Page 122 of Out of the Gold

Chase

Thomas flutters aroundme like a feeding bird. The clicking of his pen makes me want to crawl out of my Versace suit and wrap my tie around his throat. With supreme effort, I maintain the mask I’ve been hiding behind for the past several days.

“What time am I picking Cherie up?”

“The limo’s going to arrive here in thirty minutes, then you’ll go to her house and head over to the red carpet. She’s been prepped with info about all the actors in the cast and will look amazing on your arm. She’s wearing a bright blue dress, which matches your tie. And your eyes.”

I roll my “matching eyes.”

“Also,” my PA continues, “we need to discuss the next several weeks until you start filming your next movie. Have you decided what role you’re going to take?”

I shake my head. “I’m meeting with Sam next week and will let you know.”

“Okay.” Five more pen clicks. “I’ve got you down for the party tonight, plus the one at Jessa’s in the Hills this weekend. Then there’s a club opening on the fifteenth, and . . .”

My mind wanders. I want to sit in my dark bedroom and disappear. It feels like my heart’s been half beating since that awful day at the Hunte’s house. When he finishes, I shrug. “Set up what you think is best.”

“Okay, I’ll take care of it.” He consults his watch. “The limo’s going to be here soon, so let’s make sure you’re all set.” He runs through the names of the designers I have on, which makes me think of a certain costume designer.

The one who refused to believe me when I told her the truth. Ihadforgotten about the audition. Well, mainly. I was honoring her wishes not to involve her with her father’s movie.

Damn Braxton Hunte anyway. Why couldn’t he have kept his big mouth shut?

I shove those thoughts to the side when the front gate intercom blares. Thomas answers it. “Limo’s here.”

He offers me a pair of sunglasses, and I double-check the arm. Prada. I’m sure he told me this before, but nothing’s staying in my brain. “See you tomorrow.”

Alone in the limo, I pour myself a glass of scotch and welcome the burn. All the while replaying Melody’s words.

“. . . a scheming, connivingmovie starwho used me to get this part.”

“I think I should ensure you receive an Academy Award for this performance. Best Manipulator of All Time.”

It’s the last one that scores the deepest cut. I told her I loved her, and this was her response?

Having to explain everything to my parents was beyond humiliating. Of course, they felt it would all blow over and began calling their friends to ramp up their standing in the community by having dinner at the Huntes’.

I take another swig of the scotch. Well, I’m done. If she thinks I deserve an Academy Award, then by damn, I’m going to show her. I’m going to walk—no, own—this fucking red carpet.

My co-stars will laugh at my jokes.

The press will adore me.

And because Iknowshe’ll see it, I’ll make sure Cherie hangs off my every word. Every delectable inch of the actress’s body will be putty in my hands.

I’ll showher.

It’s just afterone, and the after party is in full swing. Booze flows like the lines from writers, and everyone is either half-drunk, half-stoned, or both. Stunning starlets mingle. Hook-ups disappear in discrete rooms in the producer’s mansion.

Next to me, Cherie smiles and flutters her eyelashes. Which brings me right back to the time Melody did the same act, making Cherie’s attempt seem like a pathetic replica. I bite my tongue and brush her blond hair off her forehead. It’s the wrong shade. My arm drops.

“You seem to be a million miles away, Chase.”

I force my lips upward. “I was thinking about what’s coming up for me next. I’m sorry if I’m not paying you the attention you deserve.”

“Do you have any roles lined up?”

She’s asking about Braxton Hunte. I shrug. “There’s some parts in the hopper, but nothing’s been signed yet.” Not a lie. “How about you? What’s up next on your docket?”

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