The Average Girl

The Average Girl

by Angelina Goode

ISBN: 9780996176910

Publisher Beach Blanket Publishing

Published in Romance/Romantic Comedy, Literature & Fiction/Contemporary, Romance, Literature & Fiction

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Book Description


Olivia Fowler, a surreptitious matchmaker, runs a successful business helping average people meet celebrities in everyday ways. Flawless at what she does, the celebrities don’t have a clue they’re part of a pre-planned meeting. Business is booming, but when Olivia accidentally meets the uber-famous Alexander Young at the grocery store, her world is flipped upside-down. She can’t possibly resist those charming eyes and sexy arms. As their romance blossoms, Olivia must find a way to keep her work a secret from her famous boyfriend, and her boyfriend a secret from her average clients.

Sample Chapter

I sit quietly at the Starbucks on the corner of Wilshire and Santa Monica Boulevard, pretending to work on my laptop. Two tables away from me and next to the condiment counter sits my client, Sarah, drinking coffee and pretending to read a book. This is our second day at this Starbucks and we have already been here for forty minutes. I am beginning to wonder if we should re-evaluate our plan.

Suddenly a wave of hushed excitement spreads through the store. Everyone’s eyes are glued to the swinging front doors as Ryan Scott strides through with his shoulders back and chin up. Everyone’s eyes, that is, but Sarah’s. She looks at me without turning her head, and I give her the tiniest of nods before spinning back around to stare. She responds to my nod by feigning interest in her Jane Austen novel.

Great Sarah! Keep calm. I know you want to burst inside, but play it cool.

Ryan’s eyes quickly scan the room. Before they return to the menu board, they briefly linger on Sarah, the only person who appears not to notice him. He orders his grande latte with a double shot of espresso and leans smugly against the counter with his arms folded across his chest. He appears to be staring into space, yet every few moments his eyes fall back to Sarah, who has still not looked up from her book.

The barista calls his name, and he pauses to make sure everyone hears it before he reaches for the drink. When he turns around, Sarah is beginning to pack her things, leaving the Austen novel on the table. He heads toward the condiment counter for his regular three sugars. Just as we had rehearsed, Sarah stands up, still focused on packing up, and he tries to pass her. He stops for a moment, Sarah blocking his way.

Thank goodness these celebrities are creatures of habit. It makes my job so much easier.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.” She breathes calmly as she speaks to him. She slings her navy-blue Coach bag over her shoulder and smiles, her head leaning to the side, her eyes soft.

“That’s all right,” Ryan responds. He stands waiting for her to move but blocks her exit. He half smiles at her.

“Okay then.” Sarah glances toward the door behind him, still smiling.

“Oh, now I’m in your way,” he declares as he steps aside and watches Sarah move toward the door. “Wait, hey, your book!”

I exhale. The one contingency worked as planned. Should be easy from here on out, as long as she sticks to the script.

She stops and turns back, hiding her smile. Ryan stands there, holding her book in his hands. “Jane Austen, huh.” He smirks. “I’m shooting a movie based on one of her books next month.”

“Oh, you’re an actor. What book?” she asks, pretending not to know.

“Pride and Prejudice.” He seems intrigued by Sarah’s indifference. “Well, here you go—” He ends his sentence by fishing for her name.

“Sarah,” she finishes for him.

“Sarah,” he repeats, revealing a slow, sexy smile, “maybe we can have a cup of coffee next time.” He holds out the book but is not loosening his grip.

“Yes, maybe.” She takes the book from him, and he lets her. “Thanks.” Then she is out the door. Ryan turns and grabs his three sugars, looking around the room again to make sure everyone is still watching. Before he finishes stirring them in, I am out on the street and dialing Sarah’s cell number.

“Wow! That was unbelievable! I can’t believe it worked!” she cries.

“You were awesome! Did you see the way he looked at you?” I ask.

“Yes! I did!” She pauses. “Thank you so much, Olivia. You really made my dream come true. I mean, I never could have done this without you. I’m going to recommend you to all my friends,” she rattles on.

Thrilled that all went as planned, I head back down Santa Monica Boulevard toward my office.


A tall, gawky girl in her late teens stands in the waiting room. She has a goofy smile and frizzy brown hair. She shyly stares back at me through her outdated glasses, waiting for an invitation into my office as she taps her arm softly, rattling her bracelet.

“You must be Becky.” I gesture for her to enter.

She is young, just out of high school and reminds me a lot of myself when I was a teenager and hanging around outside Brad Griffin’s hotel, waiting for my moment.

“So I hear you can work miracles.” She sits down softly in the big purple armchair and looks at me, her face filled with hope.

Her innocence brings to mind just how far I’ve come. Five years ago when I started this business, meeting clients at coffee shops and working out of my apartment, I had no idea what a demand there would be for my services. I always knew people wanted to meet celebrities, but I quickly learned they were willing to pay quite a bit for that privilege, especially if they could meet them in a way that didn’t make them look foolish. And when it comes to fans, the saying “birds of a feather flock together” has never been more true. Almost all my clients, like Becky, find me through past clients.

I sit behind my desk, folding my hands and smiling. “That’s what they say. I help my clients realize a plan that will manifest their greatest dreams. I help everyday people, like you, meet big-time celebrities in a situation that’s comfortable for everyone. You get to be yourself, and the celebrity doesn’t even know you’re a fan.”

Becky nods, encouraging me to continue.

“I do all of the research and planning, everything from facilitating a makeover to word-feeding into earpieces, if necessary. The perfect scenario? I arrange for you to ‘accidentally’ meet your idol in an unremarkable but cute way. If the meeting goes extremely well, I can help arrange another ‘accidental’ meeting. Many of my clients, though, are happy with a simple encounter. Just knowing that, for a few moments, their idol’s attention was focused exclusively on them in some normal, average way is enough.”

“Well,” Becky says, “I’ll need a miracle because even if I do run into Robert Collins, I don’t think he’d so much as glance in my direction.” Her expression momentarily shows defeat, and then she looks down briefly and smiles again. “I grew up with my dad, and his sense of style is, well,” she points to her dark purple and black-striped turtleneck and brown plaid pants, “I guess you could say style was low on the priority list.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about style; that’s fixable,” I assure her. I must look intimidating to her in my high heels, fitted blouse, and tailored pants.

“So you can help me?”

“As long as you’re eighteen or over, I can help you.”

She nods encouragingly.

I slide my welcome packet across the desk. “First we have to get through some paperwork. You know, stuff my lawyer makes you sign.” We go through the document page by page. First she must acknowledge that I will help her meet her idol and nothing more, and that there are no guarantees. Then we go through the confidentiality clause: She is not ever to mention my services to anyone (unless it’s a referral), especially not to her idol. I am always cautious when I first meet a client. Since a large part of my success depends on anonymity, I can’t risk working with anyone who might publicize what I do to celebrities.

Next is the “no stalking” policy. I don’t provide home addresses or phone numbers, and if my clients demonstrate any stalker qualities, I immediately cancel our agreement with no refunds. Finally, if the idol is mean or rude, I am not responsible. This section of the contract is particularly important when meeting the celebrity who Becky is interested in.

“How much is this going to cost me?” she asks.

“Well, it all depends what path we take. We can do the—”

“I don’t just want to bump into him: I want Robert to notice and remember me; I want to be beautiful. Whatever it costs. I’ve finally received my mom’s inheritance, and she died fifteen years ago. What do you recommend we start with?”

I hesitate. I don’t want to insult Becky, but there is a lot of work to do. Robert Collins is notorious for being, well, a prick, to put it nicely. The last client who I helped “accidentally” meet him was abruptly knocked over by his dog. And he didn’t so much as offer to help her up. He just looked at her nursing her twisted ankle and walked on by. Luckily that particular client was satisfied with the honor of being able to tell everyone about “the time she got run over by Robert Collins’ dog.” The only upside of Becky choosing to meet Robert Collins is that he’s the star of Little Town, Big People, his own sit-com, which means he is often out and about and seems to stick to a regular schedule.

“Well, I should warn you, Robert is pretty well known for—”

“He’s a jerk. I know. I’m a huge fan. I’ve read it all. He punches photographers, flips off journalists, and refuses autographs. That’s why I need to be spectacular, not…this. I get that. I just need you to help facilitate it.”

I can’t help but wonder what a sweet girl like Becky sees in a celebrity with such a bad—and accurate—reputation. Part of me wants to take her under my wing and help build her confidence. Help her find a real guy, a real nice guy. Or help her realize she doesn’t need a guy at all. But that’s not my job. So I push all the helpful thoughts out of my head and focus on the task at hand.

“Right.” I look Becky over again. She may not be winning any awards for style, but she is smart. “Okay, then the best way to do this is for you to forget you like him.”


“For you to be spectacular, as you put it, in his eyes, you can’t be a fan. You need to be just some average girl.” I get up and walk around my desk. I sit in the lavender armchair next to her. “Unless you want to have sex with him just once and never hear from him again. In which case, please, fall all over him. But that’s not the kind of service that I provide.”

She leans forward in the chair, intrigued.

I continue. “You need to be the kind of girl who doesn’t appear to care that he’s in front of her. Act like he’s in your way. That will get his attention.”

“You want me to be rude?” She looks at me with a wrinkled brow.

“No, not rude. Just nonchalant,” I correct her.

Becky wrinkles her lips and nose, deep in thought. “Hmmm. I never looked at it that way.”

“And that’s why you’ve come to me.” I give her a reassuring smile as I rest my hand on her arm.

“Okay,” she starts, “this could work.” Hope is growing in her eyes.

“Let’s get started then.” I reach out my hand, and she shakes it.

I finish making all of Becky’s appointments and set another date to meet with her. “Your homework is to get every bit of information you can on Robert Collins. Legally, of course. I have a lot, but who knows, you may come up with something I haven’t come across.”

“Great!” Becky yelps as she grabs her pleather bag and stands up. “I can’t wait!”

My file on Robert Collins is pretty thick with information and previous clients’ results. In my five years facilitating accidental meetings, not one that involved Robert Collins ended how I had hoped. At least Becky is going into this with realistic expectations. I start looking through my notes.

“Walks his German shepherd every morning,” not trying that ploy again. “Gets Mercedes-Benz washed every Tuesday,” unless Becky has a very expensive car, probably not a good idea to meet there. “Visits (allegedly) psychologist every Wednesday,” not useful…unless, nah, forget it. “Gets manicure every Thursday morning,” this is a possibility.

After drawing out a loose plan for Becky, I flip through a tabloid, looking for more information on Collins; then I stop short on page twenty-three. Right there, midway down, is a picture of the happy couple—the woman starting to show her “baby bump,” as the writer puts it. This isn’t just any couple, though; this is Brad Griffin and his noncelebrity wife, essentially the couple that, unknowingly, started me in this business. His bright blue eyes jump off the page as much as they did on his posters, which adorned the walls of my teenage bedroom. He has definitely aged but is still as sexy as he was when I, along with millions of other teenage girls, screamed our hearts out as he belted out his pop ballads on the stage.

I can clearly remember claiming my spot with the throngs of fans outside his hotel, hoping he would make an appearance, at which time he would, of course, take one look at me, see what a big fan I was and fall instantly in love, and we would live happily ever after.

Clearly none of that happened, and I know now, it rarely if ever does. Instead, he waited until his popularity died down and found a cute young lawyer who probably never even thought of driving by his hotel. They got married two years later, and that’s when it dawned on me: Celebrities don’t want to marry, or even date, a “fan.” They don’t care how many concerts you’ve been to or how many times you’ve seen their movies. They want a normal, average girl and a normal, average relationship—they want a normal, average life.

The day of Brad Griffin’s wedding, I decided to do for other women what I wish someone had done for me.


Excerpted from "The Average Girl" by Angelina Goode. Copyright © 2015 by Angelina Goode. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Excerpts are provided solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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Author Profile

Angelina Goode

Angelina Goode

Angelina Goode began writing as a teenager. Though her first works were poems about love-struck teenagers, she grew her craft while earning her degree in Journalism and Creative Writing. A former grade school teacher that loved teaching children to write, she enjoys finding creative ways to present everyday events. Now she primarily writes light-hearted contemporary women’s fiction. She lives in Los Angeles where she enjoys the occasional celebrity sighting and year-round sun.

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