That did it. Once Sterling entered supervillain territory, it was time to hide the nukes. "Why are you laughing like an insane supervillain?" Andie said.

Sterling smiled, and her face lit up. "It's for a potential role. Did you like it?"

Andie shook her head. "No. Too realistic!"

"Perfect. Anyway, I am so happy that because of this awful situation—and believe me, I am totally sympathetic even though I don't look like it right now—the good news is that now, you and your houseplant both get to move in with me. AND, bonus offer ... no one has to die tonight!"

"But ..."

"Don't 'but' me. It'll be so much fun. We'll have pillow fights, stay up too late eating popcorn. Watch romantic comedies. Like when we were kids."

Andie shook her head so hard, brain matter sloshed against her skull. "I can't live at your house."

"I have fifteen bedrooms, twenty-five bathrooms, two home gyms, three swimming pools—one Olympic-sized—two movie theaters with THX Dolby surround sound, a bowling alley, and a wine vault. Even my gift-wrap has its own room."

"I hate the paparazzi." Andie clenched her fists.

"Ignore them."

"I can't. Remember they have a restraining order against me. I bet they followed you here." Andie marched her way to the window, footsteps echoing in the mostly bare room. She pinched open the slats of the aluminum blinds. Sure enough, a swarm of those dirt merchants in black vests, sporting cameras with lenses as big as telescopes, had gathered like flies on the sidewalk across from Andie's building. "Yep."

"You're overprotective."

"Am not."

"I have security to handle them. You only need to be my friend. Damn it! Why'd you break that guy's camera? Wasn't taking out his gonads enough?"

Last month Andie had "accidentally" kicked a paparazzo in the balls after he snuck into Sterling's backyard and tried to take pictures of the superstar sunbathing in the nude. "Remember his squeal?" Andie savored the memory. "Anyway, it's okay. I'm moving in with Mom."

"Mom? Are you crazy? You can't be in a room together for five minutes. What are you gonna do when her clients come over? Lecture them about how they're wasting their money on psychic nonsense?"

"Hadn't thought of that," Andie said. "But it could pass the time."

Sterling rolled her eyes.

"It's only temporary till I find another job."

"You'll last at Mom's for two days max. Why are you being so stubborn when you know I have, and I repeat, fifteen bedrooms, each with a king-size bed with 1,000 thread count Frette sheets, an en suite bathroom, and full-time maid service? I can make your problems go away."

"You sound like a mobster."

"Always wanted to play one," she sighed. "Even practiced the accent by watching eleven seasons of The Real Housewives of New Jersey. That's commitment!"

"No one said you weren't committed. Or shouldn't be committed."

Sterling pursed her lips. "Very funny. Look, if you won't live with me, then I'll buy you a house. I've made a fortune and not just from movies. It's also because of your investment advice. I owe you."

It was true that Andie's financial expertise had helped grow Sterling's portfolio, but she made generous monthly payments to help out Mom. Andie considered this compensation enough.

After her earlier run, being caught in a sticky self-woven web of lies, and arguing with Sterling, Andie's legs turned to jelly. She barely made it to the loveseat, where she slumped into the poofy white pillows. "Ster, I love you more than anything in the world, but I can't let you do that."

Sterling growled. "It's not the paparazzi at all. It's your stupid pride."

It stung, but she couldn't deny the charge. Plus, there was the vow. The one she'd made years ago when Sterling became successful and people started taking advantage. Because their friendship meant everything to Andie, she swore never to ask for a handout. She sure as hell wouldn't start now. "What else do I have?"

Sterling folded some cookies into a paper towel, plopped down beside Andie on the sofa, yanking off the '$1,500 - almost new' tag, and tossing it to the floor. She expertly wriggled her feet out of a pair of strappy Jimmy Choos, and one by one, they hit the floor. The twinkling crystal-encrusted sandals sprawled like supplicants at her feet. ​​"You're an idiot, but I guess I understand. Here, have a snickerdoodle."

Andie accepted the offering. "Mmmm," she moaned. Warm morsels of bliss caressed her tongue. It tasted better than sex, not that she remembered much about it. How long had it been? "These are amazing, Ster." Andie wolfed down a second cookie. Who cared? No one was going to see her naked. "Aren't you going to have any?"

Sterling pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. "Haha. You know I haven't had a carb in ten years. It's against the Actress Ten Commandments: 'Thou shalt not eat bread, nor pasta, nor pastries unless you must gain weight for a role with Oscar potential.'"

"Isn't popcorn technically a carb?" Andie said, reaching for a third snickerdoodle.

"Popcorn is a carb gray area," Sterling said. "And maybe that should be your last cookie."

"Why? I'm not a movie star. Accountants are allowed unlimited carbs. It's actually mentioned in state accountancy regulations: 'Accountants shall eat pasta, bread, pastries, and all other carb-laden foodstuffs, especially during tax season.'" She jammed a whole cookie into her mouth for emphasis.

"Good to know. But these particular cookies may include a special ingredient." She winked.

Andie stopped chewing. "No. Please tell me I didn't eat something illegal."

Sterling pursed her lips. "You'll be fine. Eventually."

"Oh, my god." Andie swallowed.

"You're such a boring, straight-laced accountant," Sterling teased.

"Was a boring, straight-laced accountant," Andie corrected.

"Come 'ere." Sterling pulled Andie into her arms and squeezed. Her hair had the familiar scent of Herbal Essence shampoo—-the same brand she'd used since middle school. After all the weeks of hiding and worry, this show of affection nearly undid Andie. She bit her lip to keep from sobbing. If she cried, it would only upset her friend more.

Sterling broke the hug and sat back. She gave Andie the once over, then raised an Anastasia-coiffed eyebrow, patted Andie's ancient, faded sweatpants then tugged on her messy ponytail. "You really look like shit." Her mouth twisted into a smirk.

And here was where having a best friend who knew you so well was an asset. Because a sympathetic comment would've had Andie drowning in an ocean of self-pity. But this? This made Andie laugh for the first time in forever. "Hey, I'm in sweats because I went for a run, not because it's a lifestyle choice."

"Honey, these aren't sweats; they're fabric yearning to be rags."

"Funny. Speaking of cookies, why are you here? I know you only bake when you're upset." If Sterling tried to bake at the mansion, the cook chased her out of "her" kitchen.

"Wow, totally awkward subject change. You know very well we were talking about your problems and not mine."

Andie blew a raspberry. "Was worth a try."

"Barely," Sterling replied. "Sorry I threatened to kill your plant."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my financial situation. But it'll be okay. I just need a new job." Andie wrinkled her brow and shook her head. "It's bizarre. Six months ago headhunters were sending me edible fruit bouquets. Begging me to change employers. But ever since I got suddenly laid off from my last job, no one in Hollywood will speak to me. I feel like a second-grade dodgeball team reject. And no one needs to relive that."

"Certainly not," Sterling agreed. "Just know I'm here for you no matter what. But for the time being, we can pretend you don't need me."

Andie took Sterling's hand. "I always need you. But to be my friend. Not my savior."

"Saving loved ones is part of friendship."