Love, Chloe (18 page)

He turned away and lifted the pot, tossing words over his shoulder at me while he poured. “They should. I like brunettes. More specifically, ones with curves and exotic accents.” He shrugged. “You’re … you know.”

My fragile ego was almost glad he didn’t finish that sentence. “You know, you did kiss me.” I grumbled the accusation and was glad his back was to me, unable to see the embarrassed burn on my face.

He turned around, watching me over the top of his cup. “I kissed you because I was irritated and you were being a pain in the ass.” He shrugged again, lifting his cup up for a sip. “Things go smoother for me if everyone’s a little starry-eyed.” He tilted his head at me. “I mean—you didn’t think—?”

“No!” I hotly responded. “It’s just… you’ve got to work on your insults. I
do
have feelings, you know.”

“Sorry.” He smiled. “If it makes you feel better, I like your spunk. You keep me on my toes.”

I scrunched up my face in response. “You like me for my personality? Another insult to my ravishing beauty.”

“But a complement
to our friendship.”

“You’re not my type either, you know,” I grumbled out the lie, turning to leave.

He laughed. “So I’m forgiven for the tabloid’s heinous behavior?” he called out.

I didn’t respond, pushing open his trailer door and letting it slam behind me.

His parting shout came faintly through the door. “Just remember to brag about me! Big dick, Chloe! Remember—big dick!”

A big dick? Yeah. I’d say that was appropriate.

“You are a genius.” Nicole beamed at me, her whitening trays stretching her smile in a terrible way. “Genius.” The word was muffled through the plastic, and I bit my cheek in an attempt not to laugh. “Throwing off the press like that?” She clapped her hands together with unrestrained glee.

“Glad it worked.” I smiled sweetly, as if the smearing of my personal reputation was something I did intentionally, just to distract the tabloids from
BLL’
s financial woes.

“Here.” She pulled out the top drawer of her trailer’s vanity and rummaged through it, pulling out a piece of paper. “You deserve this.”

I looked down at the paper, which was a card from the Waldorf’s spa, announcing their grand reopening, along with an offer of fifteen percent off. A
coupon
. Nicole was offering me a coupon as gratitude. A coupon for spa services that I couldn’t afford. I held it out to her. “I can’t afford…” I swallowed hard. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m trying to save money right now.”

She looked at me with confusion, her eyes darting from me to the card. “Oh,” she finally said, reaching out and plucking the card from my fingers. She hesitated, then held it back out. “Then book me a facial and massage. For Saturday, if they have availability. These long days are killing me.” She turned back to the mirror and bared her teeth, examining the color before checking her watch. “How much longer do I need to keep these on?”

“Another five minutes,” I said quietly, rubbing the back of my neck in a futile attempt to relieve some of my own tension.

She let out a huff of irritation and I decided, right then, her nails drumming against her counter, that I hated the woman.

“
There’s
the love of my life!” The shout was loud enough to stall productivity, and I glanced over my shoulder to Joey, who held out his arms and walked toward me as if he expected an embrace. I stopped him three paces out with the dirtiest look I had.

“Ouch.” He stopped in his tracks and clutched at his heart. “Don’t tell me. A divorce already? Perez will be so devastated. He drew hearts around us and everything.”

I fought a smile and he threw an arm over my shoulder, ignoring my attempt to push him off.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said quietly, steering me around a set stand and toward the catering truck. “All of your problems are solved.”

The chances of Joey solving all of my problems in six hours was highly unlikely. I let him pull me along, my feet weighing twenty pounds, and it had nothing to do with my supercute boots. “I’m not like you Joey. My parents—”

“I know all about your parents,” he interrupted. “My publicist gave me the scoop. And don’t worry about it. Katie in Mixing has already agreed to sleep with me, just to throw the wolves off your scent.”

“What?” I came to a stop, his arm dropping from my shoulder. “Are you serious?”

“Don’t feel sorry for her.” He winked at me. “I’ll make sure she enjoys it.”

Oh, I was
sure
she’d enjoy it. “And how will
that
help?”

“We’ll leak some photos, I’ll grope her in public, and our little kiss will be forgotten as quickly as your boss’s embarrassing attempt at a career.” He smiled that famous smile, and my mind stuttered, still stuck on Katie’s involvement in all of this.

“Katie’s going to
sleep
with you? Just to throw off the press?”

“Uh … yeah. Technically, we’ll be fucking more than sleeping but…” He shrugged. “You get the point. In twenty-four hours, I’ll have solved all your problems.” He stepped toward the truck and urged me forward with his hand. “Come on. You owe me a drink.”

I followed him to the catering truck, unsure if Katie in Mixing was stupid or lucky. Unsure if
I
was stupid for believing in this plan. Was he right? Would it all go away that easily?

Vic the Dick
Is such a Prick
He took my heart
And stopped its Tick

And to think I got a C in Modern Poetry.

It was hailing. The top of the SUV drummed with the pelts, a soothing beat except that soon Dante would stop and I would have to step out into its fury. I watched hail bounce off the hood of a taxi and hoped it would stop before we got to set.

We were a few hours behind Nicole, a grooming appointment for Chanel taking up the morning. Dante laid on the horn, cursing out a passing car, and I glanced at him. He was being quiet. Extra quiet. I’d tried to chat with him, even poked a few jabs at him, but had gotten nothing. Not a sharp response, not a laugh, not even a smile.

“Everything okay?” A minor in psychology and that was the best I could manage. Pathetic.

“It’s fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.”

He glanced back at me. “
You
seem fine.”

“What’s your point?”

“With
Paulo
.” He sneered the name.

Oh. I swallowed the remaining bit of peppermint in my mouth. “When did you find out?”

“Nicole got out late last night. Mr. B told me to go pick her up. I guess she didn’t get the message. I pulled up and saw them together.”

I didn’t know what to say. My first emotion was relief at finally having someone to talk about it with, to confide in. Except, Dante seemed
pissed
. At me? At Nicole? At both of us? I couldn’t tell. I studied him, picking up on the tight grip of his hands on the wheel, the hunch of his back.

“So you’re just gonna cover for her? That’s your job now?” His voice was cold, almost mean—a tone I’d never heard him use.

I looked out the window, his words more accurate than he realized. My job
was
to cover up the affair—and that job was the only thing keeping me fed, keeping my cell phone on, keeping my health insurance active. He was loyal to Clarke … but necessity, right now, was keeping me loyal to my bank account.

I raised my voice to talk over the hail. “It’s not my business. I stay out of it. She wants to have an affair, whatever.” My words came out airy, showing nothing of the way it bothered me. And it
did
bother me. I had a pit in my stomach half the time I was on set. I worried whenever she disappeared. I felt guilty whenever I thought of Clarke. I wasn’t heartless. I just had to act it, for long enough to get on my feet.

Then again, most downward spirals probably started that way. Small moral adjustments made and justified by income needs. Maybe that was how my parents’ crimes had started. I sucked in a deep breath, startled by the thought.

It was a lot easier to be judgmental and morally sound, back when I didn’t have to worry about money.

I sat cross-legged on my couch, a bowl of cereal in my lap, and flipped through channels. My cell rang and I glanced at it, Vic’s name on the display. I wavered, a second of indecision before I picked up the damn thing and answered it.

“Hello?”

His voice whipped in and out, bursts of static hitting the receiver. “Hey babe.”

“Hey Vic.” I gave a convincingly aggravated sigh and then mentally high-fived myself.

“You dating movie stars now?” Ah. There was the reason for his call. Jealousy had always been Vic’s weakness, possessiveness his calling card.

I looked at my half-eaten bowl of Lucky Charms. “Seriously? I don’t have time to talk about this.”

“Joey Plazen is a piece of shit, Chloe. He’s stuck his dick in half of LA.”

There were so many immature comments I could make in response to that but I shut my mouth and managed, for once, to not sound like the jilted ex. “Shocker. You don’t like him. I do.”

I hung up quickly, before he could say something that stung. My chances of dating Joey were slimmer than Nicole Ritchie, but the chances of falling back into Vic?
That
was a real danger. I shouldn’t have answered the phone, shouldn’t have fanned his fire. I stared at the phone and wondered if he’d call back, then scooped out a handful of Lucky Charm marshmallows. I shouldn’t have egged him on, especially since Joey’s photos with the girl from Mixing had already hit the Internet, his quest to distract the press through sex completed. Using Joey to make Vic jealous was a lost cause.

I had a moment of weakness and pulled up Vic’s Instagram, scrolling through his recent posts, all from Dubai where forty-six minutes ago he’d posted a pic of some brunette lying back on a bar with champagne in her belly button, hashtag
cheers
. I threw my phone back down and flipped channels for another twenty minutes. Called Benta, who sent me to voicemail. Called Cammie, who answered, mid-movie. I whispered an apology, then scrolled through numbers, my list of friends significantly reduced after graduation.

I stopped on Joey Plazen’s name and considered it. Moved on. Made it all the way through the alphabet and back. Then, his sexual sacrifice still fresh on my mind, I texted him.