Even better than watching her nemesis sprawled on the lawn of the Griffith Park Observatory was the joy that Oliver, rather than rushing to the side of his betrothed, turned toward Andie, arched an eyebrow, and stared at her crossed arms. "Are you all right?" he said, touching her arm. Though his touch was gentle, her body's reaction was a powerful jolt of attraction. Even after all that had happened.

"Excuse me!" Talia shrieked from the lawn. "Fiancé on the ground here!" She punched her arm into the air in a not-so-subtle signal that Oliver was expected to help her stand.

People nearby kept glancing over at Talia, then turning back to their conversations, pretending nothing was amiss.

"What is going on?" said an ice-shattering voice.

"Mother," Oliver said.

Andie's stomach twisted as Cyra, dressed in a red sequined gown glided into the clutch of aliens and humans, frowning.

It was bad enough Andie had to put up with these aliens at the office, but it was seriously unfair that they were invading Sterling's fundraiser. Plus, Andie's sparking fingers, which had almost settled down after the joy of seeing Talia hit the ground, started up again.

Beside Cyra towered a vaguely familiar gorgeous blonde with pouty scarlet lips and incandescent pale skin. Andie wracked her brain trying to place her, but couldn't. Most likely because in Hollywood, gorgeous, pouty-lipped, incandescently skinned blondes are as common as houseflies or potholes. Said blonde wore the same dress as Sterling even though Messrs. Dolce & Gabbana promised Sterling it was "one-of-a-kind." Someone wasn't getting a Sterling Champagne testimonial at this year's Oscars.

Sterling stiffened at Andie's side, and her movie star best friend growled a teeny bit.

"What is it?" Andie whispered to Sterling.

"Gigi Gaines," Sterling said through clenched teeth.

Oh, no! The actress who stole Sterling's part in The Last Story franchise. This night could not get any worse. "Do nothing rash," Andie whispered, gripping her friend's elbow. "There are cameras everywhere."

"Why would she show up at my event? Is she trying to steal my charity too?"

"Hello, Sterling," said Gigi. "Hello, whoever you are." She gave Andie the once-over. "Didn't Cher wear that leather get-up about a hundred years ago? Like in the eighties?"

"It's faux leather!" Sterling snarled.

"Sorry about The Last Story," said Gigi, looking about as sorry as a Powerball lottery winner. "I hear there are some good mom roles coming up."

"I think you should leave," said Andie.

"But she's my guest," said Cyra. "Hello, Andromeda, Sterling." Cyra smiled and stared at Sterling for way too long and in an extremely stalkerish fashion.

"Get up from there, Talia. You are causing a scene," Cyra pursed her lips.

Talia glared at Oliver, then leaped to her feet.

"Who did you have to sleep with to steal my part?" said Sterling.

"You bitch," said Gigi, snatching a glass from another of the omnipresent wait staff, and in slow motion, the shimmering liquid arced its way toward Sterling. Andie jumped, shielding her friend from the onslaught. The sticky champagne dripped from Andie's hair and face trailed between her breasts, and made its way beneath the gown onto her stomach. Andie could not help herself calculating the loss of the costly fluid in both current dollars and dollars adjusted for the average inflation rate since bottling. She did this sort of lame math to keep her brain from exploding with the weird crap that threatened to suck up her intellect and expectorate the remains.

"Andie!" Sterling cried.

"I'm sorry. The gown."

"You idiot. I don't care about that dress."

Oliver groped in his Armani suit pocket and extracted a magic cloth and reached toward Andie's wet décolletage. Talia grabbed the cloth before he got there.

"Thank you, dear," she said, daubing her delicate nose. Oliver ripped it back and offered it to Andie.

"Uh, that's okay." Andie wrinkled her nose. No way did she want to touch it after Talia had used it for daubing.

"Here," Oliver said, pulling another cloth out of his pant pocket.

Andie took this one gratefully, and the alien fabric did its magic. "Thanks," Andie said. The last of the spilled champagne disappeared just as a crew of Vin Diesels converged, Rachel and Pilot close on their heels.

"Is everything all right, Ms. Champagne?" said the lead security guard, his body rippling with unleashed energy.

Cameras flashed, blinding them and capturing the ensuing mayhem for posterity. The three hundred party guests had by this time, given up on pretending it was just a normal star-studded gala and gathered around. Pilot growled at Gigi, Talia and Oliver, bared his teeth, and did his best to truncate their fingers, but only by an inch or two.

"Please remove these ... people ... from the premises," said Sterling.

Vin Diesel One motioned to Vin Diesels Two, Three, and Four. "Let's go."

"You can take her," said Cyra, pointing to Gigi. "But the rest of us stay."

"What?" said Gigi. "But you said ..."

"Never mind that," Cyra snapped.

Vin Diesel waited for Sterling to decide on whom to eject.

Cyra licked her red lips. "The Star Enquirer purchased a table. We are event sponsors. You can't throw us out. We've done nothing wrong, and we paid a lot of money to be here."

Sterling's jaw dropped. So did Andie's. The Star Enquirer sponsored the banquet? No one told Andie. Why would aliens want to support Ban Plastic Surgery Now!? And even more disturbing, how did they get the expense past her without her noticing? "I would hate to have to publish an article in the Monday edition about how Ban Plastic Surgery Now! is guilty of suppression of the press."

"Ma'am?" said Vin Diesel One. "What would you like us to do?"

"Just take her out of my sight," she said, glowering at Gigi.

Two Vin Diesels, each took one of Gigi's arms and escorted her from the party. Gigi jerked her arms back and stuck her chin in the air. "I can do it myself," she said. Cameras flashed, but Gigi kept her head high all the way to the lineup of limos snaked along the drive.

"Good," Cyra said. "Glad that is resolved. We would not want to miss the surprise later." The way Cyra crowed, converted the champagne and miso cone in Andie's stomach into toxic acid. What was going on? She needed to get away, dry off and think. And forget the sight of Oliver and Talia together.

"Mother?" Oliver glared at his mother with his blue eyes now almost as icy as Cyra's. Andie half expected Cyra to turn into an evil, gorgeous blonde Popsicle, and Andie would be happy to supply and insert the requisite wooden stick. But that wasn't the worst of it.

"Ladies and Gentleman. Please join us in the marquee. Dinner is served," boomed the announcement over the P.A.

Talia coiled her arm around Oliver's waist. She looked over her shoulder to make sure Andie was watching.

"Are you gonna be okay?" said Sterling. "I mean, you never answered me about last night, but I thought you ... I mean you looked like ... I assumed you and Oliver did the nasty. And he's engaged? What a worm. Men are pigs."

Andie's eyes filled with tears. "I'm fine. Go. I'll clean up and be right back. It's your big night, Sterling, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let anyone ruin things for you." Andie gritted her teeth, and as she sprinted toward the observatory bathroom, her fingertips sparked blue.

Footsteps drummed on the pavement behind her. She looked over her shoulder to get rid of her pursuer. Andie had no desire to feel better. A good wallow was what she needed.

Her pursuer, his black Armani tuxedo jacket flapping out like raven's wings, called to her. "Andromeda! Please!" Oliver pleaded as she flung open the door to the ladies restroom, and locked herself in a stall, heart beating hard.

The door to the stall broke off its hinges and Oliver stood facing her, clutching the metal door like it was a piece of cardboard.

"This is the second door you've broken since I've known you. Which hasn't been that long."

He chucked the door. It crashed into the mirror and exploded into a galaxy's worth of shimmering glass. Oliver gathered Andie into his arms, crushing her to his chest. He pulled out the clasp holding her hair in the bun, setting it free. It cascaded over her shoulders, and the headache she hadn't even realized she had vanished. Oliver stroked her hair. Kissed her head. And insisted on smelling like breakfast pastries, which really only made her cry harder.