by Evie Claire
We talked. She agrees to back off. I’ve missed you.
I smile to myself, knowing he’s in the palm of my hand for the moment. Desperate to keep him there, I fire off a naughty reply.
Good. I’ve missed your dick. When do I get to see him again? ;)
It takes pure balls and a whore’s confidence to send a text like that, but judging by his reaction to my little panty party this afternoon, he probably just came in his Calvins. It’s exactly what he wants. And I’m not about to let him slip through my fingers again. He responds with a single word suggestive enough to slick my thighs on the spot.
Soon.
Chapter Eight
“It just isn’t done.” Spence shakes his head and grunts out another chest press. My militant trainer has already brutalized my muscles for the day. I ran into Spence in the gym lobby and decided it was now or never.
“Why not?” I play dumb with a perky, fake smile.
“For a rival studio to support a film that isn’t theirs for award votes?” He looks at me like my stupidity surprises him.
“Are your films nominated?”
“Nominations haven’t been announced yet, but we have several in the running. Mighty won’t come out in time to get serious consideration. Iliad fucked themselves with that release schedule and they’re trying to find a way to cover their asses.” Another chest press constricts his speech.
“Why would they screw themselves on purpose? They’ve been around long enough to know better.” I sip my smoothie, nervously biting the straw.
“They were indulging Devon and thought it’d be a straight-to-DVD throwaway.” He shrugs and stretches his arms between reps. His biceps are impressive, once again calling into question Maria’s sanity for taking Ryan’s calls when she has a man like Spence Hugo on her tail.
“Oh.” I pull out my phone, stalling while I think about what he’s just said.
Spence seems certain of Iliad’s ulterior motives. I have to believe him because he knows about things like release schedules and nominations. If Iliad had thought Mighty would be a huge, critically acclaimed success, they’d happily sit on it and release it next year at a better time. Instead, it’s hyped and scheduled for a holiday release with the shoot-’em-up action flicks Devon normally does. Movies like that never get nominated for anything more than special effects. A total throwaway category, in my opinion. Instead, Mighty has become the Seabiscuit of awards season, making Iliad look like total amateurs.
I pull up TMI, mindlessly scrolling down the page while trying to figure out how to spin this so Spence will agree to host. I couldn’t care less about celebrity news that doesn’t involve me. Until a picture of Heather Troy slides onto my screen. I roll my eyes and click on the image, because apparently I’m a masochist.
She’s arriving at the Chateau Marmont for dinner with friends. Which is shocking as hell because I didn’t know she had any of those. She’s in all black, of course, but this ensemble is different. It’s a skin-hugging lace catsuit, a style that demands one wear fancy lingerie because it shows. A normal woman would wear black panties to keep it classy. Not Heather. I enlarge the photo with a thumb and forefinger and nearly drop my smoothie.
What. The. Hell?
This disgusting skank is wearing my underwear. A purple La Perla thong practically glows through the black lace covering her bony ass. No way we bought the same pair. Heather only buys black. So how in the hell did she get them? And what in the hell does she think she’s doing wearing them?
Question one... I can’t even. Rage rattles my brain to think of the possibilities.
Question two is simple. This is her not-so-subtle way of telling me to fuck off. Wearing my underwear is the whore’s equivalent of a double dog dare. A bring-it-on-bitch challenge that further proves how nutso she is. Hiking her leg and peeing on Devon would be less obvious. She wants to spook me and damn if it isn’t working. I drop to the padded gym carpet, landing so hard I bounce.
“What’s wrong?” Spence asks, sitting up from his bench.
“Nothing.” He gets a canned female response because I honestly don’t even know where to begin explaining all that’s wrong in my life. What the hell is she doing with my thong?
“Carly?” Spence lays a hand on my shoulder. It startles me. I turn to him and shake it away, closing my phone so he can’t see. “I’m...um...leg day.” I force a smile. “My muscles are Jell-O.” It’s a horrible lie he gracefully accepts. But he’s not stupid. He knows me well enough to know there’s something more.
“Shit, Carly. I’m sorry.” Spence leans over and takes a swig of his water. He obviously assumes my horrible lie is about his refusal to host, oblivious to the numerous piles of dung littering my life.
“No, it’s fine. I understand.” I wave a hand like it’s nothing. Until the thought of breaking this news to Iliad piles onto my growing list of problems. Okay, maybe it’s not okay. I groan over the total trainwreck my life is these days, not even knowing where to begin sorting out the mess.
“This is your big break. I want to be supportive. You can use my yacht. Insiders know the boat. They’ll get the joke. But my name on that invitation is a press story I can’t afford. The boat is the best I can do.” Spence is confident, giving a definitive Chairman of the Board nod.
“Wait...really?” I shake my head, so consumed by thoughts of bitches in purple panties that I don’t realize what he’s saying. The massive problem he’s solved for me.
“I’m doing this for you, not them,” he says.
“Oh, Spence.” I throw my arms around him. “Yuck!” I say, and recoil from his sweat. He chuckles like I’m an idiot. “I owe you the biggest favor in the world for this. How about I start with Maria?” I offer, adding a fake giggle for good measure. It lodges in my throat like a rock.
“Don’t bother.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t want Ryan Algood’s sloppy seconds.” He wipes sweat from his face with a towel.
“Right.” I look down at my phone. It’s burning a hole in my hand. “Look, I gotta run. I’ll have Iliad send the information. Thanks again. You’re the best!”
I can’t get out of the gym fast enough. Bursting through the doors, I suck in greedy breaths of sunshine-filled air, hoping they calm my insides, because something is seriously about to explode in there.
Without hesitation, I dial his number. He answers on the second ring.
“Hey, Sunshine. I was just thinking about you.” His voice coos into my ear, everything I ever want to hear. But I’m too livid to care.
“You’re right, it’s not enough,” I seethe into the phone, gripping it so tightly it creaks under the pressure.
“Whoa! What are you talking about?”
I dip into the alley between the gym and a café for some privacy.
“I can’t do this. I can’t be the other woman. Heather is never going to let this happen, regardless of what she may tell you.”
“No, she’s cool with it. Heather couldn’t care less who I’m sleeping with. You’re giving her way too much control over this situation.”
“Oh, am I? Then tell me, why the hell is she wearing my panties on the front page of TMI?”
“What?” he asks, his voice going flat with disbelief.
“Oh yeah, pull it up. You’ll see.” I pace, rage and fire up a cigarette while I wait.
“Fuck me,” Devon whispers when he sees what she’s done.
“How the hell did she even get them?” I snarl, spewing cigarette smoke between my teeth.
“The maids? Hell, I don’t know, maybe she bought some.”
“Bullshit. This isn’t a coincidence. Heather would never wear bright purple panties. She is totally playing with me.”
“Exactly, she’s playing with you. Heather doesn’t give a fuck ab
out me. She’s competitive as hell and beyond bored. Don’t let her tricks get to you.”
“Too late. I can’t do this. I refuse to be the other woman. Find a way to get rid of her, Devon. I mean it. Or I’m done.” I throw my hand in the air, hating the words, but knowing it’s the only way. Heather will never let us be happy, and until Devon finds a way out from under her thumb, I refuse to stick around and suffer this abuse.
“But, Carly, I love you.” He says this like it should be the only thing that matters. It twists my heart like a vice, but it reinforces my decision.
“And I love you. But Heather isn’t my problem to solve.” I hang up before he has the opportunity to change my mind. I lean against the alley wall, sliding down it until my butt hits pavement and my head falls onto my knees. Fuck my life. For every single step forward, I take a million back.
Chapter Nine
If I looked any hotter, I’d replace James Franco’s fine ass on that famous Gucci billboard overlooking Sunset. The backless black silk jumper I’m wearing is to die for. It’s elegant, understated and sexy—everything I’m supposed to be—beyond fuckable, and totally unattainable. Strings were pulled to get me a same-day appointment with L.A.’s most sought-after stylist. My balayage highlights are on point and the thousand-dollar hair extensions flowing down my back are so buttery soft I can’t keep my hands off them.
We’re three stories above the Pacific Ocean. Booze cruising the Malibu coast on the late Vincent Hugo’s favorite toy. It’s either an insane display of his wealth and power or the biggest compensation purchase ever. Considering how much ass Spence gets, I’m pretty sure small dicks don’t run in the family.
“I’m excited to see your movies, Miss Klein. I’ve heard your work is outstanding.” A man I’ve never seen in my life approaches Spence and me. We’re standing in the center of the party, everyone milling around us like we’re a centerpiece. He leans in for an air kiss and I can’t help but return the gesture. Kissing strangers like they’re my besties is the theme of the night.
“That’s very kind. I hope you enjoy what you see.” Charm and grace drip from every pore. Because that’s who I have to be. The man turns to Spence.
“Mr. Hugo.” He clasps Spence in a strong handshake like they’re old college buddies. They lean together. The man whispers into Spence’s ear. They pause, then erupt into laughter. Spence is still chuckling when he walks away.
“Who was that?”
“The president of the Academy.”
“What did he say?”
Spence shakes his head and takes a sip of whiskey. “You don’t want to know.”
“Yes, I do.”
“He inquired after the number of nominations it would take to get you in bed,” Spence says through a devilish smile from behind his glass, his focus straight ahead on the man’s back. I choke on my vodka water and shoot daggers at the man’s head disappearing into the crowd. Typical. All men like that ever care about is fucking the talent. I roll my eyes and wish Maria were here to share my disdain. I wanted her here, but the studio’s PR tyrant had a damn coronary at the suggestion.
Where the hell is he? The instructions were clear—all cast members were to be on the boat by seven sharp. Every time the elevator door rolls open my head snaps to attention, expecting it to be him. It’s eight and the deck is too damn crowded for me to see.
This was supposed to be an intimate gathering. Fifty guests later, the top deck is at capacity. One deck below, the pool is covered with thick, clear plastic. Beanbag chairs in the party’s colors of white, ivory and sage face a gigantic screen stretched across an exterior cabin wall. Blankets, champagne buckets, popcorn bowls and trays of hand-rolled Cubans line the aisles. I’ve never been to one of these parties, but I can’t imagine it gets much cooler.
Evening has fallen into night. Lights dot a distant shoreline. Warm breezes waft up from the inky water, bringing with them the sea’s sweet saline scent. It’s enough to calm the iron butterflies battering my poor stomach. I’ve been on pins and needles waiting for him to show. Maybe he isn’t coming. The thought makes my heart hurt. For days I’ve awaited his response to my demand. Nothing. This morning, faced with the reality of silence possibly being his answer, all I could think about was how badly I want to be in his arms. I ache for it. To feel the fire only his touch brings. To hear his voice slide wickedly into my ear. To know the bliss of his body melting into mine. The thoughts alone start my pulse racing.
I close my eyes, trying my damnedest to let the vodka do my thinking for me. When I open them she’s there. Leaning heavily on the bar, staring me down through glassy eyes like she’s about to pounce.
Heather Troy, trying to appear all innocent and pure in a flowing white dress and upswept hair. She fails miserably. A woman like her can never look innocent. Calculating, yes. Innocuous, no. I stare back, refusing to give an inch. The memory of our last meeting fuels my hatred. At the gala, she had the audacity to act like I was nothing more than an annoying fly she needed to swat away. That stung like hell.
Now? She’s sizing me up, which gives me the tiniest hope that maybe all isn’t lost where her tabloid husband is concerned. But, where is he? I’m on my tiptoes peeking over the crowd when I hear him.
“Spencer.” Devon’s voice rings clear as a bell behind me. I spin on my heels so fast I nearly fall over. He’s smoking hot. Like sex-god-of-the-seven-seas hot. A crisp white button-down hangs open at the neck under a soft blue-gray twill blazer. Salt-and-pepper hair, moody blue eyes and five o’clock shadow perfection. He’s enough to make me open-mouth gawk. How does he get hotter every time?
Devon extends his hand to Spence but his eyes are firmly on me. My scalp prickles under the attention of his navy stare. It’s intense, hard and bold as hell. The kind of stare a man gives when he’s claiming something. My breath quickens and I lick my lips. I have to look away.
“Thank you for hosting our screening.” Devon snaps his gaze quickly to Spence and gives a forced smile once he’s done eye fucking me. The dank scent of scotch lifts off him in the breeze.
“You’re welcome. But I think we both know there’s only one reason why I’m hosting another studio’s screening.” Spence wraps his arm around my back, pulling me in close and trailing his hand along my naked ribs. Devon’s gaze falls to me again and his eyes blaze, livid and dark, watching Spence’s hand work its way over my body. Again hope sings into my limbs. I start to speak, but stop, unsure of the words waiting on my tongue. Instead, I clear my throat and swirl my ice cubes with a finger, licking it for effect.
“Right.” Catching himself before he makes it too obvious, he smiles quickly, rubs his lips and looks away in Heather’s general direction. “Do they have anything for motion sickness?” He waves a hand toward the bar. “Heather doesn’t do well on the water.”
“They should. If not I’ve got something downstairs.” Spence’s hand remains on my side, tracing up and down. Me, I’m church-mouse quiet, trying to figure out if I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing in Devon or if I’m just drunk-hallucinating.
“You look lovely.” Devon leans into me. I look up in time to see his gorgeous face coming at me. I freeze. He lands a soft kiss on my cheek in the totally platonic way every other man has air kissed me tonight. But it’s what he says next that knocks the air from my lungs. “Sunshine,” he whispers so only we can hear. His voice is hot and loaded with the memory of every orgasm he’s ever given me. It’s so much that my thighs instantly clench. A shiver shoots through me. My nickname. It’s us. It’s his way of telling me he’s not done with us. Right? Why else would you whisper your lover’s nickname in her ear?
“Thanks.” I manage an embarrassed schoolgirl smile when he pulls away.
What the hell am I doing? Get it together, Carly! I land an internal bitch-slap hard across my face. If anyone saw this interaction, it would be obvious as hell
we’re fucking. The desire for self-preservation turns me into the actress I am, flipping that easy switch. “Who could refuse free Gucci?” I playfully toss my hair and give a small spin because I know how this outfit hugs my curves. I’m all smiles and totally carefree. Not letting on how desperate I am to know what he’s thinking. It’s the most brutal game I’ve ever played.
“Nice boat.” He nods at Spence and disappears into the crowd. We silently watch him leave.
“Nice boat.” Spence mimics. “It’s a fucking yacht, asshole. I cannot believe you still want to fuck that douche bag,” Spence whispers under his breath.
“I do not,” I shoot back, lying through my freshly whitened teeth.
“Whatever.” Spence removes his arm from my back now that Devon’s gone and motions to the waitress for another whiskey.
“No way!” A woman’s voice rises above the crowd, easily carried by the crisp night air. The proverbial record skips and everyone turns to see what the fuss is about. “I’m not leaving you here with her!” Heather yells at Devon, waving her hand in my direction. Only, she’s so drunk she winds up waving at the entire crowd. Spence wraps his arm around me, pulling me close, sensing how dangerous an insinuation like this is for my career. We both look around trying to figure out who this said her is. Like we don’t already know.
Holy shit! I laugh nervously inside. Unable to believe Devon is trying to get Heather to leave and she outs him like the drunken idiot she is. She sways on her heels and is seconds from hitting the ground when Devon sweeps in and catches her bony ass. The crowd gasps and moves closer.
“What the hell?” I ask under my breath.
“Shit.” Spence pushes his drink into my hand for safekeeping and steps forward, ever the gentleman. Heather is out stone-cold in Devon’s arms. Spence moves to grab half of her and nods toward a door. “Nothing to see here, folks!” he yells good-naturedly over the crowd. “It isn’t a Hugo party until someone hits the floor!” Spence reminisces back to the epic parties his dad used to host. A few of the older souls nod their heads in agreement and chuckle at the new generation carrying on tradition. The crowd turns back to their drinks, but I’m struck dumb watching my night go from good to fucking awesome. Ding, dong, the bitch is gone.
