Lucky Me

Lucky Me

Saba Kapur

Amberjack Publishing

New York, New York

Amberjack Publishing

228 Park Avenue S #89611

New York, NY 10003-1502

http://amberjackpublishing.com

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, fictitious places, and events are the products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, or events is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by Saba Kapur

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, in part or in whole, in any form whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Publisher's Cataloging-in-Publication data
Kapur, Saba.

Lucky me / Saba Kapur.

pages cm

ISBN 9780692536391 (pbk.)

ISBN 9780692536407 (ebook)

Summary : Gia Winters is accustomed to a life of fame and fortune, but her world is flipped upside down when mysterious phone calls start buzzing daily.

1. Children of the rich --Juvenile fiction. 2. Stalkers -- Juvenile fiction. 3. Teenagers -- Juvenile fiction. 4. Celebrities -- Juvenile fiction. I. Title.

PZ7. K1177 L83 2015

Cover Design and Book Design: Ashley Ruggirello of Cardboard Monet

Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

For Mom, Dad & Rahat

Chapter One

There comes a point in everyone's life where you've got to take a step back and consider the hand you've been dealt. I'm not going to lie to you; some people have it way easier. I'm not going to sit back and tell you the world is fair, because truthfully, you'd laugh your head off and throw a drink in my face. I guess it probably won't help to mention that I'm someone who has it fairly good in the luck department. At least, I suppose that's what you would call someone who's been born and raised in a world of glitz and glamour. Lucky. So before you go complaining about how I've got it all, I'm going to let you in on a little secret.

Disaster, as it turns out, doesn't discriminate. It doesn't care if you're rich or poor. It doesn't care how hot your girlfriend is or what car you drive. It sure as hell doesn't care if you're a nice person. It just marches into your life, slaps you across the face and even takes a sip of that cocktail you're drinking, just to really prove its point. This story is about my share of disaster, which struck in my final year of high school and in the craziest time of my life. But you're going to need some background information before we get into that.

Once upon a time there was a beautiful girl named Gia Winters, who lived in the magical land of Hollywood. Gia wasn't your average eighteen-year-old. Not only did she have an impeccable sense of style and long eyelashes she was particularly proud of, her dad was the king of this faraway land. Kind of. Actually, he was a huge movie star, and was basically a big deal, okay? Anyway, King Harry Winters once starred in a super lame movie in the eighties called
A Piece of My Heart,
which sent women around his kingdom into a frenzy over his cheesy romantic dialogues and mushroom haircut. But King Harry already had a queen, a beautiful young woman with perfect hair and a seriously banging body. She left behind her palace, The Playboy Mansion, and they were married in a grand ceremony that wowed the world.

A few years later, Queen Evelyn gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, and very impressively did a swimsuit photoshoot just four months later. The baby girl, a.k.a. me, brought lots of happiness to the kingdom, and two years later a young prince was born. Prince Mike was kind of cute when Gia was small and could squish his little baby cheeks with her tiny fingers. But then they grew up and the prince became a huge pain in the ass and Princess Gia was kind of over it. Either way, King Harry had everything he ever wanted and much more.

Fast-forward to present day and a lot has changed in that perfect little fairytale. The King and Queen, or Mom and Dad as I call them, are no longer ruling the kingdom together. Mom's acting career took off, as did the affair rumors, and they called it quits when I was twelve. When she moved out, it was a time of tears and heartbreak. I hated knowing that I would be part of a broken family, especially when all the details were going to be splashed across magazine covers throughout the country. Our family therapist at the time told my parents that it wasn't healthy for Mike and me to be exposed to all the talk and slander, as if it was something we could have helped. But it didn't matter; I didn't believe the affair rumors back then. Some days I have my doubts.

Mom lives in New York, so I'm used to seeing her every couple of months. At the time of the divorce, we kids were given the option of which city we preferred. Because we've grown up here, Mike and I both chose L.A., even though I really wanted to live with my mother. Now I'm kind of grateful for the space. Dad does a decent job and watching Mom go through men so hungrily is just not something I can deal with on a daily basis. My father hasn't done a movie in a few years, just little roles here and there, but nothing huge. Instead, he's been more focused on “reconnecting with his children,” which is a nice sentiment, but pretty optimistic given our lifestyle.

Despite all the bumps in our little story, you could say that for a teenage girl I'd scored seriously big in the game of karma. You just don't get my wardrobe without doing something Mother Teresa-like in a previous life. But this story isn't just about hefty price tags and sipping mimosas on the beach. It begins on the fateful day when everything changed. And trust me, when change hit, it hit
hard
. The bank was still full and the heels were still high. But you can't put a price on drama, and believe me, there was plenty of it.

I walked into the house with my “congratulations on not failing your math test” present in hand, unaware that trouble was right around the corner. My dad, clearly taking advantage of my vulnerable state, took that as the perfect opportunity to announce a
family meeting
in the living room.

Family meetings were Dad's way of keeping us all close and up-to-date with the latest events of his now increasingly repetitive life. As if we needed him to tell us he was slipping into a giant hole of monotony. By now, I've lost count of all the events he's attended about cars, jeans, and cologne. I never even get to go to the events. Usually I'm at home keeping an eye on my brother and pretending to be impressed every time he tells me about “that time he got high and it was dope as hell, son.”

Dad isn't too strict but he does have a few sacred rules. The most unbreakable of these is no entering the industry until after I've completed high school. No modeling contracts, no cover shoots for Harper's Bazaar, no acting gigs. Not that I even want to be an actor. I've thought about it, sure, but I don't exactly have a burning passion for it. I don't really have a burning passion for anything, except maybe Daniel Craig. A lot of things burn for that man. But according to Dad, I need to have graduated school before pursuing whatever it is I choose to do. The only things he holds as holy as this are his beloved family meetings.

“Gia! NOW,” Dad called from the main living room.

Everyone knows the fun of buying new shoes is immediately locking yourself in your room, prancing around in them, and pouting into the mirror. A solid pair of stilettos can help you take over the world. Unfortunately, I lived in a house with two males, neither of them caring the slightest bit about footwear.

“FAMILY. MEETING. YO,” Mike yelled from somewhere down the hall, to which I responded with an eye roll.

The moment my brother hit sixteen, he entered a phase where he thought he was the coolest person in the world and could therefore get away with saying “yo.”

“Alright, alright! I'm coming!”

The musical prancing would have to wait until later. Handing my Chanel bags to Stella, one of the many housekeepers, I took my time walking toward the living room. Family meetings usually consisted of one thing: overwhelming boredom. Sometimes we would just run out of things to talk about, and then I'd sit there staring at Dad, wondering why he tried so hard. Don't get me wrong; I love my father. But I would rather not watch him struggle to find common ground with his kids and resort to telling us something completely irrelevant, like geographical fun facts. Friendly tip, there's nothing fun about those facts.

“And here I thought I'd need to book an appointment for five minutes with you,” Dad said, as I sauntered into the room.

“Oh come on, Dad,” I replied, smiling innocently. “I can always squeeze you in between meetings.”

I reached straight for the latest Vogue lying on the coffee table in front of me and flopped down on the sofa, next to a very bored looking Mike, who was concentrating on his phone.

“It's a Monday,” Dad said to me, unimpressed with my fantastic sarcasm. “Why do you need to go shopping after school on a Monday?”

I flipped open the first page, caressing the glossy paper without looking up. “I'm running out of things to wear. What do you want me to do, repeat outfits? I'm not an animal!”

“Can we get this over and done with quickly? I sort of have a life, you know,” Mike said, checking his watch and sighing with frustration.

Mike's life consisted of nothing but posturing around his friends, getting drunk, annoying me, and failing school. He wasn't really missing out on a whole lot.

“Gia?” Dad said, and I looked up from the Vera Wang bridal spread.

“Yeah?”

“This is a family meeting. Your magazine can wait.”

I was about to mention that Vogue wasn't merely a
magazine,
and that he ought to be ashamed of himself for saying that. Especially because he had met Anna Wintour, and she would not have been impressed with that ignorant comment. But he was looking all antsy so I did some exaggerated eye rolling to tell him I wasn't pleased, and placed the Vogue next to me.

“Happy?”

“Look guys,” Dad replied. “This won't take long, but this meeting is particularly important so I need your complete attention, okay?” He looked at our blank faces blinking back at him, and continued. “Now, there are going to be some changes around here. It might seem a little strange at first, but I'd like you to keep an open mind.”

I'm not a fan of changes. Not unless you count increasing my monthly allowance. But the way Dad kept fiddling with his fingers nervously, I had figured out it wasn't going to be good.

“This isn't one of those
Wife Swap
things is it?” I asked, giving him an unimpressed look. “Because I saw you watching that the other day and I swear some of my brain cells actually died.”

“No, Gia,” Dad replied, matching my tone. “I promise you, it's not that.”

“Oh God . . .” Mike said, sitting up with a panicked look on his face. “You didn't fire Anya did you? Her pancakes are the best, man! We'll never get a housekeeper better than her! Who's going to teach me how to bake?”

The pancakes part I agreed with, but teaching Mike how to bake was questionable. He could barely make toast, and the only definition of “bake” he knew didn't have anything to with cooking.

“No, I didn't fire anyone!” Dad exclaimed impatiently, and Mike sighed with relief. “Just listen! What I'm about to tell you may come as a bit of a surprise, but I promise you, it's a good thing.”

“We're not broke are we?” Mike said. “Or trying out one of those things where we pretend we're homeless so we can, like, appreciate what we have?”

“Michael, we are not broke,” Dad replied, looking more agitated with every passing second. “Your theories are all off.”

“Dude, it's
Mike
!”

“Dude,” I repeated. “Nobody cares! Dad, seriously just tell us.”

Dad nodded, looking almost nervous. “Right,” he said. “Of course. It's not even a big deal. Just think of it as a present.”

“OH! Are we finally getting a pony?” I cried, clasping my hands together in excitement.

Mike groaned. “No! I don't want a freakin' horse. Like, what are we going to do with a horse, man? Ride it down Hollywood Boulevard?”

“It's
my
horse, not yours!”

“It's nobody's horse, because I didn't buy one,” Dad cut in, crushing my dreams. “It's more of a—”

“Oh, I know what it is!” Mike exclaimed. He turned to Dad with a sly look on his face. “You've got a girlfriend. And she's hot!”

“Uh, no. No, no, no.” I shook my head like my brain was rejecting the idea. “Ew! No!”

“I bet she's young,” Mike added, nodding approvingly.

“Yuck!”

“Could you just listen to me for one second, please?”

“Like,
real
young.”

“Absolutely not!” I exclaimed. “Like, I want you to be happy and all. But how can I show my face in school now?”

“Fortunately for you, Gia, I do
not
have a girlfriend. But thanks for restoring my faith in how supportive you'd be if that ever did happen.”

“Yeah, well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Which would hopefully be
never.
I didn't need to see my father prancing around with some twenty-something bimbo; my mother had already taken that position. All the therapy in the world wouldn't erase those images from my mind.

“You're killin' me man,” Mike said, shaking his head. “What the hell is it?”

“I got us each a bodyguard.”

Dad was smiling proudly as if he were telling us he'd won the Nobel Peace Prize.

“You got us a what?” I asked, even though I was fairly certain I heard correctly.

“Bodyguards, Gia. I got us bodyguards.
All
of us.”

As famous as my father is, we've never once felt the need to have a full time bodyguard. To be honest, Dad's a bit of a hermit. When he's not out cutting a ribbon with a giant pair of scissors in some type of unveiling ceremony, he's usually golfing with buddies or sitting at home watching John Wayne movies. He had a bodyguard once but the whole thing was pointless; Dad never even used him. He was more of a “hire when needed” kind of guy. Also, I think he secretly thought he wasn't important enough to have crazy people throw themselves at him on the street. In fact, the only part of the fame and glory that seems to have really affected my father is the time it takes him to do his hair.

“Each?” I said.

“Yes, each.”

“Like, each of us?”

“Yes, Gia. I just said that.”

“This has got to be some kind of a joke,” Mike said, reading my mind. “We don't need bodyguards! You might, but not us. It's not like
we're
in any danger.”

“That's not necessarily true,” Dad said, suddenly looking anxious. “I don't want you to panic, but something came to my attention recently that I . . . I didn't like. So I figured a little extra protection wouldn't hurt.”

“Is everything okay?” I asked with a frown. “Like, no one's trying to kill you right?”

“Yeah, cause that would suck,” Mike added.

He was right. If Dad were dead, I'd have to live with Mom and her boyfriend of the month. Which would definitely have some perks, namely I could steal things from her closet. But my self-esteem would die on a daily basis looking at her perfect hair, and my potential stepfather could be young enough to date me. Oh, and my actual father would be dead of course, which you know, would suck big time.