Page 50 of Fool's Gold

My karma is so goddamn bad that I’ll be punished in my next ten thousand lives for taking advantage of her this way. She deserves better. She deserves Jacob.

The thought of him intruding on this private moment doubles the amount of stomach acid eating away at my insides, and I tug Empire closer, our bodies fitting together perfectly. The way I knew they would.

She’s sleeping soundly, her lips still uptilted in a perfect smile, and whatever she’s dreaming has got to be good. Eventually I follow her into sleep, but my dreams are anything but peaceful.

SEVENTEEN

The harsh lights overhead can’t compete with my glow.

I’m lit from the inside, and, of course, everyone is going to know. They’ll see the change the same way I see it every time I look at myself in the mirror. My smile is contagious, or so my makeup artist assures me. She rubs my shoulder and grins before moving to put my hair in curlers for the day.

I settle back into the makeup chair with my green tea clenched between my palms and my stomach surging every time I remember what happened.

How Marcus felt inside me, stretching me, molding me to fit him.

“Whatever vitamins you’ve added to your routine, Empire, you’ve got to let me know. Your skin is stunning, and right now, I can’t put my finger on it, but there is something about you.”

“Happiness,” I answer honestly. “That’s it. I had a really great night.” Don’t blush.

“Well, you deserve it.”

I do deserve it, don’t I?

River hates the word. She always says that no one deserves anything, because hard work and a generous spirit will bring good things to you. Deserve is for alcoholics describing their need for a drink.

I’m not sure I believe it anymore. Because I’ve been through enough shit in my life to feel like, yeah, I do deserve this happiness. It’s been a long time coming. Spending the night in his arms, my body rocked with the aftereffects of sex, was a dream come true.

I’m worn and sore and elated.

Spoiled rich girl, right? So many tabloids use the title, even after my parents died. Money buys a shit ton of things but happiness isn’t really up there.

It’s the first day on set where I actually feel like I might do a good job.

The good mood trails me to my mark, all the way through Belinda calling action.

My lines flow seamlessly, and my scene partner gives off the same vibes as a teddy bear. Which is strange because Greg’s body double is a burly man with shoulders that could be used to plow a field.

He’s a honking bear of a dude and about as gay as they come.

Between takes, Wayne’s got me laughing into my fruit plate. Through it all, Marcus is there, slinking along the sidelines and barking out orders. Every time I hear his voice, something hot and wild sizzles in my veins. His grumbled demands aren’t always for me, but they turn my head anyway.

“You did well today,” he murmurs, cornering me near the espresso machine toward the end of our shooting schedule.

“Thank you,” I whisper back, like this is a secret language between us. The rest of the world might as well not exist.

Like a kinky sort of foreplay. Now I know how his voice sounds when he’s calling my name and deep inside me. Those low groans and grunts are an aphrodisiac.

He glares at a boom mic operator. “Keep up the good work, and we’ll be able to wrap quickly.”

“That’s great news. Have you heard anything about Greg?” So far the man’s status has been kept from the majority of the staff, but from the way Marcus and Belinda whisper to each other, they’ve got to know something.

His lips twist in a scowl. “He’ll be fine. Should be back and ready to go with makeup in a few days.”

“Good thing you didn’t hit him hard, then, huh?”

“Oh, I beat the fuck out of him. He’ll learn not to touch his costars inappropriately again.”

Someone calls out his name, and Marcus stares over my head, dipping his chin in a brief acknowledgment.

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