Love, Chloe (14 page)

My mind flashed to Clarke, the intensity on his face when he’d cornered me in the house. “Keep an eye on her.” He’d said the words shortly, with a bit of an edge. “For me.”

What good would keeping my eye on her do? What would I do with more information? And wasn’t that why Nicole had given me a raise? To keep her dirty secrets?

I groaned and dropped my head to my chest, too confused to know what to do. In my back pocket, my cell buzzed, and I fished it out of my pocket. It was a text, from a name I’d rather not see right then.

Clarke
.

The text was short and deadly.
Seen anything?

I stared at it, no idea how to respond. The meeting ended, bodies bumped against me in their exit, and I still stared down at those letters.

Seen anything?

C9. C9. C9

Carter lived in C9. Not that I’d been thinking about it. But I couldn’t stop imagining the
what ifs
. Especially when I was alone in bed, my body lonely, my hands wandering, my cool sheets sensual in their brush against my skin.
What if
he knocked on my door?
What if
I was in bed, like this, just waiting?
What if
… I rolled over in bed and pulled my blanket over my head.

C9. It was one floor and three doors away. I didn’t know how long I could fight against it. I swore his damn apartment was calling my name.

I zipped up the front of Chanel’s coat, buttoning the top button and adjusting the hood, her tiny tongue darting out and catching my wrist. I smiled at her, picking up her tiny body and heard his voice. “Chloe.”

I set down Chloe in her travel bag, taking my time before I turned to face him, trying to smile. “Mr. Brantley. Good morning.”

The words came out well. Smooth and casual. Like my heart wasn’t pounding. Like my mind wasn’t racing over what to say when he asked the question that I knew was coming. I’d never responded to his text. I couldn’t think of how to. Finally, after four or five hours had passed, I decided to just ignore it. Because, you know, that always made problems go away.

Clarke stepped into the kitchen, the click of his shoes painful on the polished floor. I held the edge of the counter tighter and leaned against it, trying to think of something to say. The air suddenly felt thick. Hot.

Clarke stopped three feet from me. Close enough I could see the worry in his eyes, the pinch of his forehead, the bits of silver in his dark hair. Silver. He seemed too young for silver, yet too masculine for anything else. I looked at him and couldn’t understand why Nicole would want anything else. How could she kiss Paulo when she had Clarke?

I looked away, reaching for my coffee cup and took a sip, hoping caffeine would help.

“Was I right? Is she…” he paused as if the words caused him pain. Closed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. Dropped his chin for a moment and when he raised it, every feature was hard, his next words dark and low. “Is she … sleeping with Joey Plazen?”

The small bit of coffee in my mouth threatened to spew forward in a
Pitch Perfect
stream of embarrassment. I clamped my lips shut, swallowed hard to force the coffee down, and it went down the wrong pipe. I coughed, wheezing as I gripped the counter and leaned forward. Clarke moved closer, a concerned look in his eyes, and I waved him off. His sexy hands rubbing my back might be the only thing that could have made my condition worse.

When I finally regained my breath, tears at the corners of my eyes, I tried for composure. “You think she’s sleeping with
Joey
Plazen
? Seriously?”

His eyes darkened. “Don’t protect her.”

“Listen to me.” I squared my shoulders and met his stern gaze head on. “Joey Plazen
hates
her. I’d never tell Nicole this, but he complains about her to every cast member who will listen. There is absolutely
no
chance they’re having an affair.”

He yanked out his tie, letting out a heavy sigh. “Are you sure? I thought…” He ran a rough hand through his hair and scratched at the back of his neck, tilting his gaze back to mine. “It’s just…” he continued, “something’s
off
. And it’s been off before.” He lifted his chin. “In Paris.”

I knew what he was referring to. Five years ago. There’d been rumors, then photos, then footage from the hotel elevator. Nicole had been filming a tiny made-for-TV movie that no one knew about, until her affair with her co-star had made all the gossip sites. Her co-star had been married to a pop music superstar and had publicly begged forgiveness, but Nicole had always vehemently denied the evidence. The story had fizzled out, but the Internet never forgot, the story still popping up in my Google search.

“I swear, nothing’s going on between Joey and Nicole.
Nothing
.” I emphasized the last word, and his frame relaxed a little.

“Okay.” He wiped a hand over his face and straightened. “Thanks. I’m sorry to even ask.”

“It’s okay.” I smiled, like a good little honest assistant. Didn’t even check out his ass as he turned and left the kitchen. Returned to packing Nicole’s bag and avoided Chanel’s critical gaze.

For a good little honest assistant who hadn’t lied, I felt filthy.

I was in Nicole’s trailer when I heard her scream. The sound faint, it came from outside and I locked my phone, almost grateful for the interruption. I had just started playing Vic’s voicemail, one left the night before, his words slurring but intentions clear. He loved me, he wanted me, would I please forgive him … the same message I had heard ten times before. The same message, just like the others, that I saved, too weak to hit the
delete
button. I’d already listened to it four times, my behavior bordering on pathetic. I stuffed the phone in my pocket and swung open the door. Jogging down the steps, I followed the sounds of a Nicole Brantley hissy fit, rounding a set stage and almost running into the drama.

Set 5. Lights were on, cameras up, and bodies were gathering, every person within a hundred feet gathered around like it was free queso day. Nicole was screaming at Joey, her arms waving, fingers pointing, and he was laughing, a combination that lit her anger on fire. Hannah passed me a bottled water and giggled. “She flubbed a line,” she whispered. “Joey made fun of her. It didn’t go over well.” I took the water and realized the opportunity I was missing. Grabbing for my phone, I recorded the second half of the fight. Then Paulo waded in, avoiding the stabby motions Nicole was making with her finger, and stopped the drama. I ended the recording, and stuck my cell back in my pocket.

“Planning to sell that?” Hannah whispered in my ear, giving me a whiff of her granola breath.

“No!” I hissed.

“The gossip mags will pay bank for that shit.” She nodded toward my pocket. “Just don’t let anyone see you. You’ll be banned from set quicker than it takes Joey to jack off.”

I made a disgusted face and she laughed, pushing on my shoulder. “Lighten up. Come over to Makeup with me. I need to introduce you to the new girl there.”

I let her pull me through the set, sending a final glance back at Nicole, who was getting a shoulder massage from Paulo. The woman needed to be careful. I hadn’t heard any whispers yet of an affair, but someone would catch on. That was all she needed, for everyone to realize it wasn’t Nicole’s bank account that landed her this role but something else.

In my pocket, my phone burned hot against my butt. Hannah had a good point, one I hadn’t thought of. Once I used the video, I needed to delete it.

I texted the video to Clarke. It seemed like a good idea. The video protected Nicole while putting to rest any of Clarke’s concerns about an affair between her and Joey. A brilliant move on my part, if I could say so myself.

Clarke texted right back.

Thx. Sorry I was paranoid.

A harmless text, one he’d probably sent during a meeting, his attention half on the words as he nodded in response to something an associate said. I opened the text in a corner of Makeup, sitting Indian-style against a wall as I listened to Hannah barter Joey memorabilia for free makeup.

It’s okay. I understand.
I typed the reply, then locked my phone and stuck it in my pocket. I understood, all right. More than he knew, not that he cared about my baggage. I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall. Wondered how late today’s schedule would go. The prior night, we’d been on set until eleven, my feet physically aching by the time Dante dropped me off at home. And our mornings had been starting at 6 a.m. There weren’t enough lattes in the city to make me a morning person. I started to doze against the wall when my phone buzzed again.