Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Thirty minutes later, Operation Brat kicked off.
“Remember, I’ve spread the word with those who would care that we’re taking Rita down tonight.
After finding out how shady she was, a lot of ‘em here are cheering us on,” Harrison told Riley and the others through their earpieces.
“So, some of the people here won’t hold what you do against you.
The others I don’t really know, but we can’t do anything about them.
And then there’s a third group—the assholes who are just as self-serving as Rita—who are fair game. ”
“We’ve been handed carte blanche to be naughty!” Iris said.
“I live for these moments,” Eli told them.
Drawing a deep breath to steady her nerves, Riley said, “Okay, everyone. It’s go time.”
The soft music of the stringed quartet was interrupted when a hip-hop song started blaring, controlled by the micro-DJ controller Stryker had hanging around his neck.
“Listen up, party people!” he yelled, holding out the last syllable. “DJ Vanilla Thunder is in the house, introducing the motherfucking star of the show!”
His ballcap and wraparound sunglasses hid his identity well, and Riley knew no one would suspect he was really a famous director. Waiting behind some trees, she giggled along with other members of her entourage.
“What is going on?” Rita asked, cutting through the stunned crowd.
Riley chanced a look around one of the trees and saw people dressed nicely, holding champagne flutes and small plates, clearly confused at Stryker’s—or DJ Vanilla Thunder’s—interruption.
“I’ll tell you what’s going on.” Stryker did some record scratching before he continued. “You all wanted a party? Well, here she is. Give it up for Riley… Motherfucking… Hartwell!”
The theme music they’d selected began blaring, and Riley felt like a professional wrestler walking to the ring as she emerged with her entourage in tow.
A couple of people clapped. Everyone else just stared in wide-eyed amazement.
“Champagne,” Riley said, holding out her hand.
The music died down. A server appeared and handed her a flute. “Thank you,” she said, unable to be unkind to the server who was just there doing their job.
She made a mental note to find out what event company had been hired and send a nice gift to the workers.
Riley took a sip, spit it out dramatically, and lowered the glass and said, “Champagne needs to be served at between forty-six and fifty degrees. I like mine at precisely forty-eight, but I’ll tolerate anything between the stated range. Leah, check it.”
She held the flute out.
Leah promptly pulled out a digital thermometer from her purse, snatched the champagne, and checked it. “What the literal hell? This is fifty-six degrees!”
Riley gasped. “Tell me I did not just hear that. I’m making it up, right? It’s all a bad dream?” She looked at her entourage.
Cami and Lana both made a show of checking the thermometer.
“She’s right,” Lana said. Fifty-six.”
“Do they know who they’re dealing with here?” Cami asked. “Like, do they even know you’re Riley Hartwell?”
“Fifty-six?” Riley said, shaking her head. “Fifty-fucking-six-fucking degrees.” She took the flute, tossed it into the grass, and turned to look at everyone. “I just want to know who pissed in a glass and tried to serve it to me as champagne?”
Stryker played a dramatic burst of music to great effect.
“Legal team, what’s my recourse?” Riley asked.
Chelsea and Penny stepped forward.
“Easy,” Penny said. “We sue for emotional distress caused by thermal negligence.”
“Slam-dunk case,” Chelsea chimed in. “Temperature trauma is very real. You might miss a few days of shooting, ergo losing money which means you have no choice but to recover lost wages.”
“No one has to live like that,” Penny added. “Know your worth, queen.”
Riley was really having a hard time keeping it together now. Reminding herself that she was a professional actress, she managed to stay in character.
“Darling, Riley,” Rita said. “Would you mind stepping over here with me for a moment?”
“Hold on,” Briggs said, stepping forward.
Damn, he looked like a million bucks in that tailored suit. So, so sexy. But then again, her man looked sexy no matter what he wore. And there was something about him working hard and doing things that required those muscles that really got Riley going.
But the suit was nice.
“And who are you?” Rita asked, clearly incensed.
“I’m her boyfriend. And bodyguard.”
“The painter?”
“He’s now the head of my security.” Riley ended the statement with an emphatic nod. “Ooh, and my manager.”
“You have a manager now?” Rita asked.
“You can talk about this all later,” Briggs said. “Right now, I need to make sure you don’t have any weapons on your person.”
“You’ve got to be joking! This is my damn house!”
All around them, the guests were trying to go about their mingling, pretending as if they weren’t glued to the grand drama that was unfolding.
“Sorry. No one gets to a star of this caliber without being scanned for weapons. She’s Riley Hartwell, you know,” Briggs said.
“Yes, I’m well aware of who she is!” Rita was smoldering. “And I won’t allow you to frisk me! You can just leave if it’s that important to you.”
“Rita, get used to it. It’s my new protocol,” Riley said.
Rita’s cheeks were as red as glowing embers as she raised her arms and let Briggs use the security wand he’d had tucked inside his suit jacket. He didn’t touch her with it, and stayed far away from anything that would be considered intrusive.
“The detector didn’t beep. She’s clean.”
Of course it didn’t beep, Riley thought. It was a movie prop Stryker had borrowed from a set.
“Satisfied? In the house, please.”
Riley walked toward it with everyone following.
“Alone!” Rita demanded.
“Of course not. I need my manager. Of course I need my attorneys. And my personal assistant. I might need my friends, too.”
Everyone kept walking.
They went onto the lavish patio and through the open wall that had its floor-to-ceiling glass windows parted, making the rear room of the mansion a semi-outdoor space at the moment.
“Riley, what has gotten into you?”
The actress shrugged. “You told me to act like a star. Well, that’s what I’m doing. Thanks to you and your guidance, Rita, I now know what I’m owed. What I deserve. I’m embracing my inner goddess.”
Several of the other Littles clapped.
It was evident Rita was thinking about it all as she stood there huffing. Finally, she said, “Riley, I might need to rethink our professional relationship.”
“But Rita! Our contract!”
“That contract can be—”
Shouts outside interrupted the proceedings.
“Did I hear someone yell food fight?” she asked.
Riley looked around. “Oh. That would be Eli. I guess he didn’t follow us in here.”
“No! This is my big night!” Rita said, nearly falling as her heels caught on the track where the sliding windows went on as she bolted toward the backyard again.
Riley and the others were right behind her.
Outside and down the gentle slope that led to the flat piece of yard where the party was, it was complete pandemonium.
Food was flying everywhere. Stryker and Harrison—the actor disguised, too—were chasing Eli, all of them throwing food as they ran.
Eli dodged some shrimp, jumped on top of a nearby table, and leaned down to pick up a plate of some sort of appetizer. He scooped up the food and tossed it, but Harrison ducked at the last second.
A partygoer behind him wasn’t so lucky.
The food splattered on his face as he yelled.
Eli jumped from table to table, sending dishes everywhere as people hurried out of the way.
“It’s a food fight!” Samantha yelled. “Every woman and man for themselves!”
The Littles all charged the scene now, grabbing fistfuls of whatever food was convenient.
“Stop it! Please!” Rita cried, in tears as she sank to her knees, watching the chaos that she was powerless to stop spread across her pristine backyard.
Chairs toppled. Screams and cries filled the night. A statue shattered.
But it wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.
Riley ran around to the side of the house where they’d hidden the rocket. Getting inside, she started the engine.
“Hey!”
She looked to see Briggs.
“Put on your helmet, babygirl. Just like we talked about.”
“Yes, Daddy.” She put on the pink helmet, gave him a thumbs-up, then took off toward the backyard.
Ruts trailed the rocket as it ate up the golf-course-like grass. Dirt clods soared into the air before raining down.
“I’m sure glad Stryker fixed this thing!” she said, not knowing if any of her friends could even hear her in their earpieces.
She’d heard the story of how the runaway rocket had nearly killed Iris. Now, though, it was working just fine.
After doing a few donuts, Riley aimed the rocket toward the food fight.
Most of the attendees had scattered and found safety and shelter behind trees. Some were even under the long serving table. Many of them were already running toward their vehicles, desperate to leave the scene.
“Bombs away!” Riley yelled, driving the car right into the center of it all. She brought it parallel with the buffet, slowed down enough to grab some food, and then drove straight toward Rita. “Incoming!”
“Riley, darling, no!”
The food covered her dress, face, and hair.
The actress didn’t wait around to see what her no doubt soon-to-be former manager did next, because she zipped off again in the car, eager to join the fray once again.
But she heard Rita when she yelled, “We’re done! I never want to see you again! I’m firing you as a client, you… you… brat!”
Riley just kept going.
This was too much fun.