Love, Chloe
Page 39

“He said that. To me. After our last production meeting.”
“Well, he’s an idiot,” I sputtered. “I have no interest in getting back with him. None.” I took a bite of the croissant and closed my eyes. It was hot. So freaking good. I cracked an eye long enough to reach for the minibar handle and grab a juice. Yes. I could definitely live here. “Aren’t you and Carter friends?” I mumbled the question through a delicious combination of orange juice and flaky sugar.
“Yeah.” He dismissed any history with Carter with one shrug of his shoulder. “But you were with Vic first. You need to reconsider this, Chloe.” He stood from the couch and paced. PACED. Like we were discussing a nuclear agreement and not a nonexistent relationship with my ex.
“Why do you care?” I sat down in the closest chair, the breakfast box in my lap and looked through my other options. Not a lot unless I wanted to go in the cream cheese direction.
“I want you to be happy. Vic is settled, he has a good job, spoils you rotten…”
“Has a dick that finds every blonde in town…” I finished off his list and tossed the box onto the coffee table. “I know you can act better than this. Shut the F up and tell me the truth. What’s in it for you if I date Vic?”
He stopped pacing. “We need more money.”
I about fell out of my chair. “Already? It’s been a month!”
“We have another three weeks left to film, Nicole says she’s tapped, every other investor has bailed, and it’s not much—just another five million.”
Nicole says she’s tapped. I almost snorted at the absurdity of the statement. Clarke had to be the one stopping that financial hemorrhage. I shrugged. “Well, I’m not this film’s hooker. And I’m not yours either. If BLL needs money, make some cuts to the budget. Your afternoon massage, for example.” His eyes narrowed, as I wiped my mouth. “I shouldn’t have to date an asshole just so your movie gets made.”
“Does Carter know?”
I looked up. “Know what?”
“About you and Vic.” He nodded in the general vicinity where Vic had had me.
About you and Vic. The words were so simple, yet so ugly. I looked up at his face, everything in me going still. “Are you going somewhere with this?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Maybe someone should tell him.”
The threat was clear. It was also stupid.
“Wait.” I stood. “You want me to break up with Carter, or else you’ll try and break us up by telling him about Vic?” My voice rose and fell enough times in that question that I hoped Joey saw the stupidity in his logic.
“It’s not about me wanting you to date Vic. It’s about me not wanting my friend to get hurt.” Joey’s bullshit response lit me on FIRE. If he didn’t want Carter to get hurt, he wouldn’t be pushing me to … UGH. I was in a conversation with a crazy person.
“You’re right.” I tried a different tack, Joey raising his eyebrows warily. “I think Carter should know about Vic. About…” I gestured in the direction of the sex and wondered how much Vic had told him. Vic had loved to talk about our sex life, to his friends, to complete strangers…
“She is, she’s absolutely incredible.” His hand ran up my bare thigh and under the hem of my dress. “You are, you know that baby?” I smiled when he nuzzled my neck, his watch heavy and cold on my thigh and I felt his fingers sneak around the edge of my panties.
“Vic,” I whispered. “Stop.”
“We fucked on the way here.” He turned away from my neck and toward the guy at the next stool, some Wall Street yuppie who was staring at us like he wanted to toss aside his martini and wade right in. “You wouldn’t think that, from looking at her, right? All innocence until the car door closes.” He tugged a little on my panties, and I put a hand on his chest and pushed. Hard. When he released me, his hand taking an exploratory route home, and leaned back, he winked at me. I frowned and reached for my drink, wanting a distraction, something to keep my eyes away from the stranger.
Part of it had turned me on. Vic bragging, other men wanting. It was an aphrodisiac that had him ripping off my clothes as soon as we found a bit of privacy. But it was just as often a source of arguments, a breach of trust. And right now, with my mistake shoved in my face, I hated Vic for sharing that with Joey.
I stood and grabbed my purse. “I’ll tell Carter.” I smiled at Joey, and his eyes narrowed. “Tonight. So you won’t have to worry about his precious little heart.”
And just like that, the threat of blackmail was gone.
In its place, my anxiety spiked.
60. My Middle Name is Classy
The Psych Myself Up to Tell My New Boyfriend About Sleeping With My Ex Party was well underway. Granted, it was a little light on party guests. But I’d had quite an interesting time downing half of a pizza and three beers on my own, a meal that put me solidly in the drunk category. Not the best place to be when trying to coherently confess your soul.
I’d also turned just a teensy bit emotional. Maybe it was the hit I took off the joint that I found in one of my old purses. Or it was post-period hormones but whatever the reason, by the time Carter knocked on my door, I was half crying, half panicked.
I shouldn’t have been so freaked out. Except that Carter was the first guy I’d liked in a long time. And he wasn’t damaged or an asshole, which was a new thing for me.
I opened the door, and Carter swayed a little. Oh, wait. No. That was me. I swayed a little and my hand tightened on the door. “Are you okay?” His eyes concerned, his brow furrowed, and he stepped forward and grabbed my arms, sort of holding me up.
“I’m fine.” I giggled. I didn’t know why I giggled. I was nervous, and my stomach was in knots and a fifteen-year-old girl’s giggle came out of me. He smiled a little, and I wanted to kiss him for it.
“I take it we’re not going to dinner.” He eyed my pizza and the empty bottles, which I swore I had thrown away but nope, they were sitting right there, on my coffee table, giant pieces of evidence. And oh shit, he was right; we were supposed to go out for sushi. The pizza had been a frozen one that I had planned to heat up as just a snack. One piece, that was all I’d have, something to tide me over until dinner. The beer had started the same way. One tiny piece of pizza and one beer, just to calm my nerves and pacify my stomach. Then … my eyes drifted over the train wreck on my coffee table. I didn’t handle stress well.
There’d been a speech I’d planned. I closed my eyes and tried to remember it. Something that started with my history with Vic. It’d been a good speech. I’d practiced it twice. Carter’s hands were holding me up by my biceps, I glanced down at them and the words just blurted out, without introduction or warning.
“I slept with my ex. In Joey Plazen’s trailer. The night before he gave me the car.”
Then … with his hands still wrapped around my arms, I leaned forward and vomited.
Super. Classy.
I know.
I opened my eyes and blinked, my alarm clock coming into fuzzy focus. I rolled over carefully, stilling when I realized I wasn’t alone, Carter next to me, stretched out on top of the covers, jeans on, a couch pillow squashed underneath his head. I closed my eyes and did a self-assessment.
Foul taste in my mouth? Yep.