The coffee shop on a quiet side street in Studio City was discreet. Alicia wore a plain white t-shirt and jeans, no makeup. Her presence was a stark, cold point in the warm, bustling room.
Elliot Vance, a man in his late forties dressed in a razor-sharp suit, walked in. He stopped when he saw her. His sharp agent's eyes had been prepared for tears, for desperation, for a broken child. He was not prepared for the woman sitting before him, as still and deep as a frozen lake.
"Alicia," he said, sliding into the booth. His voice was professionally sympathetic. "I'm sorry for what happened. But frankly, your value in this town right now is less than zero."
He laid it out brutally. Abandoned by the Ruiz family. Blacklisted by the media. Hated by the fanbases of three different male stars. No studio would touch her.
She listened without expression. When he was finished, she said, "I need a job."
Elliot gave a short, bitter laugh. "Kid, you don't need a job. You need a miracle. Go do off-Broadway for five years. Maybe they'll forget."
"I don't have five years," Alicia said. "I want a spot on 'Celestial Love'."
He stared at her as if she'd grown a second head. "'Celestial Love'? The celebrity dating show? Do you have any idea who one of the main investors is? August Hardy's production company."
He leaned forward, his voice a low hiss. "That's an S-tier production. The cast is all A-listers and rising stars. You, with your baggage, can't even get in the door."
Alicia's gaze was steady. "August Hardy's company is an investor. Which means he'll likely make an appearance, correct?"
Elliot sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "The rumor is he'll show up in the finale as a 'love guru' or something. It's the show's biggest selling point."
"That's all I need," she said. "Get me on that show."
"Alicia, have you lost your mind?" he snapped. "You think getting close to August Hardy is your comeback plan? A thousand girls have tried. They all ended up broken."
She didn't argue. Instead, she slid a debit card across the table.
"There's five hundred thousand dollars on that card. It's not from the Ruizes. It's mine." The funds were the result of a simple, untraceable data manipulation-a few lines of code redirected from a cartel's offshore crypto wallet into a newly created anonymous account. For her, altering digital records was less taxing than lifting a finger. "That's your operating budget and a retainer. If you succeed, my agent's commission to you will be thirty percent. Well above the industry standard."
The money stopped him cold. He knew her accounts had been frozen. He had no idea where this came from.
But it was more than the money. It was the aura she projected. Not of a desperate girl, but of a queen moving her chess pieces. There was no plea in her eyes, only a target.
As a top agent, he could smell two things: immense risk, and an even more immense reward.
He was silent for a long time, his fingers drumming a nervous rhythm on the table.
"You know your three little problems-Julius, Kian, and Jamie-have all been invited to be on 'Celestial Love,' don't you?" He dropped the bomb, expecting it to shatter her resolve. To put a young woman on an island with the three men who publicly destroyed her was a special kind of hell.
For the first time, a smile touched Alicia's lips. It was a cold, sharp thing. "Isn't that better? I can deal with them all at once."
Elliot flinched. She wasn't scared. She was eager.
This was not the Alicia Ruiz he knew.
He picked up the card. "I can't promise anything. The executive producer, Victoria Chase, is a she-devil. Nothing gets past her."
"You just get me in the room with her," Alicia said. "I'll handle the rest."
Elliot stood up, looking down at her for a long moment. "Three days. Wait for my call. And Alicia... whatever happened to you... welcome back."
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