“What happened?”
“I’m not sure. I just got a call this morning from Vaughn’s manager, telling me to fire her. Apparently, she was incompetent.”
“She probably tried to screw him, too,” I mutter. “Hang on, Vaughn? As in—”
“Vaughn West. Oh, yes.”
“Oh my God,” I breathe.
Vaughn West.
Vaughn. West.
I can’t say I’m not excited at hearing that name. I’ve worked with a lot of celebrities, but Vaughn West is a whole different caliber of celebrity. Aside from being off-the-charts hot—dark blond hair, hazel-brown eyes, and a body made for sex…let’s just say that Vaughn has starred in a lot of my late-night fantasies. I might have a teeny-tiny crush on him.
But not only is he gorgeous, he’s also a great actor. To be able to see him in action would be amazing.
“What’s he like?” I have to ask.
“Gorgeous, of course. I’ve only met him twice, and each time was brief, but he seems like a nice guy.”
I knew he’d be nice! He always comes across as nice in his interviews.
Not that I stalk him or anything.
“Where’s the job?” I ask her.
“LA, for studio. Vegas, for location.”
“How long?”
“Two months…three, max. The pay is really good, and it’s a great opportunity, Charly. It’s being directed by Brandon Evans.”
“Wow,” I say.
Brandon Evans is Hollywood’s current golden boy. Every film he touches is gold. He and Vaughn together will be magic.
“It’s a gangster film. Lots of designer dresses, shoes, bags. And I’m sure we’ll be able to keep some items at the end.”
My ears perk up at that. Girl knows how to get me; I’ll give her that.
I love designer clothes. Only my bank account doesn’t love them as much as I do.
Not that she didn’t already have me at Vaughn West, but I’m not going to let her know just how easily I’m won over. Especially not when I’m coming in at second.
“Okay…I’ll do it.”
“Yay!” I hear her hands clap in the background. “You’re the best, Charly! I’ll get the office to book your ticket for tomorrow, and I’ll have them email it to you tonight along with the details of your hotel.”
“Maybe I should just sleep at the airport tonight.”
I’m half-joking. Still, she laughs.
“It’s going to be so much fun, working together again. I can’t wait! We’re gonna have a blast. Get yourself home, and get some sleep, crazy girl. I’ll see you tomorrow!” she sings.
“See you,” I say with way less enthusiasm at the thought of having to fly all the way across the country tomorrow when I’ve only just gotten back home.
But the money…
I can treat myself to those Manolos I’ve been drooling over…and, of course, Vaughn West. Gorgeous, sexy Vaughn West.
Le sigh.
I drop my phone in my bag and head out to grab a cab. On the way, I call the agency that gets me jobs, and I let them know that I can’t do the Broadway gig anymore.
Thirty minutes later, I’m walking up the steps of the brownstone that I call home.
Nick and I live in a small two-bedroom apartment on 95th Street on the Upper West Side. Well, calling it small is probably over-egging it a bit. It’s tiny. I could lie down on the floor of our living room/kitchen, and my head and feet would nearly touch the opposite walls. At five-eight, I’m not exactly short, but still, it’s not big for an apartment. But the rent is good for a two-bed. And it’s ours, and I love it even if I don’t get to see it often at the moment.
I unlock the main door, letting myself into our building, and I take the first flight up to our apartment.
“Honey, I’m home,” I call out. Shutting the door behind me, I drop my bags near it.
Nick appears out of his bedroom, a smile on his face. “Hey, gorgeous.”
He’s a sight for sore eyes. It’s been well over a month since I last saw him. He saunters over, all six foot of him, and slaps a kiss on my cheek.
“Your hair looks cool,” he says.
“You think?” I finger a strand of my hair. I had lilac and pink highlights put in a week ago. It’s the first time I’ve ever dyed my hair. I just really fancied a change, and cutting my waist-length honey-blonde hair was not an option. I have great hair. Thick with a natural wave.
“Yeah, it looks good on you. You hungry?” he asks, heading to the kitchen. “I was just about to make some soup.”
“By make, do you mean—”
“Pour out of a can and heat up. Yeah.” He throws me back a grin before opening up the cupboard door where we keep the canned goods.
I take a seat on one of the stools at our breakfast bar.
“Chicken noodle or lentil?” he asks, holding up the cans.
“Chicken noodle.”
I watch Nick move around our kitchen—getting out bowls and spoons, opening the cans, pouring the contents into the bowls, and putting the first in the microwave.
Nick has been my best friend since we met at college. We were both studying at The Art Institute of New York City. I’d just moved to New York from Philadelphia, and Nick had moved here from Canada on a study visa. I was studying fashion design, and Nick was studying interior design. We met at the party of a girl who was on my course. That’s why our tiny apartment looks so awesome—because of Nick. His eye for design is amazing. He can make the smallest of space roomy but homey, which is what he’s done with our place.
He works for a small interior design company. One day, he wants to run his own interior design business.
I wanted to be a fashion designer. Wasn’t so easy to land a job, as I found out when I graduated. That’s how I found myself working in wardrobe. I have bills to pay, I’m a good seamstress, and I still get to work with clothes. I still design in my spare time, but I haven’t done anything with my designs in a long time. They sit in my sketchpad, and no one sees them but me—and, occasionally, Nick when I let him.
“So, I have news.”
“Good news?” Nick asks, leaning back against the counter, folding his arms over his chest, showing off his toned biceps.
At six foot with jet-black hair and blue eyes, Nick is gorgeous, of course, but not my type. And I’m definitely not his. I’m rocking a vagina for starters, and Nick definitely likes cock.
Makes two of us.
But Nick’s not just my best friend; he’s also family to me. The only family I have.
“Depends on how you look at it. I’m gonna be working on the new Vaughn West movie.”
Nick meets my eyes, grinning. He knows I have a tiny crush on Vaughn West. But, I mean, who doesn’t?
“That sounds like great news to me,” he teases with a lift of his brows.
“Yeah, it is. The downside is, the job is in LA, and they need me ASAP, so I have to leave tomorrow.”
“Bummer. And you were going to have a week off, too.”
“I know.” I sigh. “But Ava called—you remember Ava Simms? Well, she offered me the job. She’s wardrobe mistress on set.”
“Yeah, I remember her. You worked on Broadway together, right? How is she?”
“She sounded good.”
“She still dating that dick? The one she moved to LA with.”
“Jeremy. She didn’t say otherwise, so I’d say so.”
The timer goes off on the microwave. Nick gets the bowl out and puts it in front of me before handing me a spoon.
“Well, I only just got you back. The place is too quiet without you. Gonna miss you, gorgeous.”
Warmth coats my skin, and my throat thickens. It’s always good to know that someone’s going to miss me. After never having anyone to miss me in my Philly life, it means a lot, having Nick.
“I’ll miss you, too.” I smile.
“So, how long’s the job for?” he asks, getting a couple of beers out of the fridge. He pulls the tops off
and hands me one.
“Couple of months,” I answer, taking the beer and putting it down on the counter. Spooning up some soup, I blow on it before putting it in my mouth. “But the pay is good. Really good.”
“I’m happy for you.” He lifts his bottle to me, so I pick mine up and chink it with his.
“Thanks.” I take a sip of my beer.
“So, Vaughn West, eh?” Nick gives me a suggestive look.
“Ha! As if! He’s way out of my league. Like galaxies out of my league.” I put my bottle down.
“You’re beautiful, and you know it.”
Beautiful might be pushing it. Okay, so I’ve never had a problem with getting guys in the past. Just not Vaughn West kind of guys.
“The guy dates actresses and supermodels. Not normal girls like me.” I point a finger at myself.
“And he just had his heart broken by that bitch Piper Watts. You could fix it for him, Charly.” He gives me a suggestive look. “A normal girl might be just what he needs right now.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Doubtful. The closest I’ll be getting to Vaughn West is when I take his inner leg measurement.”
Chapter 3
Charly
Landing in at LAX after a six-hour flight and with the three-hour time difference, I feel like I haven’t slept for a week even though I slept a good eight hours last night. It’s all this traveling. I’m jet-lagged as hell. My body doesn’t know which time zone it’s in.
I’m so ready to get a cab and check in to my hotel and sleep.
I grab my case off the carousel, hitch my fake Gucci up onto my shoulder, and head out in the direction of Arrivals, texting Nick to let him know I landed.
I walk through the open door into Arrivals.
“Charly!”
At the sound of my name, I lift my head from my phone.
“Ava.” I grin.
Pressing Send on the text, I drop my cell in my bag and make my way over to her.
“Hey.” She embraces me in a hug. “How was your flight?”
“Long.” I chuckle. “You look great,” I tell her, stepping out of her hold.
I’ve always been uncomfortable when people hug me. It comes from a lifetime of never being hugged, I guess.
Ava is really pretty and my total opposite. Where I’m tall and blonde, she’s small and brunette. And she’s a little older than me. Ava is twenty-eight, and I’m twenty-five.
“The California sun is really working for you,” I tell her. “Those highlights or sun-bleached?”
“Sun-bleached.” She flicks a hand through her poker-straight hair.
“I’m seriously envying your tan right now as well.” I glance down at my white arms. Even though it was hot in Nashville, I didn’t catch a tan. I’m one of those people who has to sunbathe for hours to catch even a little color.
“Yeah, but you look great, and I’m loving your hair,” she says, moving to the side to examine my hair. “Is that pink and purple you have in there?”
“Pink and lavender,” I tell her.
“I might have to get some in my hair.”
“You totally should.”
“Cool. Something for us to do together while we’re here.” She threads her arm through mine. “We should get moving. I parked in short-term.”
“Thanks for coming to pick me up,” I say as we walk through the airport. “I thought I’d be grabbing a cab.”
“As if!” She laughs.
We push through the doors into the LA sunshine.
“Welcome to LA.” She squeezes my arm with hers. “You been here before?”
“First time.”
“You’re gonna love it!”
She leads me over to her car, which is one of those Smart cars.
“Um, will my case fit in there?” I ask, skeptically eyeing the car.
“Course it will.” She laughs a bright and breezy sound, opening the trunk.
Surprisingly, my case fits in easily, with room to spare. Guess they’re bigger than they look.
I climb in the passenger seat and strap myself in. The car feels really light and not sturdy at all.
“You sure we won’t blow away with a strong gust of wind?” I ask as she turns the engine on.
The sound of Machine Gun Kelly and Camila Cabello’s “Bad Things” blasts out her stereo. I love this song.
She rolls her eyes at me. “Don’t be hating on Sunny,” she says over the music. “And do you see any wind around here?”
“First off, you named your car Sunny? And, second, you can’t see wind. It’s invisible.”
She laughs loudly. “God, I forgot what a smart-ass you are! I’ve missed you, babe. So glad you’re here.”
There’s something in her tone that doesn’t sound like she’s totally happy, but I don’t ask. She’ll tell me if and when she wants to.
“That’s why you love me—my smart mouth.”
“And your ability to sniff out a designer sale in a ten-mile radius.”
“It’s a gift.” I dramatically flick my hand, making her laugh again.
“Where are you staying?” Ava asks as she pulls onto the highway.
“Um…” I dig out the paperwork I printed last night from my bag. “The Comfort Inn on Sunset Boulevard.”
“God, the studio is cheap.”
“I’m guessing the Chateau Marmont was all booked up.” I give her a sarcastic grin.
“You could have stayed with me…but Jeremy…”
“Ava, it’s fine.” I wave her off. “The hotel has a pool, which is always a plus.”
“And it’s only a five-minute walk to the studio.”
“Another bonus. See? I’ll be fine. And I’ll only be here for, what?”
“Three weeks max. Then, we’re heading to Vegas.”
“Vegas, baby! Vegas!” I cheer.
“Have you ever been to Vegas?” she asks me.
“Once. Years ago. So, tell me more about the movie,” I say, quickly changing the subject. I don’t want her asking why I was in Vegas all those years ago.
“Which movie?”
I give her a stupid look. “The one we’re working on, you numpty. The film with Makes Me Wet West in it.”
“Numpty?” She throws me a confused glance, totally ignoring my new nickname for Vaughn West.
I think it’s a great nickname. I should get it printed on T-shirts. I could make a killing.
“It’s British. Means dumbass.”
“And you’re British? Since when?”
“I’m not. I just like their curse words. They’re way more fun than ours.”
“You’re so odd.” She laughs.
“I prefer the term unconventional.” I playfully stick my tongue out at her.
She makes a lane change, and the car in front cuts her off. She honks her horn.
“Mirrors, asshole!” she yells at the driver of the car, who obviously can’t hear a word she’s saying, as she angrily waves her hand around. “Fucking asshole needs to learn how to drive a car. And they say women are bad drivers. Dickhead!”
Note to self: Never piss off Ava while in a car.
“Steady there, Ronda Rousey.”
She glances at me, her face moving from pissed to embarrassed. “Sorry.” She grimaces. “Idiots like that just piss me off.”
“No kidding. Remind me never to get on your bad side,” I say, making her laugh. “So, the film?”
“Oh, yeah. I told you West is in it”—oh, yes, you did, and he’s mainly the reason I’m here—“and that Evans is directing. It’s a gangster film, so the clothes are pretty much straightforward—suits, classy dresses. Natasha Warner is in it, playing the female lead.”
“Ooh, I love her.” I clap my hands.
“Yeah, she’s super nice as well. I met her last week. She and Vaughn are gonna steam the screens up.”
“And I will be watching that scene with the utmost concentration.”
I grin, and Ava giggles, her brows rising in agreement.
/> “Right?”
“Those two would make beautiful babies,” I muse.
“Agreed. But Natasha’s married, and she already has a baby, remember?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s married to that hot NFL player…”
“Carter Williams.”
“Lucky bitch.”
We both sigh at the same time.
“So, what about you? You seeing anyone?”
“Nah.” I shake my head. “I’ve been busy a lot as of late, and after the disaster that was Michael, I decided to give dating a break.”
“Wasn’t that about two years ago? And I guess you are super picky.”
“I am not picky!” I squawk, affronted. “I work in the clothing industry. Most of the men I work with are gay.”
“I work in this industry, too, and I managed to meet someone.”
“An actor. I don’t want to date an actor.”
“Says Miss Not Picky. And what’s wrong with actors?” She flicks me a look.
Oops.
“Nothing. I just want to date a blue-collar guy.”
Honestly, I think it would be hard to date an actor, having to watch them get it on with other women on the big screen. Also, there’s a high probability that said actor would screw his costar and dump me. Plus, actors are high-maintenance. I might drool over hot actors—aka Vaughn West, Chris and Liam Hemsworth…God, two brothers. Anyway, I wouldn’t say no to a roll in the sack with any of them—and, yes, I know dreams don’t come true. But, in reality and for the long-term, I want a nice, normal blue-collar guy who works with his hands all day long and then comes home and ravages me with those rough, callous, hard-working hands.
“Wasn’t Michael a drug dealer?” Ava pipes up.
“Yes, he was a drug dealer, but I didn’t know that when I met him.” I frown. “He told me he worked construction. I dumped him as soon as I found out his real profession.”
Of course, dumbass that I am, it took me six months to figure it out. But it’s not like I could have had anything serious with Michael—or with anyone back then. And, still, not now—well, for a short time longer, that is.
“And, well, I can’t be that picky, considering I went out with Michael,” I add.
“Yeah, he was a dick. But a good-looking dick.” She grins.
Keep This Promise Page 90
