Page 128 of Out of the Gold

The package rolls, where each man is asked who he’s wearing and then the cameras roam up and down their bodies. When it comes time for Chase’s turn, I mouth “Versace” as he says it out loud.

I watch, transfixed, as he does a slow twirl, showing off the black three-piece suit with a skinny blue tie that matches his eyes. The piece moves on to another actor and I exhale. I was wrong. Our new hire looks nothing like him.

I set my uneaten salad down onto the coffee table and lean back, my mind reeling over seeing him again. This was bound to happen. He is a superstar and on the cover of at least two magazines a month. Not to mention coverage by such shows asEntertainment This Evening.

Memories of the first blow job I ever gave, right here in this very room, fight to surface. How he responded to my touch. The silk around my heart slips a fraction. With ruthless determination, I shore it back up and shove the thoughts away.

My attention is once again drawn to the television when the host announces they’re going to play an interview with the stars ofI Was Made for Her, the nation’s number one movie, after the break. I spend the next two minutes trying to force myself to tell Alexa to change the channel. And lose.

The interview rolls.

A scene from the premiere is first, with Cherie Adams on Chase’s arm. He’s smiling down at something witty she said. I’m sure it was clever, as he never smiles like that for something stupid. My stomach churns.

After several scenes from the red carpet, the interview starts. All three lead actors are in a room, talking with the reporter. They laugh at each other’s jokes. I’m fixated on Chase’s features. He looks tanned and happy and carefree. My stomach lurches again.

The reporter asks Chase what he enjoyed the most about filming the movie. He looks directly into the camera and replies, “We all got along so well, like a family. You don’t get that too often in movies, where you can simply relax and be yourself. There were no hidden agendas. That’s what I appreciated the most about this shoot.”

That’s how he described our shoot—it’s like he’s mocking me. I shift in my seat, pain welling from deep within. I force my eyes to remain on the television.

Before the interview ends, the reporter returns to Chase. “I see you brought Cherie Adams with you to the premiere.” She leans in. “Do you want to share any news with us?”

He mirrors her position. So do I. His eyes take on a mischievous glint. “She’s very special to me.” Then he sits back.

I collapse into my sofa, my hand on my clenched stomach.

“I would be remiss if I didn’t ask you about the rumors that you’ve been tapped to play Braxton Hunte in the upcoming movie about his band. Are the rumors true?”

“Yes,” I respond for him, my voice wobbly over the single syllable.

Chase swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’ve heard them as well.” He chuckles. His fellow actors join in his mirth.

The reporter wraps up the interview, clearly disappointed she didn’t get the scoop she wanted.

When the commercial starts, I finally find my voice. “Alexa, turn off the TV.” The screen goes dark.

My chest hurts. Chase looks like he’s having the time of his life, without a care in the world. And why shouldn’t he? He got an evening with Cherie Adams, in all her blond-haired beauty. Her bright blue dress was cut almost down to her navel, with a slit up to her upper thigh, which I’m sure he liked taking off. Not to mention he’s in the number one movie in the country.

I refuse to let his fucking coups get the better of me. My chin rises. I got what I wanted, too. I’m the lead costume designer on my show. Judith told me I earned it all by myself, not because of who my dad is. And I believe her. Besides, now that I’m making all the decisions, the top brass will have to see my worth.

Yes. We both got what we wanted. Only his triumphs come with a sex kitten on his arm and TV hostesses fawning all over him. My stomach flips at the way he was doting on Cherie . . .

When my eyes start to swim, I leap to my feet, swallowing over a hard lump. I haven’t shed a single tear for him, and I don’t intend to start now. My cell rings.

“Hi, Daddy,” I inhale.

“Hi, Princess. I haven’t spoken with you since you left. How are you?”

Not going there with him. Or anyone else. “I’m fine.”

Clearly understanding I’m not going to talk about what went down, he asks, “How’s your new job going?”

“Oh, it’s great.” I divert my thoughts by launching into a conversation about what I’ve been doing for the show, and he praises me for my hard work.Herecognizes my talent.

“Sounds like you have your hands full.”

“I do.”

“That’s great. Before I let you go, I wanted to ask if you’ve reached out to King and Angie?”

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