Total Trainwreck (5 page)

Chapter Seven

The second the door closes I fall against the wall. Papers scatter to the floor and I take my head in my hands, sobbing weakly. My life is out of control again. Spinning wildly from my grasp. Now I’ve lost Devon and Maria? No way. I cannot handle this. She’s all I’ve got and they’re telling me we can’t hang out in public? Because being friends with her isn’t good for my career? Fuck that. How the hell does Devon live such lies? It feels so...dirty. And cheap. I love Maria like a sister and the thought of losing her crushes what little remains of my heart. They can’t do this.

Footsteps echo down the hallway. I duck into the restroom to clean myself up, because crying over this is not the professional image I so desperately need. I’ll get my shit together, hail a cab, and then I can lose it. I wipe my face as best I can, sucking up my tears and slapping on an actress’s smile. Until I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Good. God. A girl with insomnia as bad as mine really shouldn’t cry. My eyes are cherry red and nearly swollen shut. No amount of wiping can fix this. Desperate, I pull on my sunglasses. It’s a total diva move, but it’s all I’ve got.

Ready to face the world, I make my way to the elevator, ignoring everyone I pass. They all think I’m a bitch anyway. The door rolls open. I step inside and the smell of him wafts over me. That unmistakably male scent that hits me harder than coke ever did. My knees weaken and I grab at the disappearing door for support. It’s an involuntary move. I swear I don’t even know it’s happening until his arms are around me to break my fall. In the struggle to stand, my glasses are knocked off my face. I look up and find nothing but a breath separating me from the love of my life.

This, I totally can’t handle. Devon studies my red-rimmed eyes and the tears flooding back into them. I whimper to stop the involuntary sobs that shoot up my throat. Without missing a beat, he tucks me under his arm and ushers me out of the elevator and through to a nearby door.

His touch is everything, but I am in no way prepared for it. Tears stream down my face. I cover them with my hands to hide my weakness. I’m settled into a chair. A handkerchief’s soft folds brush against my cheek. He rests a hand on my shoulder then steps away. It happens so fast I can’t process the emotions. My eyes stay glued to the floor. The room quiets. We’re alone.

I have about two seconds to get my shit together. Devon doesn’t do drama. Devon also doesn’t get the satisfaction of knowing how badly he’s wrecked me. For the second time, I suck it up and fake enough composure to hide my internal meltdown. Later—I’ll lose my shit later.

Devon leans against a desk several feet away. He holds out my sunglasses. “You’re probably going to need these.” His expression is unreadable. Stony and stoic, but his temple throbs, which tells me he’s hiding just as much behind his composure as I am.

“It’s not what you think,” I say off-handedly, taking the glasses and dropping them in my bag. “I’ve got pink eye.” Damn, my super-junkie lie-on-the-fly powers are still strong. Even I’m impressed with this one.

“Pink eye?” Devon repeats, not believing a word of it. “That sucks.”

I shrug and look away. The office we’re in obviously belongs to one of the suits I left in the boardroom. It’s grand and fabulous and everything I’d expect from a fancy Hollywood type. But Devon leaning on the desk in a crisp gray shirt and black pants is, without a doubt, the best this office has ever looked. My thighs press together when the tanned expanse of chest peeking over an unused top button catches my eye. I know what lies beneath that button. And that shirt. And those pants. I let out a shaky breath and force my eyes away. But it’s too late. My addiction to this man roars back to life. All the need. All the want. All the desperation.

“How did your meeting go?”

“All in all, pretty fucking awful. They don’t want me hanging out with Maria. Say it’s bad for me and for
Mighty.
” I rest a hand that would much rather be tangled in his hair on my knee. A knee I didn’t realize was bouncing a hundred miles an hour until now. I root the heel of my Jimmy Choo to the floor, and struggle to remember why it is I’m so pissed at him.

“What?” He stands and starts toward me, but stops. “Don’t listen to them, Carly. I know how much Maria means to you. Iliad’s PR woman is a total tyrant. I’ll talk to them.”

“Oh, no.” I wave away his concern. “It’s just in public. They don’t give a damn what I do with her behind closed doors. It’s a lot like your life, I guess. I’m just not as comfortable living a big fat lie as you are.” The words shoot from my mouth before I even know they’re in there. Immediate regret washes over me, followed by resentment. And I remember why I’m so pissed.

A breath that sounds like a growl rushes out of him between tightly clenched teeth. He turns, stalks several paces away, then turns back with military precision. His hands are in his hair, trying to rip it from his scalp. Navy eyes smolder so hot they scare me. I have no clue what’s coming next.

“You are, without a doubt, the most infuriating woman I’ve ever met. I never once lied to you. Sure, things got way more complicated than either of us intended. But you’ve known from the beginning our relationship came with limitations.” He stops cold, chopping a decisive hand through the air at the same time he realizes they can hear him in the hallway. His tone softens. “You never had a problem with it before. Until the night of my gala—a night I’m trying to right the biggest wrong in my life—suddenly you decide you do and you ruin everything.” He leans in closer, our cheeks touching, and whispers the next part in my ear. “Did you ever stop to think what it did to me to see you heading down the same road that killed Dylan?” He straightens, forcing his composure once more. His eyes turn dull navy. “Don’t you dare sit there and act like this is all on me. You don’t do something like that to someone you
claim
to love.”

His words scorch through me, turning to ash my own anger. I’m leveled by the wounded look in his eyes, and immediately filled with disbelief that a man like him could love me so much. I’ve been blindly obsessed with my own pain, never once considering his. Assuming his silence was more to protect his carefully crafted imaged from the danger of an association with me. It never occurred to me his heart could break as easily as my own.

“I’m sorry,” I stammer, too stunned to cry.
Sorry
is useless—way too little, way too late. He stalks away, arms crossed, fingers working over his lips. “Devon, I’d never intentionally hurt you.” I leap to my feet and follow him. “The night would’ve been fine if I hadn’t had to endure hours of Heather hanging all over you. When I did, it only reinforced every reason we shouldn’t be together. You loving me makes zero sense. You and Heather seem right. It was more than I could handle.”

“How can you even question my life with Heather? You know the lie we live.”

“True, but I would rather French kiss a cobra than endure the HeaVon show in person for a single second. Watching your lover with someone else is the harshest hell there is.” I place my hand on his shoulder. The muscles relax under my touch. “I should’ve left. I’m so sorry I ruined things for you.”

He stares at my hand resting on him, an internal conflict playing over his face. With a sigh he turns, takes my hand and holds it as he peers down into my eyes. The storm cloud is lifting. The old Devon slowly returns, but it’s clear I’ve scared him. Wariness lingers in his gaze. Hesitation marks the moment he should take me in his arms.

He raises a hand to my cheek, brushes a cool finger down the length of it. “No, I shouldn’t have insisted you come.” He looks defeated. “You mean so much to me. I don’t want to lose you. But this is what my life is, and it’s not going to make you happy.”

“You always make me happy.”

“On set, yes. Here, no.”

He’s right. On set we are blissfully out of touch with our reality. Out of touch enough to pretend our happily-ever-after is within reach. In reality, I’ll only ever have half of him.

Can that be enough?

I was fine with the situation at the gala until Heather rubbed it in my face. I could’ve sucked it up and dealt with it because I knew the truth of everything. But when she started hanging all over him and he acted like he enjoyed it, I fucking lost it.

“You can tell Heather to lay off when I’m around. You accept Jamie. She needs to accept me.”

Skepticism lights his sideways stare. “Really? That’s enough to make you happy?”

“No, but it’ll help. We’re due back on set in a few weeks. We’ll figure it out then.” I realize what a cop-out this is, but I cannot stand to be crossways with this man. Once we’re on set we’ll find our normal and figure a way out of this. I know we will.

“Okay, I’ll talk to her.”

His arms circle my lower back and he pulls me close. The familiar, insatiable need rises from my core and I’m pulling at his buttons before his lips find mine. When they finally do his hands slip lower, under my ass, raising me up level with him. My legs circle his back.

A knock lands against the door, but neither of us let go. Ernest sticks his head in.

“Devon, they’re waiting on you,” he says, his head turned to give us some privacy.

“Give us a second.” Devon’s words vibrate against my lips so he doesn’t have to break the kiss. He brushes a hand over my bare ass cheek and groans his disappointment at having to let me go. But he does. “So we’re good? For now?”

I bite my lip. Of course we’re good. I’m incapable of denying this man anything when I’m in his arms. I nod. He leans in for another kiss—one of the good ones that sings sweetly from my lips to the tips of my toes.

“This isn’t over,” he promises with a wicked grin.

My feet find the floor. I wipe my lipstick from his mouth. A naughty thought crosses my mind, because that’s what he does to me. With an even wickeder grin, I hike up my skirt, loop my thumbs over the hip strings of my purple La Perla thong and pull down, slowly stepping my Choos from the tangle of lace. I wad them into a purple ball and slowly tuck it into his breast pocket. “Sweetheart, it’s just starting,” I tease, then readjust my skirt and saunter casually from the room. Devon is reduced to open-mouthed, dumb staring. Score two, Carly.

* * *

Later that evening I get a text.

We talked. She agrees to back off. I’ve missed you.

I smile to myself, knowing he’s in the palm of my hand for the moment. Desperate to keep him there, I fire off a naughty reply.

Good. I’ve missed your dick. When do I get to see him again? ;)

It takes pure balls and a whore’s confidence to send a text like that, but judging by his reaction to my little panty party this afternoon, he probably just came in his Calvins. It’s exactly what he wants. And I’m not about to let him slip through my fingers again. He responds with a single word suggestive enough to slick my thighs on the spot.

Soon.

Chapter Eight

“It just isn’t done.” Spence shakes his head and grunts out another chest press. My militant trainer has already brutalized my muscles for the day. I ran into Spence in the gym lobby and decided it was now or never.

“Why not?” I play dumb with a perky, fake smile.

“For a rival studio to support a film that isn’t theirs for award votes?” He looks at me like my stupidity surprises him.

“Are your films nominated?”

“Nominations haven’t been announced yet, but we have several in the running.
Mighty
won’t come out in time to get serious consideration. Iliad fucked themselves with that release schedule and they’re trying to find a way to cover their asses.” Another chest press constricts his speech.

“Why would they screw themselves on purpose? They’ve been around long enough to know better.” I sip my smoothie, nervously biting the straw.

“They were indulging Devon and thought it’d be a straight-to-DVD throwaway.” He shrugs and stretches his arms between reps. His biceps are impressive, once again calling into question Maria’s sanity for taking Ryan’s calls when she has a man like Spence Hugo on her tail.

“Oh.” I pull out my phone, stalling while I think about what he’s just said.

Spence seems certain of Iliad’s ulterior motives. I have to believe him because he knows about things like release schedules and nominations. If Iliad had thought
Mighty
would be a huge, critically acclaimed success, they’d happily sit on it and release it next year at a better time. Instead, it’s hyped and scheduled for a holiday release with the shoot-’em-up action flicks Devon normally does. Movies like that never get nominated for anything more than special effects. A total throwaway category, in my opinion. Instead,
Mighty
has become the
Seabiscuit
of awards season, making Iliad look like total amateurs.

I pull up TMI, mindlessly scrolling down the page while trying to figure out how to spin this so Spence will agree to host. I couldn’t care less about celebrity news that doesn’t involve me. Until a picture of Heather Troy slides onto my screen. I roll my eyes and click on the image, because apparently I’m a masochist.

She’s arriving at the Chateau Marmont for dinner with friends. Which is shocking as hell because I didn’t know she had any of those. She’s in all black, of course, but this ensemble is different. It’s a skin-hugging lace catsuit, a style that demands one wear fancy lingerie because it shows. A normal woman would wear black panties to keep it classy. Not Heather. I enlarge the photo with a thumb and forefinger and nearly drop my smoothie.

What. The. Hell?

This disgusting skank is wearing my underwear. A purple La Perla thong practically glows through the black lace covering her bony ass. No way we bought the same pair. Heather only buys black. So how in the hell did she get them? And what in the hell does she think she’s doing wearing them?

Question one... I can’t even. Rage rattles my brain to think of the possibilities.

Question two is simple. This is her not-so-subtle way of telling me to fuck off. Wearing my underwear is the whore’s equivalent of a double dog dare. A bring-it-on-bitch challenge that further proves how nutso she is. Hiking her leg and peeing on Devon would be less obvious. She wants to spook me and damn if it isn’t working. I drop to the padded gym carpet, landing so hard I bounce.

“What’s wrong?” Spence asks, sitting up from his bench.

“Nothing.” He gets a canned female response because I honestly don’t even know where to begin explaining all that’s wrong in my life. What the hell is she doing with my thong?

“Carly?” Spence lays a hand on my shoulder. It startles me. I turn to him and shake it away, closing my phone so he can’t see. “I’m...um...leg day.” I force a smile. “My muscles are Jell-O.” It’s a horrible lie he gracefully accepts. But he’s not stupid. He knows me well enough to know there’s something more.

“Shit, Carly. I’m sorry.” Spence leans over and takes a swig of his water. He obviously assumes my horrible lie is about his refusal to host, oblivious to the numerous piles of dung littering my life.

“No, it’s fine. I understand.” I wave a hand like it’s nothing. Until the thought of breaking this news to Iliad piles onto my growing list of problems. Okay, maybe it’s not okay. I groan over the total trainwreck my life is these days, not even knowing where to begin sorting out the mess.

“This is your big break. I want to be supportive. You can use my yacht. Insiders know the boat. They’ll get the joke. But my name on that invitation is a press story I can’t afford. The boat is the best I can do.” Spence is confident, giving a definitive Chairman of the Board nod.

“Wait...really?” I shake my head, so consumed by thoughts of bitches in purple panties that I don’t realize what he’s saying. The massive problem he’s solved for me.

“I’m doing this for you, not them,” he says.

“Oh, Spence.” I throw my arms around him. “Yuck!” I say, and recoil from his sweat. He chuckles like I’m an idiot. “I owe you the biggest favor in the world for this. How about I start with Maria?” I offer, adding a fake giggle for good measure. It lodges in my throat like a rock.

“Don’t bother.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t want Ryan Algood’s sloppy seconds.” He wipes sweat from his face with a towel.

“Right.” I look down at my phone. It’s burning a hole in my hand. “Look, I gotta run. I’ll have Iliad send the information. Thanks again. You’re the best!”

I can’t get out of the gym fast enough. Bursting through the doors, I suck in greedy breaths of sunshine-filled air, hoping they calm my insides, because something is seriously about to explode in there.

Without hesitation, I dial his number. He answers on the second ring.

“Hey, Sunshine. I was just thinking about you.” His voice coos into my ear, everything I ever want to hear. But I’m too livid to care.

“You’re right, it’s not enough,” I seethe into the phone, gripping it so tightly it creaks under the pressure.

“Whoa! What are you talking about?”

I dip into the alley between the gym and a café for some privacy.

“I can’t do this. I can’t be the other woman. Heather is never going to let this happen, regardless of what she may tell you.”

“No, she’s cool with it. Heather couldn’t care less who I’m sleeping with. You’re giving her way too much control over this situation.”

“Oh, am I? Then tell me, why the hell is she wearing my panties on the front page of TMI?”

“What?” he asks, his voice going flat with disbelief.

“Oh yeah, pull it up. You’ll see.” I pace, rage and fire up a cigarette while I wait.

“Fuck me,” Devon whispers when he sees what she’s done.

“How the hell did she even get them?” I snarl, spewing cigarette smoke between my teeth.

“The maids? Hell, I don’t know, maybe she bought some.”

“Bullshit. This isn’t a coincidence. Heather would never wear bright purple panties. She is totally playing with me.”

“Exactly, she’s playing with you. Heather doesn’t give a fuck about me. She’s competitive as hell and beyond bored. Don’t let her tricks get to you.”

“Too late. I can’t do this. I refuse to be the other woman. Find a way to get rid of her, Devon. I mean it. Or I’m done.” I throw my hand in the air, hating the words, but knowing it’s the only way. Heather will never let us be happy, and until Devon finds a way out from under her thumb, I refuse to stick around and suffer this abuse.

“But, Carly, I love you.” He says this like it should be the only thing that matters. It twists my heart like a vice, but it reinforces my decision.

“And I love you. But Heather isn’t my problem to solve.” I hang up before he has the opportunity to change my mind. I lean against the alley wall, sliding down it until my butt hits pavement and my head falls onto my knees. Fuck my life. For every single step forward, I take a million back.