LITMIR.BIZ

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was hauling through the restaurant like a six-foot-tall piece of luggage? The one in baggy khakis and a raggedy blue button-down that had seen its best days back in 1975? It was their father.

      “Madison!” Sophie called from halfway across the restaurant, her arms outstretched. Dozens of gold bangles clinked musically along her wrists.

      Heads turned in Madison’s direction—something Madison usually relished. But oh no, not now, not today. She wished, for the first time, to be completely invisible.

      Sophie was practically skipping toward her in a brightly colored maxidress that looked like it came from Haight-Ashbury. “Hey, big sis!” she cried.

      “Little sis!” Madison leaned in to hug Sophie and pulled her close. After three seasons of reality TV, she knew just how quiet she needed to be to make sure her mike didn’t pick up a word. “I will destroy you for this, you pseudo-hippie bitch,” she whispered.

      Sophie backed away from Madison, smiling as if she’d heard nothing. But her eyes were like shards of blue ice. “I brought you a surprise,” she said, turning a little to her left, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

      “Hello, Charlie.” Madison didn’t reach out her hand or move toward her father. Instead, she examined him the way she might look at last season’s cocktail dress on the 75-percent-off rack: without visible emotion. Charlie Wardell had salt-and-pepper hair, a sharp, strong nose, and eyes that were the same vivid blue as Madison’s, as Sophie’s. It was the only thing he left them with.

      Madison hadn’t seen him since she was nine years old, unless you counted the faded photos she’d kept in a shoebox under her bed. She and Sophie had looked at those pictures obsessively on the afternoons that their mother went out to the bar and forgot to come home for dinner, or for bedtime, or sometimes even for breakfast the next morning. It was like they thought that if they looked at pictures of him hard enough, he’d actually come back and rescue them.

      “Can you believe our dad is here?” Sophie asked, pointedly emphasizing the word “dad.”

      Madison stiffened. She’d never refer to this man as her dad. She hadn’t had a dad for ten years, and she wasn’t about to pick one up now. “Well, this is a surprise,” she said, keeping her voice low and even. “I came here expecting lunch and a new pair of Manolos. Family reunion wasn’t on the schedule today.”

      She glanced over at Sophie, who was beaming with fake benevolence. Her little sister would pay for this. She would absolutely fucking pay for bringing this man here, to ground zero of the L.A. power lunch, and while the cameras were rolling.

      Charlie sat down next to her, and suddenly Madison was nearly brought to her knees by the old, familiar smell of him. Oh my God, she thought, he still wears Old Spice. She used to sit in his closet after he left, among the flannel shirts that smelled like his aftershave. She felt her throat constrict.

      But she was Madison Fucking Parker. She did not—she would not—cry.

      “So what brings you to L.A.?” Madison asked, miraculously mastering her trembling voice. “I mean, besides the fact that you’re a broke ex-con with two daughters on TV? I’m assuming that’s why you’re here, right? For the paycheck?”

      “Madison,” Sophie said, shaking her head. “That’s a little harsh.”

      “What’s harsh is deserting a nine- and six-year-old to be raised by an unstable alcoholic.” Madison turned and met her father’s eyes. “I mean really. What kind of person does that?”

      Charlie looked away from Madison and fiddled with his napkin. Good. She hoped he felt embarrassed and ashamed. She hoped he’d feel so disgusted with himself that he’d crawl back under whatever rock Sophie and Trevor had turned over to find him.

      “You changed your name,” Charlie finally said. His voice was soft.

      A quick thrill flashed through Madison. She remembered that voice. Reading her stories before bed. Singing her to sleep. Holding her tight when her mother was in a drunken rage.

      “The name I gave you,” he went on.

      She laughed harshly. “Right. That was about all you gave me, wasn’t it?” That and some serious abandonment issues, she thought melodramatically.

      He looked down at his hands, which were gripping the napkin so hard his knuckles were white. “I know you probably hate me,” he said. “And Sweetpea, I’d hate me too if I were you.”

      Sweetpea, Madison thought. Why doesn’t he just take a fork and stab me in the heart? That was his old pet name for her, and how she had loved it when he said it! But this was the man who was supposed to take care of her, protect her, make everything all right. And he hadn’t done any of that. He had simply up and vanished.

      “You’ve grown up so much,” he said.

      Madison wanted to scream. He might seem repentant, but he was just like Sophie: He was looking for a quick payday.

      “I’m not here for the money,” Charlie said. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”

      “Oh, and why would I think that?” Madison asked. “You’ve had years to try to find me, and now when I’ve got my third show and some money in the bank this is the first time you try to contact me? You want me to believe it’s coincidental?”

      “The first time?” Charlie looked from Madison to Sophie in confusion. “This isn’t the first time I’ve tried to contact you.”

      Madison held up a hand. “Save it. No phone calls, no visits, not even a fucking birthday card—”

      Charlie paled. “You didn’t get my letters?”

      “No, I didn’t.”

      “Well, honey, I sent them every month at least. I never missed, except for that month I was in the hospital with pneumonia. That time I only managed a postcard.”

      Madison stared at him. And then she turned toward Sophie, who looked genuinely clueless, too. Their dad was a liar and a deadbeat, and she knew he would say anything right now to win her over, which he’d obviously already managed with Sophie. But this was cruel. “Well I never got any letters.”

      “Is he in there?” Madison demanded. The girl sitting at the desk outside Trevor’s office opened her mouth, but Madison didn’t pause for her answer. She strode past her, toward the closed double doors. She was not to be screwed with. Not like this, and not on national TV. No sir, she was not getting paid enough for this Wardell family shitshow.

      “I’m sorry.” The assistant jumped up from her chair and raced around her desk toward Madison. “But you can’t just go in there, you can’t—”

      “Like hell I can’t.” Madison shoved the door open.

      Trevor’s back was turned. He was gazing out one of his giant windows, his Bluetooth blinking in his ear.

      “How dare you pull that shit with me?” she started. “You want to make me a laughingstock? ‘Poor little Madelyn Wardell with her ex-con father and drunken mother and psycho sister.’ That is low, Trevor, even for you.”

      “Joe, can I call you back?” Trevor asked mildly. He watched Madison as she stood there fuming. “Great, talk to you later.” He clicked off.

      “You’re using me,” she barreled on. “I told you I’d go to that stupid audition for you, but my past is not some toy for you to play with, and it isn’t something I want dragged out in front of all of America. Didn’t we go over this with L.A. Candy? I am not Madelyn Wardell. I am Madison Parker. My family is not at your disposal whenever you feel like a ratings boost.”

      Trevor smiled at her. “Sit,” he said, gesturing to a leather armchair. “Take a breath, Madison.”

      She shook her head. She was going to remain standing, thank you. She was going to make Trevor understand that what he’d done was wrong. For one, it was an emotional ambush.

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