“Calm down? Do you know what this says? It says I’m the reason we’re behind schedule and over budget. It calls me a C-list actress!”
“Well, this is your first big—” His stupid statement was cut off by another scream, this one punctuated by Nicole’s toss of the newspaper onto the floor, her fists waving in the air as she physically jumped up and down on it. Jumped up and down. In four-inch slingbacks. I watched in fascination.
“Fix TTHHHIIISSS!” she screamed, continuing her jumping fest, her breasts bouncing with each hop.
“I’ll call the publicist. We’ll get the papers to issue a retraction,” he started.
“It needs to be done NOW. Or so help me God…”
“It’ll be fixed.” He made a shushing sound and stepped closer, his hands reaching out and rubbing her arms, pulling her protesting body into his chest. Her stance relaxed for a moment, folding into his arms and pushing away only when she realized he was sweaty.
“By tomorrow,” she pouted, stepping out of the ruined newspaper bits.
“Okay.” Clarke shot a relieved look my way, and I smiled weakly, wanting nothing more than to be out of their kitchen, their house, their lives. Nicole snapped her fingers at me.
“Chloe, order beignets from that place around the corner.” Her tone was mild, like nothing had happened, and I nodded, looking down at my laptop.
And that was when I saw it. The top story on TMZ. Joey Plazen dating a new Mystery Blonde? Right below the headline was a grainy photo of Joey, his lips pressed hard to his latest conquest.
Me.
36. A Big Dick
It’d been less than four hours since the TMZ story hit and the entire world of entertainment had gone nuts. I locked my phone and resisted the urge to chuck it in the trash, my social media exploding as every friend I’d ever had felt the need to tag me on every news outlet that picked up the story. Thank GOD I wasn’t on Facebook anymore. One less gallon of blood in the shark-infested waters.
My phone rang and I glanced down, Nicole’s name lighting up my screen for the third time in the forty-five minutes I’d sat on these steps. Ignoring Nicole was dangerous, but I had to talk to Joey and whatever she needed would draw me from that task. I silenced the call and wondered, for the tenth time in the two weeks since my hookup with Carter, why he hadn’t called. Granted, we hadn’t exchanged numbers. But he was a resourceful guy, with full access to my rental application. From behind me, Joey’s trailer door swung open, and I pushed my butt off the steps and stood, wiping off my Hudsons, ready to give Joey a serious piece of my mind.
Instead, Hannah stared down at me. “You waiting on me?” She dug her phone from her back pocket as if to check for calls.
I shook my head. “Him. I have to talk to him about the … you know.” I glanced around nervously. Nicole was still clueless. One benefit of me cutting out her tabloid articles, I could hide all mine with one visit to the shredder.
“The what?” Hannah raised her eyebrows, showing off impressively applied purple shadow and matching lashes. Apparently, the Joey Plazen camp didn’t stalk the tabloids. I suddenly felt pathetic, my attention-hungry boss and me.
“Pictures of me and him.” Her eyebrows rose even higher. “No, not those kind of pictures,” I rushed to explain. “Tabloid—is he in there?”
“He’s all yours,” she said airily, jogging down the steps. “But I’m just gonna warn you, he’s in a bitch of a mood.”
That was fine. I was in a bitch of a mood too.
I pushed open the door and stepped into Joey’s trailer, him sitting directly before me, on a worn leather couch, a notepad in hand, empty coffee cup on the table before him. “What do you want?” he growled.
I shut the door. “Have you seen the articles about us?”
“I don’t read the tabloids. First thing I learned.”
“They’re calling me your new fling. They have a picture of us kissing.” I spit out the words, and he lifted his eyes from the notepad, looking into my face for a long moment before tossing the pad down.
“So? Your street cred just went way up. You should do some interviews. Tell them I have a big dick and made you come ten different ways.” He laughed and reached for the cup, raising it to his lips before scowling into it. “Get me some coffee, will you?”
“No.” I glared at him.
“You’re seriously going to make me get my own coffee? I stopped doing that like eight years ago.” He gave me a wounded expression that was so blatantly adorable that I almost laughed. No wonder his ego was so big. He was impossible to hate.
“Yes.” I glared despite my urge to smile. “This is serious.”
“Don’t worry about the pics; they’ll move on to something else in a few days.” He waved his hand at me and stood, lifting the cup.
“Can’t you do something? Tell them we’re not dating?”
He turned around, away from the coffee pot. “I don’t date. They know that. And besides,” he shrugged, “you’re not my type.”
My self-esteem sank further, passing right through the floor. “Do they know I’m not your type?”
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.
37. My Boss Is A Bitch
“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.”