Dollhouse by and Khloé Kardashian Kim Kourtney Page B

today. Glamour magazine had interviewed her as part of an article on up-and-coming new faces in Hollywood.
    She had been mentioned in other magazines and in the blogs, too—some of it was positive, some of it was not so positive (did that blogger really have to call her fat just because she had curves?), but who was she to be picky? It was all good. Giles had told her that by this time next year, with hard work and luck, she could be right up there with Gisele and Heidi.
    “Hey, Chase? Care to make a comment about what happened at Industry last night?” one of the cameramen called out suddenly.
    Kamille felt Chase’s entire body go tense. She turned to him slightly and whispered, “Industry? What’s he talking about?”
    “Let’s go inside.”
    “What?”
    “I’ll tell you when we’re alone. Let’s go .”
    Kamille had never heard his voice take on that cold, hard edge. It was all she could do to keep smiling as she blew a kiss at the line of reporters and cameramen and headed into the club, clutching Chase’s hand.
    Inside, the fashion show was in full force. The rap artist Atomic was acting as MC as various models paraded down the catwalk, dressed in funky resort wear. Kamille recognized several other celebrities in the crowd: more pop stars, actors, other models. She would have enjoyed meeting them and also checking out the fashions, except that Chase was dragging her away from the main room, toward the bar. Something was definitely wrong.
    At the bar, he ordered two drinks: a Scotch on the rocks for himself and a glass of white wine for her. Then he picked up the drinks and nudged Kamille into a dark, quiet corner, out of the other guests’ earshot.
    He downed his Scotch in one gulp, some of it spilling on his beautiful blue Zegna suit. Kamille stared at him, alarmed. She had never seen him like this. “What is it, Chase? What’s going on?” she whispered.
    “Fucking reporters,” Chase burst out. He lowered his voice. “Zoe, my publicist, called me about it this morning. Some tabloid sleazebag took a picture of me at Industry last night.”
    Kamille felt her blood go cold. “What . . . picture? I thought you were out with your teammates.”
    “I was. Thing is, we got a little drunk. You know, typical boys’ night. I had this breakfast thing at seven A.M. sharp, though, so I got up to leave. Alone, mind you. So I’m at the valet waiting for my car, and this girl comes out of nowhere. Next thing I knew, she’s got her hands all over me and she’s insisting I go back to her place with her. I tell her no, thanks, but she won’t back off. I think she was high on something. I finally had to say some pretty nasty stuff to her, and she got the message. But not before some asshole reporter takes a picture.”
    “I don’t understand. How bad can it be? It’s just some random fan-girl attacking you, right? You must get that a lot.”
    “Yeah, but the picture could be . . . open to misinterpretation.”
    Misinterpretation? “So you’ve seen it?”
    “Zoe texted it to me. ’Sides, it’s on the fucking Internet now.”
    This was all news to Kamille. She had been holed up at a shoot all day and hadn’t been online. And why was Chase swearing so much? It wasn’t like him. “Can I see it?” she said out loud.
    “What?”
    “The picture. Can I see it?”
    Chase sighed. “Fine. You’re gonna see it eventually, anyway.”
    He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and scrolled around. After a moment he held up the screen for her to look. “Here. Satisfied?” he grumbled.
    Kamille squinted to see in the dim light. She took the phone from him and enhanced the image.
    The picture showed Chase with some petite blonde in a black minidress that revealed way more skin than not. Slore couture. Her arms were snaked around his neck, and her head was tipped up to his.
    The thing was . . . he wasn’t exactly pushing her away. His arms were wrapped around her waist. And his head was bent down low,