Hollywood Hot Mess (29 page)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I’m ugly crying with my head buried in my hands on the plush ivory couch in Devon’s seaside hideaway. Devon sits on the coffee table in front of me, his hands alternating between rubbing on my legs to try to soothe me and running through his hair to try to soothe himself.

He gives up, dragging both hands through his hair and interlacing the fingers at the back of his head. He lets out an exasperated sigh and stares up at the ceiling. Tiny sits on the porch, trying to act as if he is oblivious to the scene playing out inside.

Tiny’s been sitting out there for an hour—waiting to take me back to my real life. I’ve cried. I’ve pouted. I’ve sunk to my knees and unbuckled Devon’s pants. But I can’t stop the inevitable. Heather is due to arrive at LAX within the hour, which means I have to disappear.

I look like a blubbering idiot, and his patience is wearing thin. But I cannot find the words to say goodbye to him. How am I supposed to let this week slip through my fingers?

I’ve made peace with the fact that this is the only way I can have him. At least, I thought I had. I soaked up every second we had here together like a sponge. Now that reality has come home to roost, I’ve never been more ill at ease. She doesn’t love him. She damn sure doesn’t appreciate him. So why am I the one leaving? It sucks the fattest one in the world. But this is the choice I made.

“Devon?” Tiny leans his head in the door, removing his black shades. “The jet just entered the LAX traffic pattern,” he says, holding up his phone to show the tail number tracking app he’s been studying. She’s flying private so she can sneak in without anyone seeing. I’m sure she’s super pissed about that, but HeaVon has been making some serious headlines on the West Coast and having her arrive commercial from NYC just isn’t possible.

“Thanks, Tiny.” Devon sighs and reaches out for me. He pulls me to my feet and I know I can’t postpone this any longer.

“Carly,” he whispers in my ear, holding me against him, squeezing me so tightly the sobs almost still...almost. I’m sure he thinks this will soothe me. But feeling his breath hot on my skin only unravels me further and I struggle to keep the high-pitched whimpers from choking me completely. Everything inside me has shattered into a million pieces and scattered on the wind. Every bit of strength and resolve I had is gone. The thought of living a single day without him makes me feel small and scared, like a vulnerable little girl in pigtails facing a cruel world all alone. “It’s not goodbye forever. Just for now.”

His hand rubs along my back. My own hands curl between us, huddled into his chest, hating the words, but knowing there isn’t a damned thing I can do about it. Even my scheming can’t fix this.

Because I’m an actress, I bottle my emotions too easily. I pull away from him, wipe my tears and plaster a pathetic smile on my face.

He eyes me suspiciously, knowing I’m not miraculously okay all of a sudden.

“Hey...Sunshine...” He playfully tugs at the long black wig reaching past my shoulders. Calling me that solves zero problems. “I’ll see you in a week at the gala, baby.” He takes my chin in his long fingers and turns my head up to his. I wrap my hand around his wrist and look up into his navy-rimmed eyes.

“Devon?” I sputter, my voice raw in my throat. “Don’t sleep with her.” I grab his shirt front, twisting it in my fist.

“Don’t even think that, Carly!” He sneers like I’ve offended him. From the very beginning he’s explained how their showmance works. I’m no fool. I see the man in front of me. Heather Troy would hate-fuck the hell out of him in a second. He despises her, with good reason. But now that I’m leaving him, and she’s on her way back, my jealousy has reared its head in a very ugly way.

“I’ll call you tonight.” He lands a whisper-soft kiss right below my ear, which clenches every part of me below the damned black wig. Kisses like this do not help me leave.

I
love you.
I mouth the words, unable to say them out loud.

We follow Tiny down the basement stairs to the waiting blacked-out Suburban. Devon deposits me in the backseat with a kiss and I wave goodbye through the tinted glass.

It’s all been worked out. Tiny will drive me to Devon’s agent’s office disguised as Heather. Heather, covered from head to toe with a hat and scarf, will arrive at the office sometime later. At which point I will shed my disguise, Heather will become her perfect pouty self and we will go back to living our respective lives.

I’m whisked up from the underground garage like the movie star I used to be—ear-miked security detail and doors held open as I arrive. Tiny makes sure everyone keeps a sizable distance from me, the building security assisting in his overly dramatic efforts. I shield my disguised face with a hand for effect, having seen plenty of pictures of Heather blocking the flashbulbs this way.

I’m led through a final door into a blindingly bright corner office the size of a lap pool.

“Thank you, Tiny,” a woman’s voice says. The door shuts behind me, and when I look up I’m face-to-face with Ari Gold’s female twin.

Her office is littered with Ivy League degrees—business administration/public relations undergrad from Harvard and a Juris Doctor from Yale. She’s dressed in a gray sharkskin suit and deep blue button-down. Her blond hair is slicked back into a high bun, not a hair out of place, and cold gray eyes narrow at me with equal parts contempt and disdain. She looks more like a dominatrix than a talent agent. God, I miss Jerrie.

“Miss Klein, I presume?” she asks, walking over to a shared wall of office windows, slapping the blinds shut with a single yank. I startle, removing the blackout shades from my face.

“India?” I mimic her condescension, arranging my features in a way that makes it clear how many fucks I give about her. She doesn’t have a clue who she’s messing with. I’ve dealt with agents since I could talk. I’m Carly Klein, damn it!

She crosses her arms and nods toward a duffel bag on the couch. I sit down beside it and pull out my regular uniform—skinny jeans, wife beater, leather jacket and biker boots. My heart sinks at the thought of climbing back into my old life and leaving Devon behind.
Ugh!
This is so unfair.

My blond hair, full and bouncy, flows over my shoulder when I take the black wig off and toss it to the floor. I use the sleeve of Heather’s black jersey tunic to wipe away the red lipstick and stand to disrobe.

I’m used to stripping down in front of total strangers, but something about the way her eyes study me makes me uneasy.

“A little privacy, please?” I seethe, shooting a dagger stare in her direction. She snorts.

“As if the world hasn’t it seen before.” She slaps her hands to her sides and turns with military precision toward the minibar in the corner. It’s surrounded by a bank of TVs mounted in a black glass wall. A different entertainment news channel streams silently on each one. “Can I get you anything? Vodka, gin...a line of blow?”

“I’m sober, thanks.” My voice drips with disgust. Her shoulders bounce with silent laughter, shaking her head as she twists the cap from a Smartwater and pours it into a tumbler with ice and lime. Obviously, she does know about me.

She walks back as I’m pulling the wife beater over my bare breasts, offering me the drink.

“Thanks.” I take it and sit down on the couch.

She grabs two stacks of stapled papers off her desk and hands them to me, along with a pen.

“What’s this?” I take a sip of water and look at the papers, her letterhead emblazoned on the top.

“Non-disclosure agreement concerning your...stay.” She arches an eyebrow at me. “And an appearance contract for the gala. Against my advice, Devon wants you there.” She turns up her nose. But because she’s had to admit that Devon wants me, I eagerly sign the documents and toss them back at her. She barely catches them before they spill to the floor, and shoots me a razor-sharp glare.

“Your cab’s on its way,” she says, backing toward her desk and leaning on the edge of it when it meets her ass. The signed papers flutter to her desk when she drops them. Her eyes refuse to leave me and she takes in every line of my face, every twist of my hair, every move of my body as if committing me to memory. I can’t stand eyes on me like this.

“Can I help you with something?” I level a malicious glare right at her, punching my chin in the air to show her I can’t be cowed by her nastiness. I’m Carly Klein, damn it!

“I’m just trying to figure you out.” She tilts her head to the side, eyes not leaving mine after she takes a sip of her own drink. Her ice cubes jingle in the silence that follows. I swallow hard, resisting the urge to rip her insolent head off. “You weren’t stupid enough to fall in love with him, were you?” She crosses her body with the arm that holds her cut-crystal tumbler and brings the other hand up to rest at her lips—tapping and studying...tapping and studying. I can barely keep my eyes from going crossed I’m so pissed right now.

“That’s none of your damned business!” I shout louder than I should, fists balling in my lap.

“Every detail of Devon Hayes is my business.” She sets her drink down on the desk and recrosses her arms. “And if you think for a moment I’m going to let someone like you walk in and ruin the empire I’ve spent my career building, you’re dead wrong.” She doesn’t even raise her voice, knowing I’m hanging on every word dripping from her fanged mouth.

Her phone buzzes and I jump.

“Ms. Blum?” a disconnected voice asks.

“Yes, Felicity?” Her voice is miraculously calm and pleasing.

“The cab is here.”

“Thanks, Felicity.” She leans back to press a button on her phone. “Your ride, Miss Klein.” She says my name like it tastes bad.

“I’d say it’s been a pleasure, India, but...” My voice trails off and I let the implication hang in the air.

She laughs out loud at my snarky attempt to undercut her.

“Try to stay out of the Roosevelt’s pool, Carly,” she says in a sickeningly sweet way, and smiles, opening a door along the back wall of her office—one I didn’t see hiding amongst the impressive collection of leather-bound books. Tiny is waiting in the cold cement hallway when I pass through. I give India a look that could freeze raindrops in hell instead of saying goodbye. Bitch deserves it.

The blacked-out SUV is waiting in the underground garage when we emerge seconds later from the decidedly less glamorous freight elevator. But it’s not for me. A yellow cab sits a few feet away.

“Goodbye, Miss Klein.” Tiny offers his hand to help me in as he holds the door. He leans over and gives my address to the cabbie. I gag. The cab smells like day-old vomit and I long for the safe dark seclusion of Devon’s Suburban.

The cab starts to pull away, but immediately slams on the brakes, throwing me against the seat back. Another blacked-out SUV swerves into the garage. Tiny leaps off the curb and runs to it as the door flies open. A black-haired waif with enormous shades and red lips pours from the backseat, handsome caramel-colored man and young boy trailing behind in a wake of black fabric. Hatred scorches every inch of me.

Heather Troy is back.

* * *

“I thought you went to the spa?” Maria stares at me like I have five heads when I burst into our apartment, barely able to contain the mixture of rage and heartbreak coursing through my veins.

“Ugh!” I scream, and hurl my keys across the room, needing so badly to hit something at that particular moment. But I can’t. If I don’t get my emotions under control she’s going to know something is wrong. “Stupid fucking starstruck cabbies in this damn town!” I place my blame on the first thing that comes to mind. And I’m pissed off at the nosy asshole who drove me home too, peppering me with questions about Melvin LeCroix, his favorite actor from
Life on Easy Street
. As if I needed that shit in my life right now.

“Tell me about it.” Maria turns back to the book she’s reading. “I had one offer me a free ride from LAX once for a flash of my boobs.” She curls her nose and fake gags as she remembers. “Disgusting!”

I deposit my bag just inside my bedroom door, taking time to smooth my hair and brush a hand over my face before I turn back to her. Back in the den I plop down onto one of the ratty old sofas that used to be plush and luxurious like the ones at Devon’s mansion.

She peeks over her book, smiling at me. “You do look refreshed, now that you aren’t so pissed. What spa did you go to?” She sticks a piece of paper between the pages to hold her place and tosses it onto the coffee table.

“Um...” I drag a hand over my hair. “Sunrise Canyon?” I answer, putting together two of my favorite places from the week with Devon.

“Hmm...I haven’t heard of that one,” she answers with a crinkled nose. I smile back at her, regardless of how upset I am right now. She looks so much like the sister I grew up loving. The ghost girl who found me on the street that day outside Dr. Goldberg’s office is long gone. The color is back in her cheeks, the under-eye circles have all but disappeared and she looks almost as fresh as she did when she was Mollie Ann—but slightly older and wiser to the ways of the world. She pats the sofa beside her, pulling her knees up to her chest to make room.

I fall over to her, resting my head on her shoulder. It feels so good to be in someone’s arms right now, even if they aren’t the ones I really want to be in.

“I’m glad to see the sparkle back in your eyes. I was worried about you,” she soothes as she strokes my hair. “Depression isn’t safe for girls like us.”

“I’m better,” I lie. How can I tell her the only reason my eyes sparkle is because I’ve just been thoroughly fucked by the Sexiest Man Alive?

“You’re a lucky girl, Carly. Life’s giving you a second chance.” She reaches over for the hand that clutches my Devon phone and presses the little button to illuminate the clock.

“Shit!” she says, tilting me away from her. “I’ve got to get ready.”

“You’re going out?” I’m totally bummed. I was about to suggest running out for coffee. She nods her head, retrieving her book and the cup of whatever she’s drinking from the coffee table as she gets up.

“Another date?” I guess.