Trashed (Stripped 2)
Page 74I have absolutely zero clue how to answer that without losing my shit. I glance at Adam, swallow hard, and think fast. “I. Um. I met Adam on Mackinac Island when he was there for a charity dinner. And as for modeling…um.” I have got to stop saying um. Fuck. Get it together. “It just wasn’t right for me. New York was too hectic, and the hours just killed me.”
“Is there any truth to the allegations that you assaulted Ludovic Perretti?”
I blink. “I—that’s not something I feel comfortable talking about.”
Adam steps into me, forcing me to move away from the interviewer, putting himself in front of her. “That’s enough, Amy. Thank you.”
He even knows the names of the reporters. It’s crazy. I can’t remember anyone’s name unless I’ve met them more than once.
We’re moving through the crowd, and then I feel Adam go stiff beside me. “What the holy fuck is she doing here?” he hisses.
I scan the crowd, and I see her. Medium height with an hourglass figure, monster tits and sleek hips. Pouty bright red lips. Vivid blue eyes, long chestnut hair brushed to a glossy shine and floating in loose spirals around her slim shoulders. She’s wearing a scrap of slinky dove-gray silk that exposes as much as it covers without being exactly slutty. Four-inch cream heels, diamonds dripping from her ears and draped around her throat, dangling on her wrists.
God, she’s drop-dead gorgeous. It makes me feel immediately inferior, because I can’t deny how intensely, sensually lovely she is.
And she knows it. She’s the center of attention, the unexpected guest.
Emma fucking Hayes.
She sees me at the same moment that I see her, and she struts straight through the crowd of photographers and journalists and sycophants and panting men. “You must be Des,” she says in a voice that dripping with sultry sexuality.
Cameras flash, cell phones are held up to record video.
“Well, Adam…I was invited by Drew.” She holds her hand out, and a man I remember meeting at the dinner on Mackinac moves to her side.
He’s tall and handsome with thick blond hair swept artfully to one side, and his hazel gaze rakes over me briefly. “Hey, Adam.”
I think Drew is one of the writers, or maybe a producer? I don’t remember. All I know is he seemed like an asshole then, and nothing has changed. He slides his arm around Emma’s waist, a snarky, shit-eating grin on his face. He’s taunting Adam, I realize, who is tense, taut.
“I see you’ve finally moved on,” Emma says, glancing at me, looking me over, assessing me, dismissing me.
Adam seems at a loss, for once. He wants to lash out, I think, but he doesn’t want to make a scene, especially with all the press looking on. I want to say something cutting, something intelligent and witty and hurtful.
“Nice implants,” is what I end up saying.
Adam snorts in an attempt to hold back laughter, and Emma goes red in the face, trembling all over. I worry for a moment that she’s actually going to attack me. Drew obviously thinks the same thing, because I see his arm tighten around her waist.
She’s silent for a moment, and I can see her jaw grinding. Eventually she sneers at me and says, “Just remember I had him first, bitch.”
What a comeback. I roll my eyes. “Which only makes me seem that much better.”
And then we’re out of the foyer and moving toward the doors leading into the auditorium.
The reality of what I just did hits me. I just insulted Emma Hayes in a very public setting. I got catty. Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with me?
I hear people talking behind me, discussing me; the scene that just unfolded, and I twist to see people typing furiously on their cell phones. Tweeting, or Facebooking. Putting the whole ugly exchange out to the world on social media.
I stumble, and Adam catches me. “I can’t…breathe,” I rasp. “Get me out of here.”
He ushers me into a coatroom. A young girl in a theater uniform is leaning against a wall, cell phone in hand, a bored expression on her face. But then she sees Adam and she goes star-struck, stammers a hello, and starts toward him.
“Out,” Adam says, and the girl scurries out, ducking her head. He turns to me. “Des, babe, what’s wrong?”
I bend over, hands on my knees, and force myself to breathe in slowly. “I just…with Emma… ‘Nice implants?’ What the fuck was I thinking?”
Adam laughs. “That was probably the worst thing you could say to her, because, and this may be TMI, but they’re actually real. It makes her absolutely furious when people say that.”
“I insulted her at your premiere. Everyone was watching. There’s probably video on YouTube already. I can just see the tweets now: Hashtag catfight, Hashtag Des is a cunt.” Adam laughs even harder, and I finally straighten to glare at him. “Why the fuck are you laughing at me? Remember what I said about embarrassing you? Well, hello embarrassment. Yeah, that just happened.”
He takes a deep breath and pulls me close to him, holds me to his chest. “It was fucking funny, Des. I’m not embarrassed at all. I’m actually a little turned on that you got in her face over me.”
He snorts. “You’d crush her like a fucking bug, babe.”
I press my forehead to his chest. “She’s so beautiful it’s not even fair.” I let out a frustrated sigh. “I mean, her tits are almost bigger than mine, and I’m twice her size. And they’re real? Come on. Not fucking fair.”
Adam groans. “Fuck me. You’re not going to obsess, are you? She’s beautiful, sure. But she’s not you, Des.”
“Which goes in her favor, I think.”
“Are you forgetting what she did to me?”
I shrug miserably. “So she’s a skank. I bet she gave better head than me.”
Adam pushes me to arm’s length. “For fucking real? Destiny. Jesus. She’s my ex. She broke my goddamned heart and did so publicly, without a scrap of remorse. And you’re comparing which of you gives better head? Come on, babe. Let it go.”
I just stare at him. “I notice you’re not denying it, though.”