Love, Chloe (12 page)

I squared my shoulders, grabbed the bag of food, and turned the handle, prepared to give Benta and Cammie the reprimand of their lives.

Day ten of being a sellout. Being the girl who took a pay raise instead of the high road. The girl who felt guilty when she wasn’t throwing dollar bills in the air, making it rain.

Three hundred extra dollars a week
. I felt rich. Rich … and completely sleazy. It didn’t help that the man Nicole was cheating on, the one I was keeping in the dark by taking her bribe, had covered my ass on the broken crystal.

I almost wished he hadn’t done it, his kind act making it even harder for me to swallow Nicole’s affair. Did knowing about it and not saying anything to him make me as guilty as her? I groaned, plopping my head on the desk, and winced when the tip of the holepuncher caught me in the temple.

Next to me, upright against the desk were three Vuitton trunks. I’d spent the morning packing them with every possible thing that Nicole would need to outfit her trailer. Nicole had left the packing list, written in metallic pink ink, taped to my office door, a smiley face in its upper right hand corner like we were best bitches now. It was
ninety-seven
items long. Ninety-seven. I actually counted them, losing a personal bet with myself that it was over a hundred. The list included things like Q-Tips and Spanx, but also Valium and condoms. Three weeks ago, I would have admired her ability to bring her condom promotion to the movie, but ever since I saw her making out with a hipster in broad daylight, I was rethinking her condom motives. I almost didn’t pack them in a passive-aggressive attempt to thwart her adulterous plans.

“Chloe?” Nicole’s voice came from behind me and I straightened, peeling a Post-It off of my cheek.

“Yes?” I turned.

“Ready to head to set?”

“Yes.” I scooted my chair, grabbing at my bag. Turning to her, I gave my best attempt at a smile, while scanning her for signs of infidelity. Nothing. There should be a sign, the words TRAITOR blazoned across her forehead. Then again, if cheating were that obvious, I’d have caught Vic way before I did.

Today was the first day that Nicole would be on set and—let’s not be coy—I was excited. Clueless, but excited. My knowledge of the film industry was limited to watching film geeks run around the NYU campus with lighting kits and cameras. This would be different; this was
real
. Well, as real as a straight-to-TV movie could be. And I was pretty sure that was what it was. I couldn’t find anything out about it online. Plus, Nicole was the queen of the TV movie circuit, her résumé boasting one episode in a soap and seven movies no one had ever heard of.

If I hadn’t IMDB’d her ass, I probably would have been more excited. Especially because Nicole had been walking around like
Boston Love Letters
was A BIG DEAL. And her agent and publicist had been frequent visitors to the Brantley household in the last few weeks. So who knew? Maybe this would be a feature film. I was just excited to be getting out of the house, my new office feeling more like a jail cell. On the set I could make some contacts, maybe find another job that wasn’t laced with deception. Seeing Clarke’s innocent face on a daily basis was seriously increasing my wrinkle count. I could
feel
crow’s feet forming, caught a glimpse of them in the mirror just that week. Granted, it was a dingy mirror in a dark bar bathroom, but I’m almost positive they were there. Hiding. Lurking. Waiting.

I watched Nicole leave and studied the trunks. Hitched my bag higher on my shoulder and grabbed the first handle with both hands. Grunted a little when I lifted it.

“Don’t do that.” The world’s hottest husband spoke from behind me. I turned to face him. “You’ll kill that back of yours. Dante and I can get those.”

“Thanks.” I glanced around for anything I might be leaving, grabbing my S’well off the desk and sticking it in my bag.

“A raise, huh?”

“Excuse me?” Maybe he’d want money for the vase, after all.

“Nicole says she gave you a raise.” Clarke stepped forward and bent over, grabbing one trunk in each hand and lifting them easily.

“Yes.” I looked down, examining the fascinating hem of my shirt.

From the hall behind us, Nicole barked into her phone, voice loud, her hands gesturing wildly. No wonder she was so skinny. The woman worked off a thousand calories a day by sheer expression alone. Clarke glanced at her and lowered his voice. “So, you’ll be on set with Nicole?”

“Yes—” I stopped myself just in time, swallowing the word
sir
. “I will.”

“Keep an eye on her.” He said the words shortly, with a bit of an edge. “For me.”

“Keep an eye on her?” I asked hesitantly.

“You’ll understand what I mean.” He held my eyes for a heartbeat, then nodded and turned, the trunks in hand, and headed for the hall.

I followed numbly, almost bumping into Dante, and I pointed out the last trunk, whispering my thanks to him. I watched Clarke and Nicole move down the stairs and wondered, his last directive echoing in my mind, what he was talking about.

I hated her more with each passing day. I hated her for what she was doing to Clarke, and I hated her for bringing me into it, for tainting my journey of self-improvement.

Most of all, I hated all of the things I saw in her that reminded me of myself. It was like she was the Ghost of Christmas Freakin’ Future. A ghost I despised.

Maybe it wasn’t too late for me. Maybe all this was just my wakeup call.

My movie set salvation had a full tattoo sleeve, hot pink hair, and matching nails. Any question I had about her inappropriate appearance was forgotten within five minutes of her walking through the door. She was the assistant I hoped to one day become, one who knew everyone, anticipated everything, and was utterly calm despite it all.

“Yo.”

That was her introduction. She propped open the door to Nicole’s trailer and popped a bright purple bubble of gum. I was alone, surrounded by trunks, and in the midst of a panic attack. The girl saw my face, stepped inside and shut the door.

“What’s wrong?”

I didn’t think, just held out my list of Nicole’s demands, all screamed at me with morning breath fifteen minutes earlier, when she walked into the trailer and had an absolute conniption. I had scribbled down the items while Nicole stalked around the tiny space, waving her arms and opening and slamming things shut.

“Ha.” Another pop of purple gum by the tattooed stranger, the grape scent hitting my senses.
Grape
. When was the last time I’d had grape bubble gum? Elementary school?

She passed the list back. “Her contract outlined what would be in her trailer. She knows that.”

“So … I tell her no?”

She laughed. “Nicole Brantley? No. You call an outfitter and get her what she wants. But
she’s
paying for it, not the studio.”

I took the list from her outstretched hand. “And she’ll be okay with that?”

She shrugged. “She doesn’t belong in this movie anyway. Trust me, she won’t do
anything
to jeopardize her role. If she told you to get these perks, she expects to pay for it.”

I blindly followed the woman’s lead, listening as she made a call and rattled off Nicole’s list without pause. I dumbly handed over Nicole’s AmEx and verbally approved the ridiculous price the guy quoted. When she locked my phone and tossed it back, I finally found the manners to introduce myself.

“I’m Chloe. I’m new. Nicole hired me a couple of months ago.”

“Hannah.” She reached out and shook my hand. “I’m Joey Plazen’s assistant.”

My hand stalled halfway through the shake. “Really?”

She grinned, detangling from my grip. “Really.”

“Joey Plazen?
The
Joey Plazen?” my voice squeaked.

“That’s the one.” She headed for the door.

“He’s in
this
movie?” I couldn’t figure it out. Why would an A-list movie star be in something like this?

She paused in the doorway. “Yeah. It’s a big budget film.”

“But…” I couldn’t think of a nice way to ask my question.

“You wanna know why Condom Queen’s in it?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Great question.” She raised her eyebrows at me and, with another pop of gum, left.

I finally discovered the meaning of a hard day’s work. It had rained all day, the bottom half of my pants soaked. Running from vehicle to trailer, lugging all of Nicole’s things over every inch of the film grounds, had covered my skin in a film of sweat, rain, and dirt. And my
hair
. I’d been hoping for beachy waves, but with all the moisture, it’d become a teased out cotton ball. My feet were too tired to properly pick up and down and I dragged the soles of my flats across the nasty sidewalks until I finally reached the stairs to my building’s front door, my hand heavy as I reached for the handle.

When the front door of our building swung out, my hand wasn’t yet on it, and the swift motion caused me to stumble back, my foot missing the step below, the dark New York City sky tilting forward as I fell back.

I almost died. A backward tumble, down six concrete stairs, onto the sidewalk. For sure, my head would have cracked, brains spilling out, blood gushing, heartbeat flatlining.

But I didn’t die. I didn’t because a hand reached out, a body rushed forward, and my wrist was grabbed, my back supported under the warm cover of an umbrella. I inhaled the rich scent of oranges and leather on a dress shirt and looked up, my body carefully righted on wobbly feet.

“Carter?” I found my footing and stood. My super-sexy super was there in a dark blue dress shirt, charcoal pants, a thick watch glinting, hair neat, sex appeal kicking.

“Are you okay?” He looked at me with worry. “Are you crying?”

Crying? I reached up and ran my hand underneath my eyes. My fingers came away black. Oh. Guess that cheap mascara I’d grabbed wasn’t waterproof.
Great
. I probably looked like a drowned raccoon. “Rain,” I mumbled.

“Sorry about the door.” He stepped right and opened the door, holding it for me.

“It’s fine.” I stepped inside. “Fixing something in a suit?” I nodded to his outfit, the hour late.