. Why else would he schedule an early morning meeting on a Friday? He knew my weekends were sacred.

We had just wrapped up the fourth season of my show, and I only had a few glorious months of freedom and free weekends to enjoy before we started filming again.

And yet here I was, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (okay, not really) in the lobby of the swankiest high-rise building on California Street to meet my asshole of a lawyer. I legitimately hated everything about him – the way he talked, the way he dressed, even the way he breathed – but when it came to celebrity DUIs, he was the best in the business.

I was giving my information to the baby-faced chump at the front desk ("I'm Liam Black, how do you not know this?" "I don't have my driver's license, you idiot!" "The State of California took it, which is why I'm here!") when he suddenly stood up from his chair and waved his fingers in an effeminate way. The kid started to giggle, so I had to turn around and see for myself what was going on.

Just as I suspected, it was a pretty girl. Wait a minute.

The pretty girl was Danielle.

She was wearing glasses and an impeccable black suit. I wondered who her tailor was, because, damn. Her dark hair was straight as a pin (she wore it in loose waves last night) and her black Louboutins were sky high. I was beginning to suspect she wasn't an actress like she had told me.

I walked away from the chump at the front desk, who was so distracted by her that he didn't even notice the security breach, and followed Danielle to the elevators. She was talking to a young redhead in a navy dress who was holding two coffees and hanging onto Danielle's every word like she was the Pope doling out blessings.

"Danielle," I said, walking up to her. "Hi."

The redhead eyed me curiously before turning to her superior. "Danielle?" she asked.

Sweet baby Jesus.

Did "Danielle" give me a fake name?

Not-Danielle chuckled. "I was out with Mia last night," she explained.

I couldn't believe this. Not-Danielle and Not-Alice both gave us fake names – like Tony and I were schmucks that they hoped to never see again!

"Ohh," the redhead said, nodding. "Celebrating the divorce settlement you won her?"

"Something like that," Not-Danielle laughed. The elevator doors opened, but Not-Danielle didn't follow her minion in, which was a wise decision. I was so going to grill her about last night - minion in the elevator with us or not.

"Rachel, I'll meet you up there," she said. "Will you get the conference room ready for the deposition?"

"Of course. Oh, and do you want your espresso?" Rachel asked, holding out one of the coffee cups. Not-Danielle grabbed it and thanked her before the doors closed.

"My name is Gemma," she said to me, sipping her espresso and preemptively answering my first question.

Gemma clearly wasn't the least bit apologetic for any of her actions. She pressed the up button again.

"You told me you were an actress," I said accusingly.

"I never told you that."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't. If I remember correctly – and trust me, I do – you asked, 'You must be an actress, right?' And I replied with-"

"'Something like that,'" we said in unison.