by Livia Grant
Khloe stood grounded as their friends stood to greet them. Daniel Mining hugged her, placing small kisses on both of her cheeks. "You look ravishing, Khloe. It's so good to see you again. I hated that you got called out of town and missed the opening of the play on Broadway in February."
She almost missed his words, too distracted by watching Gloria and Dean embracing intimately right behind him. Their bold display nauseated her. It was a slap in the face to both her and Daniel. Righteous anger consumed her at their audacity of flaunting their affair in front of hundreds of fans, the media and even Gloria's spouse. As Khloe looked up at Gloria's director husband, ready to fill him in on all he'd been missing, she knew immediately she was the one out of the loop. The raw sexual hunger on his face as he leaned down to whisper in her ear had her wobbly on her feet.
"Gloria and I are hoping to celebrate your and Dean's success a bit more privately tonight. The three of us are already checked into the suite down the hall from yours at The Plaza. We had a key made for you. Be sure to go to the ladies’ room to powder your nose with Gloria. She'll fill you in."
Khloe would have toppled over if he hadn't hugged her closer. The price for his chivalry was feeling his erection poking her tummy. Their eyes met again. This time she saw amusement. Her shock was funny to him. It made her want to lift her leg to knee him in the balls.
That would knock the fucking smile off his face.
The next two hours moved by in a blur. It was surreal watching the movie she'd worked so hard on over the previous two years play on the big screen. The finished product was even better than she could have ever dreamed. Normally critical of her own performances, she lost herself in the drama. When the final credits rolled and the theater lights came up, for the first time in her career, she felt like she deserved the standing ovation she was receiving.
All eyes in the theater were on her and Dean. He was terrible boyfriend material, but he was a very talented artist, and like it or not, they would forever be linked by their partnership on this film. She hated to admit it, but the producers had been right. He deserved to be here as much as she did.
The party was really starting as they returned to the grand foyer. She excused herself from Dean, anxious to be away from him, if only for a bit.
Tables of food and drinks lined the walls. Her stomach growled loudly as the heavenly aromas of the room reached her. She'd barely eaten in days, yet as much as she'd love to splurge tonight, the thought of having to squeeze into the already fitted gowns for the next three release parties kept her from partaking in the heavy filet mignon being carved closest to her. She instead made her way to the dessert table to grab a plate of small pastries.
She'd splurge.
"Khloe! I've been waiting for you. I brought a chocolate éclair just for you. I know you don't like the calories, but since it's your favorite dessert in the whole wide world, I knew you'd want one."
Several seconds ticked by while her brain tried to comprehend why the man dressed in a waiter's outfit looked familiar. "Peter? What are you doing here?"
The gangly young man with unfortunate pockmarks and an active patch of acne on his receding forehead beamed that she'd remembered him. "I wouldn't miss tonight. The studio hired me to help serve refreshments."
It seemed odd they would spend money flying a coffee runner across the country for a one-night event, but he'd told her once he was the nephew of a studio bigwig. She suspected he had a learning disability based on his awkward social skills, but he was a nice enough guy who kept her flush in hot coffee while on set.
"Thanks so much. That's very thoughtful." Khloe reached out to take the offered dessert that had more calories than an entire day's allotment. "Everyone will be jealous that I'm the only one who will get one."
Several fans pressed into her personal space, wanting their time with a celebrity. She could see disappointment in his eyes at being pushed aside so quickly. She sent him an apologetic look. "See you later, Peter."
Within minutes, dozens of well-wishers surrounded her, anxious to take her picture with them or get her autograph. By the time the crowd was starting to thin out, she was exhausted. Only then did she look down at the small plate of desserts and realize she'd only taken a few bites. Guilt gnawed at her. Yet the hunger had begun to feel like her old, dark friend, seducing her back into an almost anorexic existence. She was skating close to the edge of her safe zone, flirting with a darkness she'd thought she'd kicked years ago.
Strong arms enveloped her from behind, hugging her back tight against a masculine, hard chest. "I've missed you, baby. You almost ready to head back to the hotel?"
Dean made sure to grind his hips forward enough to demonstrate that his appendage had indeed missed her. Instead of turning her on, Khloe fought the urge to laugh. So much had changed since the last time she'd slept with Dean. They'd never been in love, but they'd had an amicable romance. But that had been before his cheating with Gloria. And before...
Christ, memories of the most sexual night of her life slammed into her, drawing a full body tremble that a conceited Dean took as a green-light from her to slip a hand higher, brushing her breast in a brave display in the middle of the grand foyer. Of course he had no way of knowing that the woman he held in his arms had slipped into her favorite pastime–dreaming of a sex-god named Ryder Helms.
Ryder had begun to feel like a mirage to her. A figment of her imagination. Or maybe an actor who'd had too small of a role in her life before being written out of the script. That a man she'd only known for three hours of her life could consume her thoughts at a moment’s notice frankly had begun to piss her off.
Khloe used her confusing anger to wrench herself out of Dean's arms. She turned on him, prepared to tell him exactly what she thought about his offer when she caught sight of cameras pointed in their direction. Instead, she leaned in close, giving the illusion of intimacy as she replied, "Tonight changes nothing, Dean. We're done. I'll play my part in front of the cameras, but you're nuts if you think I'm going back to the hotel with you."
He didn't seem surprised. "Oh, come on. I'm only talking about having a little fun. Don't be such a prude. Gloria and Daniel are coming over. You'll have a good time. I promise."
Considering she hadn't had sex since Valentine's Day, she had to admit she was briefly tempted, but in the end, she knew she'd just end up disappointed with Dean's watered down version of intimacy. She'd caught a glimpse of the real thing with Ryder, and she was certain Dean Reynolds would be a poor substitute. The problem was, Ryder was a figment of her imagination and she didn't have the first damn clue how to go about finding him or even another man like him. Unexpected tears pricked her eyes at the reminder of her loss.
The room was suddenly too warm. Too closed in. She needed to get out of there. She'd stayed long enough.
Khloe yanked herself out of Dean's clutches, searching the room frantically for Trevor. Or Ricky. Hell, she'd even take the Kaplans, but she couldn't spy any of them. She reached for her small purse and pulled out her phone, texting Johnson and asking him to bring her car around before shooting off a text to Trevor to meet her at the door with her fur shawl.
Dean shouted after her as she turned to leave. He pulled her to a stop long enough to thrust a magnetic keycard into her hand before leaning in to whisper in her ear, "Don't be like this, Khloe. I promise. I'll make it good for you. Room 1232. We'll be waiting for you, baby."
Their eyes met long enough for her to see his smug confidence. It didn't dawn on him that she'd refuse their offer for a debauched night of swinging. Memories of another debauched night in her life were crowding in fast. She needed to be alone. She could feel a familiar tug of temptation. Of loneliness.
She was relieved to see Trevor waiting for her near the door. She was stopped a few times by well-wishers, but finally reached him just as she looked out the glass doors to see Johnson pulling up in front of the theater. It was raining harder now and he exited the driver's seat to hold open the back door, an
umbrella held high meant to protect her and her gown from getting drenched.
She and Trevor made a dash from under the awning of the theater, diving into the back seat as quickly as possible. She didn't truly relax until the limo was in motion. Khloe collapsed against the rich leather seat, exhausted. Keeping up her public facade was work on a normal day. Dealing with being the center of attention and Dean's unexpected appearance had taken every ounce of her mental tenacity. She was grateful that both Trevor and Johnson had been with her long enough to understand she needed the silence of the car in that moment more than anything else.
She was starting to feel more like herself as they pulled up into the carport of The Plaza. When the doorman opened the door next to her, she froze.
"Come on, Khloe. Let's get you upstairs."
"No," she countered. "I want to go home."
Trevor tried to reason with her. "We've already paid for the suite through tomorrow, you know. And all of your stuff is still upstairs."
"I don't care. I want to sleep in my own bed tonight. You can come back over and pick up my stuff tomorrow."
She kept her face as passive as possible. She didn't want to share her main reason for wanting to go home was because she didn't trust herself not to use the electronic keycard still clutched in her palm. She knew she would hate herself if she let her loneliness and hunger for intimacy drive her to suite 1232. She'd never find those things there. She'd only find a shallow replica, and she wasn't willing to put herself through that disappointment.
Trevor had waited, hoping she'd change her mind. When he accepted she wouldn't, he pulled the door closed and Johnson took off, pointing the limo in the direction of her apartment in Chelsea, less than fifteen minutes away.
Raindrops streaked down the window, taunting her. Tonight was supposed to be one of the best nights of her life, and in some ways, it had been. So why was it getting harder to repress her tears. She swallowed often, hoping to hold it together until she was alone.
She was relieved when they pulled up in front of her apartment building and the night doorman met them, holding open her door. Trevor got out first, taking the large umbrella and helping Khloe out next. She lifted her long gown, trying to avoid the hem from getting too wet as they dashed into the lobby.
"Thanks, Trevor. I'll talk to you tomorrow." For some unknown reason, she felt an overwhelming urge to be alone, even from her friend and bodyguard.
He grinned. "Aren't you forgetting something?" When she didn't answer, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a key ring. "You don't have your set of keys with you. You might want to sleep in your apartment instead of on the couch here in the lobby."
That made her smile and eased her tension while he escorted her to the door of her 23rd floor luxury apartment. He unlocked her door and swept inside first, taking the time to turn on several lights and look around the main living space, making sure everything was in order. Not for the first time, Khloe was grateful to have Trevor in her inner circle, protecting her from the crazies.
He started to head down the hall towards her bedroom, but she stopped him. "It's okay. I wasn't even supposed to be here tonight so I'm sure no one is lurking in the off chance I'd drop by."
Trevor hesitated, looking less sure about aborting his inspection of her apartment, but finally turning back to her.
"You want me to sleep on the couch?" he offered. He'd done that before when he'd escorted her to events in NYC. He didn't have an apartment here like he did in California.
"Naw. You go back and take advantage of the huge suite we are paying seven grand for. It's early enough, you might be able to find some sweet thing to enjoy it with."
She knew her racy comment would make him blush, yet she also noted he didn't dispute her idea.
"If you're sure, I guess I'll head back. Call me when you get up. I'll come back with all your stuff. Don't forget, you have dinner reservations tomorrow night at eight."
Oh she hadn't forgotten. She'd been dreading seeing her parents. Just one more stress in her life.
"Okay, will do."
As soon as Trevor left, Khloe made sure to lock the front door, sliding the deadbolt into place. The click of the lock comforted her. Not only because it kept her safe, but told her she was finally alone. Finally off the public stage. It happened so rarely these days.
Khloe turned to take in the space she'd called home for the last four years, although in reality, she'd spent more time on the west coast than in NYC the last two years. Kicking off her too-tall high-heels that were killing her feet, she enjoyed the feel of luxurious carpet between her toes. The kitchen tile was cold in contrast and she opened the refrigerator, pulling a cold sparkling water out. She may not eat right, but she knew enough to at least stay hydrated.
Tension fell from her with each step she took down the hallway towards the sanctuary of her bedroom suite. As she flicked the switch to bathe the room in a soft glow, Khloe spotted her king-sized bed and couldn't wait to fall into it.
Only then did she regret not having Trevor help her with her zipper. She spent a few minutes struggling until she was able to get the zipper lowered enough to slip the gown off her shoulders, letting it pool at her feet.
The reflection of the woman in the nearby mirror jarred her. The mind was a funny thing. In the briefest of seconds before she'd registered that it was her in the mirror, she'd been horrified at the thin skeleton of a woman staring back at her. Yet, within seconds, recognition of her own body brought self-recrimination.
I'm not thin enough. Pretty enough. Famous enough. Talented enough.
The tears she'd repressed earlier were threatening, and she hated it. She took a final minute to step out of her tiny panties and flick her bra off before crawling into her bed, pulling the covers up around her. Only then did she give herself permission to lose it.
The invisible wall she often constructed to keep the world at bay crumbled like a dam that had been breached by swelling floodwater. Waves of emotions, good and bad, crashed over the dam, hitting her squarely until her chest hurt from the weight of it all.
For months she'd been the perfect soldier, marching through the daily crush of responsibility. She'd stayed focused on the work because it was easier that way. It had been safer to keep working until she'd fall into bed, exhausted, each night. The alternative was obsessing on every sordid detail of her soap opera life.
Tonight she'd finally face it all. Everything she'd been refusing to let get close enough to hurt her for months. It was the only way she could purge the negativity out of her system and start fresh again tomorrow.
She cried for her strained relationship with her parents. They'd been only thirty minutes away tonight, yet they might as well have been halfway around the world. Just once, she wished they could be proud of her and her success. Just once, not compare Khloe to her perfect brother, Milek, who'd had the audacity to die in a fiery car crash. She'd give anything if Milek could have been there with her tonight to celebrate her success with her.
Khloe cried harder remembering it had been her first release party without her best friend–strike that–ex-best friend, Monica, there beside her. The Kaplans had warned her that betrayal was often the price of success. Being sold out by the half-dozen other friends she'd started acting with had hurt, but never in a million years had she thought Monica, her best friend since high school, the woman she'd trusted with every secret, would betray her by giving an expose on Khloe's inner circle to Rolling Stone magazine. The irony was there hadn't been that much to reveal. She lived a rather boring life for a celebrity. Still, it hurt to know her friendship was apparently not as important as the fifty grand the magazine had paid to find out that Khloe slept in the nude and struggled with the remnants of an eating disorder, like fifty percent of the women in Hollywood.
But more than anything, she sobbed for a man she barely knew. Even as she bawled, she knew it sounded melodramatic, and maybe it was, but regardless, Ryder Helms had ruined her. She'd known it the minut
e she'd gotten in the limo that night in February and had been driving away from him. There would never be another man in her life who could push her buttons, literally, the way Ryder had.
In a moment of weakness, Khloe got up and shuffled to the dresser across the room. She pulled open the top drawer, reaching to the very back corner and pulling out a sealed baggie before rushing back to the cocoon of her heaped blankets, burrowing in. Her hands trembled as she opened the zipped top of the small plastic bag and pulled out a crumpled man's hankie along with a pair of purple thong panties. A dangerous cocktail of regret, anger, and sexual heat flooded her as her core contracted with an empty longing for something she couldn't have.
Like a junkie sniffing a line of white powder, she held the fabric close to her face and took a long drag. Memories of the most intense night of her life came to life. Her time with Ryder had been so brief, there were times she worried she'd dreamed the whole thing. Playing with him at Black Light, the hottest BDSM club on the east coast, had been life changing and, at times, felt more like a plot of a movie. The masculine smell of his cum on her panties and his cologne on the handkerchief were the conclusive proof she needed to keep her sane. To remind her he really had been her Master for three short hours.
Closing her eyes, she took another drag, letting the faint scent of his masculine cologne take her back to Valentine's Day. Her body shuddered, remembering how he had mastered her–missing his dominance more than ever. She'd gone to Black Light feeling completely out of control, not unlike tonight. She still didn't understand it, but Ryder had seen through all of her layers of protection. Her public persona. Her celebrity shield she wore to protect her from anyone getting too close. He had torn through every layer and stripped her bare. Both physically and emotionally. His desertion at the end of the night had cut her to the core.
Memories of his dominant control of her body heated her from the inside. She flung back the covers, suddenly burning up. She laid the hankie on the pillow, close enough that she could smell him and then let her hands roam her body, pretending it was his touch squeezing her left breast so hard it hurt. Ryder's probing fingers sliding down her tummy to graze her wet clit. A full-body shudder consumed her as she let her legs fall open obscenely wide, exactly as that night when she'd been restrained to the medical examination table.
