Page 13 of Out of the Gold

Chase

Mark yells, “Three, two, one!” In response, a bunch of us down our shots.

Exchanging the empty shot glass for a scotch—given the call time, this will be the only one I’m allowing myself . . . thankfully—I leave the little huddle and head toward the back of the club. Bars line one side, but the center dance floor is the main attraction. People cluster in curtain-lined alcoves with plush sofas throughout the rest of the dimly lit space. A DJ plays great tunes. Case in point, an Ozzy Martinez hit blasts through the speakers.

Across the room, long, blond hair diverts my attention. My body twitches at the sight of the unknown woman. Standing with her back to me, she gathers the lustrous locks into a ponytail. No! Such fantastic hair shouldn’t be mistreated like that. My feet start in her direction, with every intention of grabbing the silky mane and instructing her to keep it down. So I can wrap it around my fist as our naked bodies enjoy each other.

She turns.

All momentum in my body freezes, my cheek heating as if someone had slapped it. Seriously? Melody. Mydresser? No fucking way.

Disgusted at the vignette I conjured overher, I turn on my heel and stalk toward the sofas. She can go drape her freaking hair over every other man in this club for all I care. Before I realize it, I’ve approached an alcove occupied by locals and a few Italian women giggle. I clench my drink, struggling to retain my composure as the room closes in on me.

After more than a decade in the business, how did I make such a rookie mistake? It’s allherfault.

Hiding my annoyance at myself behind a smile, I hold up my glass. “Signorinas!”

On the sofa, two of the women separate and pat the cushion. “Sit with us,SignorWright?” The way the brunette says my name, with her thick Italian accent, is adorable. But not adorable enough that I’d take her up on her offer. I cast about for someone to save me, and locate Thomas standing near the bar. Our eyes lock.

“Thank you so much for your kind offer.” Taking my time, I focus on each woman, watching my PA approach in my peripheral vision. I take two more slow, small steps toward the sofa.

Before I reach them, a male hand lands on my arm. Thank God. “Excuse me, Chase. Sorry to interrupt, but I need to speak with you.”

Halting, I offer the women an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry. Another time,sì?”

One of the ladies pulls out a cell phone. After shooting a death glare to Thomas, she holds it up to me, now wearing a pleading expression. “A photo first?”

Please, anything to get away from these women. Narrowing my eyes at my PA like my acting teachers taught me shows annoyance, I retrieve the phone and offer it to him. “Would you mind?”

“Of course not,” he replies. I think her evil eye had its intended consequence.

I take a seat between the two Italian women, wrapping my arms around both of them. Thomas snaps three quick shots and, after kissing both of their cheeks, I leave with my assistant.

“Thank God you were here,” I mutter.

He chuckles. “Always. How did you get yourself into that situation anyway? That’s so unlike you.”

I shake my head. “I know. I wasn’t thinking.” I was thinking about my annoying dresser. All because she has hair like spun gold, the likes of which I haven’t seen before. She certainly doesn’t wear it like that when she’s with me—it’s always been hidden in a bun.

Thomas leads us toward an alcove with a few people from the set. When we approach, Thomas hooks his finger toward the dance floor and they make a show of getting up and heading there. Being the star of the movie does have some perks.

Sinking into the now empty sofa next to my PA, I swallow a big sip of my scotch. The burn trails all the way to my stomach. I refuse to let my face reveal my thoughts about the loathsome drink, which is what all the A-lister men are expected to drink nowadays. Too bad I prefer a nice glass of pinot noir. How did things come to this?

I rub my forehead. “I do appreciate the save, Thomas. I’ll pay more attention in the future.”

He tips his glass to his lips. “Thought they were going to flay me alive.”

I chuckle and place my glass down on a table. Leaning back into the cushions, I watch the dancers enjoy themselves.

Jessa sidles up to us. “Hey, Chasey, want to dance with me?” She wiggles her ample backside.

While Jessa’s hot, I’m still not feeling her. Even though I love dancing and would like to get out on the dance floor, I decline. She gives me a pouty face and tosses her rather brassy blond hair over her shoulder, which only cements my decision. “Sorry, Jessa. Not tonight.”

She leans over to me, placing her surgically enhanced tits in my line of vision. “We can do horizontal dancing, if you’d prefer.” Her hands snake around the back of my neck.

Placing my hands on her wrists, I stop her from completing the clench. “Maybe another night.”

“Fine. Your loss.” Jessa kisses my lips, straightens, and heads to the dance floor.

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