by Sarina Bowen
“Yeah,” Lianne agrees, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s sort of shrinking in on herself, and I don’t know why.
“Looks like you found someone to help rehearse your scene with.” His bleary eyes cut over to me, and he grins.
I don’t know why that’s funny. “We’ve done some reading.”
A snort erupts from the asshole lounging on the sofa. “Is that what we’re calling it? Fuck. Only Lianne would rehearse a sex scene. Cool that she wants to do you, though, because she said she’s done doing me!”
“Kevin!” Lianne gasps.
“What? I can’t make a little joke?” He starts laughing his drunk ass off.
Cue the super-awkward silence, while Lianne turns white, like she might throw up.
I stand, resting one hand on her hair. “I think your friend needs a moment alone with you to apologize for being a tool. I’m going to find another beer, okay?”
She looks up at me, wide-eyed, and nods.
And I force myself to walk away for a moment. It’s either that or punch the guy for making Lianne feel so embarrassed.
33
Oh-What-the-Holy-Omigod
Lianne
I want to just lie down on the ground and die. Like Eponine in Les Miserables, but without the singing. And there’s no way that DJ is going to throw himself onto the French cobblestones and sing an ode to my spirit, because he looks really ornery right now.
And Kevin just made me sound like a total slut.
“You ass,” I hiss at him. “I finally have a boyfriend, and you have to go and bring that up? I seriously want to knee you in the nuts right now.”
Kevin snorts. “We’re all friends here, right?”
“I don’t think that word means what you think it means.”
He only gives me another stupid grin.
“Where the hell is Bob, anyway?” It’s time to see my manager and cut my losses.
“Smoking on the private patio.” He points toward a door I hadn’t noticed before. “This suite is killer.”
I get up without another word. Man, Kevin is going to wake up to a nasty email from me, where I tell him there’s something called boundaries, and if he doesn’t figure out what those are, I’m going to make his life hell. It’s seriously tempting to take a picture of him with his shirt mis-buttoned and his eyes crossed from liquor and email it to the tabloids. They’d invent a story about rushing him to detox on death’s door.
That would be so, so evil and I wouldn’t really do it. But God I want to.
DJ is across the room, taking a beer from the server, and I maneuver between two of Kevin’s fan girls to reach him. When I try to see this party through DJ’s eyes, I’m embarrassed for myself and everyone in the room. They all look self-consciously hip. And it seems the celebration of Kevin’s new contract started hours ago, because everyone is three sheets to the wind.
And the sad thing? I really don’t fit in here. Several months away from this scene only makes that more obvious. Which is weird, because I’ve spent this year feeling like I don’t fit at Harkness.
So where the hell do I belong?
DJ moves to my side and puts a hand on my back, and for a half second it seems I’ve found my answer. We fit together like puzzle pieces. But only if he doesn’t change his mind about me after an hour in the company of my closest friends. And I’m just waiting for him to ask me about Kevin… Ugh.
I don’t look up into his eyes, because I’m afraid of what I’ll see there. “Let’s find Bob so I can talk to him. And then we can get the hell out of here.”
He gives my waist a reassuring squeeze. “Deep breath, smalls.”
Outside on the patio, the air is quite cold. But I don’t mind because it’s bracing. And there’s Bob with a cigarette, leaning against the railing and chatting up some bottle-blonde half his age.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I say, giving him a wave.
“Omigod, you’re Lianne Challice!” the woman squeals. “This party is just so amazing!”
Yep, and not in a good way.
“Lianne, honey! Didn’t know I’d see you tonight!”
For the love of God. “Well, Bob, demanding that I show up improved your chances somewhat.”
“Yeah?” he says, scratching his chin. And that’s when my sinking feeling kicks in again. Because Bob is kind of drunk, too. He’s not a big drinker, not like Kevin. But if he and his new superhero action star just inked a seven figure deal, it makes sense he’d tie one on tonight.
But it sucks for me, because I need this man’s undivided attention. And at the moment I’m pretty sure most of his brain has leaked into the nearly empty whiskey bottle on the table. I march up to stand right in front of him, and I don’t bother to introduce DJ because my manager can’t multitask. I need the jerk focused on me so we can get out of here and I can apologize and then we can make out in the limo. Like in Say Anything, but without the Peter Gabriel soundtrack.
“Bob, seriously,” I try. “We were supposed to talk tonight. About the Scottish play, for starters. And the future. I mean—it’s great you’ve gotten Kevin all sorted out. But now it’s my turn.”
That came out more bitterly than I’d planned. Though it was my turn. Bob made a fortune off me every year. And all I wanted was one focused hour of his time. Okay, more than an hour. More like a day or a week. But for fifteen percent of my millions, he could focus for longer than a fricking phone call, right?
I feel myself getting all riled up. Like the Hulk, but not green.
Bob just tilts his head, as if he heard a small buzzing in his ear and couldn’t place the sound. “We’ll talk,” he says. “There’s time. And you’re the one who insisted on going to college, which complicates things.”
“Fricking college. Such a waste of time, right?” I quip.
“Exackly,” he slurs. “Hey—” His eyes narrow. “—have you been eating carbs? You look bigger.” He raises his hand and catches the draped neckline of my sweater. “Except for here. You need to upgrade these.” I feel the pad of his thumb skim across the skin just above my strapless bra.
“Not cool!” I yell. It’s like I’m suddenly caught in a slow-mo nightmare moment, because it’s hard to get away from him. I’ve kind of trapped myself between Bob and the table. I do an awkward elbow slash toward him, because I don’t want to drop my soda or my purse. “Hands off your investment,” I manage to sputter.
Bob laughs.
“The lady said hands off.” A millisecond second later, Bob’s arm is gone, and so is the table. DJ’s body is now between Bob and me. My boyfriend looks down at me, his eyes dark with something that looks like fury. “How about we leave now? Before I punch someone in the Balzac?”
“Okay?”
He slides the soda glass from my hand and puts it on the relocated table next to the whiskey bottle. Then he gently steers me toward the patio door.
“Lianne?” Bob calls after me. My good-girl streak shrieks on, and I almost can’t walk away without answering the authority figure who’s been at the helm of my career for a decade. But DJ is making a low sound in his throat, like a growl. He’s got my coat in hand and a foot out the door of the suite before I can even blink.
Out in the hallway, I check his face. His jaw is hard, and he practically lunges for the elevator. The doors spring open when he pushes the button. And after we’re inside with the doors closed, he leans on the lobby button.
“Jesus,” he finally breathes.
“Are you pissed?” I ask, uselessly.
“Of course I’m pissed,” he mutters.
“I’m so sorry,” I say quickly.
His head snaps to face me. “Sweetheart, don’t you dare apologize. You are not the one who needs to do that.” I watch as he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Shit, I’m sorry. I was seriously close to punching that tool. Both those tools.”
“Well…” I don’t know what to say. “I’m sorry I subjected you to them.”
He shakes his head
and the elevator opens to the lobby. DJ takes my hand and steps out. I follow like a puppy as he looks around then leads me deeper into the lobby bar. It’s done up like a dimly lit library, with floor to ceiling books and decorative old furniture. He guides me to a set of two oddball chairs in the corner. The fact that this room is so weirdly dark makes the place feel private, which is useful to me. Because the last thing I need tonight is one more scene.
We sit, and DJ puts his elbows onto the tiny little table between us. “Come here,” he whispers. “Please.”
I’m worried about what he thinks of me, my career, my so-called friends and pretty much everything. But I could never resist a request from DJ to get closer to him. So I lean in.
He reaches up to catch my face in both his hands. “Are you all right?”
The question surprises me a little. “Sure?”
His big thumb gently strokes my cheekbone. “Baby, I know I started the night saying that I didn’t care if the party sucked, that it didn’t matter. But I was wrong. I’ll still follow you anywhere you need to go, and I don’t scare easy. But I won’t stay quiet when someone treats you like shit. You are too important to me, smalls.”
I swallow hard and just stare into his eyes, while he cradles my face as if I were a treasure.
“…But I hope you don’t mind me saying that you need some new friends. The only person in that room who was good to you was the, uh, makeup person with the funny name. She’s a keeper. The rest of them don’t deserve you.”
“I know, I…” My voice cracks. “They were really in rare form tonight. It’s not usually that bad.”
He chews his lip. “I hope you’re right. But I wish you wouldn’t let them off that easily. When that guy grabbed you…” He closed his eyes for a second and gave his head a little shake, as if clearing away the image. “Your face said that you were not okay with it.”
“I wasn’t,” I admit.
“Is he always handsy?”
I shake my head. “Nope. But he’s always indifferent to my feelings.” It feels good to finally say that out loud. For too long I’ve just put up with it.
“So why do you stay with him? I mean—it’s your decision. And you know the business better than anybody. But if it were me, I’d be asking myself if there wasn’t somebody else who’d be nicer to me in between movie deals.”
“See, he was my father’s friend.” In fact, I couldn’t remember a time when I didn’t know Bob. He was always just there. “So Dad hired Bob when I got my first movie deal. He’s a great negotiator when he wants to be. But then my father died and then…” It’s hard to explain. “There wasn’t a lot of my dad left. His other kids ignore me. His house was sold. But Bob was still there, still telling me stories about my dad.” Come to think of it, he hadn’t told me one in a long time.
“I understand,” DJ says softly.
“No, I hate him,” I hear myself blurt. “You’re right. He’s just a vestigial organ. Like an appendix. But meaner.”
DJ smiles suddenly, and it’s like the sun has come out. God, the boy is attractive. “You’re so fucking cute. Would it be pushy of me to ask if you know any other managers? If you really want that part as Lady M, you need to find someone who will chase it down for you.”
Sad but true. And why have I wasted so much time hoping he’d help me? I got my December gig myself, just by calling up the producer at the Public Theater. But movie people were tougher. You couldn’t really tell who was pulling the strings unless you knew somebody who knew somebody.
“There are lots of managers,” I say slowly. “I’ll have to poke around a little and figure out who’s well-respected. Like I need a new project. One of the reasons I put up with Bob for so long is because switching is going to be a pain. You know what’s funny?”
“What’s funny?” DJ asks.
“My eldest brother is a manager.”
“The one who doesn’t send Christmas cards?”
“Yeah, good memory. Rick was just starting out when my father died. But I hear he’s pretty good at his job.”
“Well…” DJ asks the obvious question. “Shouldn’t he be your first call? What do you have to lose?”
“Plenty,” I blurt out before thinking better of the idea. DJ’s eyes are questioning me, so now I have to explain. “Okay, you have a brother and sister who love you, right? I’ve thought about calling Rick. But if he says, ‘I don’t have the time,’ or ‘my list is full…’” Ugh. “I don’t want to know, okay? It’s easier to just call a stranger than hear my own brother won’t help me out of a hole.”
DJ’s face goes soft. “Smalls, sometimes I forget.”
“Forget what?”
He gets up out of his chair and comes around to mine. It isn’t really big enough for both of us, so I hop up and he sits, and then I sit in his lap. DJ puts his arms around me. “You are amazing, and I forget that some people don’t bother to see that. If you have a brother who won’t take your call, that is just his utter loss.”
I lean back against DJ, suddenly exhausted. “That is nice of you to say, especially since I brought you out for the worst night ever. Forget the boob grab. There was also that awful bit where we had to rehash my disastrous one-night stand.” DJ doesn’t say anything for a second, so I turn around to check his face. He looks thoughtful. “What?”
“Well…” He chuckles. “One night, huh?”
“Yeah, why? Surely you don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”
His eyes widen. “Hell no. I like that better. If you were dating a movie star, then you stepped down to the ice rink disc jockey…” He lets the sentence die.
But now I’m annoyed. “Daniel, really? A step down? Did you not learn anything tonight? The guy couldn’t even sit up straight.”
DJ snorts. “Okay. You’re right. Tonight has been a little crazy.”
“This sore night hath trifled former knowings.”
“Amen, sister.” He kisses me on the ear. “The night isn’t over, though. It’s only ten. There’s still time to save it.”
“Well, there’s thirty minutes until the car comes back. Should we order a drink? No—not a drink. Dessert. Something with a million calories. Bob would make me feel guilty about it. But fuck that guy.”
DJ shakes his head. “He tells you what to eat?”
“Not anymore,” I say firmly.
“Good. Is there any way you could cancel that car?”
“I suppose. But it’s a long walk to Huntington.”
DJ scoops me off his lap and gets up, setting me back down. “Stay here a second, smalls. I’ll be right back.”
* * *
An hour later I’m full of hot-fudge brownie sundae. And DJ is escorting me down a corridor on the hotel’s fifth floor. He hums as he opens the door to a room that’s all ours.
I’d protested the expense, but he laughed it off. “My brother is in the Bahamas on some beach with his evil girlfriend drinking out of a coconut. I can spring for one night in New York.”
So here we were, stepping into a uniquely shaped room with crazy velvet wallpaper and—weirdly—a claw-foot tub in the corner. “What the…?” I turn a corner and find the real bathroom, complete with walk-in shower and high-end fixtures. So that tub is just trying to be eccentric. Of course it is.
DJ tosses his coat on the bed. Then he stands over the tub, peering over the side. “It’s like a challenge, really. Fine. Then I accept.” He drops the bath mat onto the floor beside it and cranks the faucet on. The sound of running water burbles into the room.
“What are you doing?”
He looks up, grinning. “We have to get in the tub, smalls. It’s eight feet from our bed. How could we not try it?” Whistling, he picks up a bottle of something off the ledge beside it, unscrews the top and then pours it in.
I wander over in time to see bubbles forming on the surface of the water. “Wow.” It does look inviting.
DJ winks at me. Then he starts unbuttoning his shirt. His belt is next.
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The rest of his clothes follow, and he drapes them neatly over the luggage rack. We have no luggage, of course.
A very naked DJ, still whistling, bends over to test the water with his fingertips. I admire the powerful body on display, and the fact that he isn’t self-conscious in his nudity. “Coming, smalls?” He twists off the taps, then lifts one muscular leg over the side, stepping in.
I can’t stop ogling him until almost all of DJ disappears under the surface of the water.
Finally turning away, I lift my sweater over my head. Then I drop my jeans. That leaves me wearing a skimpy little black bra and panties, and DJ whistles his appreciation. “Jesus H. Is this my best idea ever, or what?”
Slowly I turn to face him. He’s sitting in the bath, sculpted shoulders visible above the bubbles, and he’s eyeing me like he’d like to take a spoon and gobble me up like I just did to the brownie sundae.
I lift my chin, trying not to remember the shortcomings I see whenever I look in the mirror. Because DJ seems to like the view. So I focus on his face, and the way his eyes track my every movement. There’s heat there, and I feed off it.
Since I’m down to my underwear now, I’m basically performing a strip tease whether I’d planned to or not. I slip a thumb under the skinny elastic band at the hip of my panties and inch it down. When they finally fall to the wood floor, DJ lets out a groan. The sound of it is like liquid courage.
Taking my time, I find a hair clip in my bag, then gather up my hair and pin it high on my head, while he watches appreciatively.
Then, reaching behind me, I unhook my bra. But when it falls, I take my (small) breasts in my hands, my thumbs just grazing my rapidly hardening nipples.
“You’re killing me, smalls.” His voice is like gravel. “Get in, would you?”
But now that I’m comfortable with his eyes on me, I’m not ready for it to be over. Turning around, I bend over and grab my underwear off the floor, while DJ lets out a grunt of pure shock and desire.
I’m a little shocked, too. In a good way.
