Page 23 of Crossing the Line
“Is that so?” Waverly asked.
“That part and that award should have been mine.”
“Geneva,” Waverly sighed. “Don’t you think this industry is tough enough without trying to pit against each other as enemies?”
“Don’t pretend to go all ‘girl power’ on me. You are the enemy. Youstolethat part from me!” Geneva gestured with her glass and sloshed vodka onto the museum’s marble floor.
Xavier circled around and came up behind Waverly. He put his hand on the small of her back, but said nothing. She was tense and vibrating under his palm, but her voice was as smooth as honey. “Let’s get this straight, Geneva. I didn’t steal that part from you. I auditioned and landed it. I beat you fair and square. You’re a decent actress. You could be better if you’d lay off the booze and the coke, which by the way is still visible under your nose.”
Xavier felt an odd burst of pride as Waverly defended herself. Classy and indomitable.
“You’re a fucking whore!” Geneva snarled and reached out with her talon-like claws. Her pretty face rearranged into an ugly mask of hatred. Xavier didn’t wait to see whether she was planning to slap, shove, or rake her nails over Waverly. He simply grabbed her by the bony wrist and squeezed.
“Let’s get one more thing straight,” he said in a friendly tone. “If you touch her, I will take you down and restrain you in front of all these nice people. Then, I’m going to press charges and, you can spend the next six months of your life pretending to be sorry for what a miserable asshole you are and trying to clean up your image with endless hours of community service. And in the end, no one is going to buy it because, as previously stated, you’re a miserable asshole.”
Geneva’s glossed up purple lips gaped open on a gasp. She bared her teeth and sneered, “You can’t talk to me that way!”
Her voice was a screech and curious people in gowns and suits were starting to look.
“Geneva! There you are,” a woman in a navy pantsuit with a short brown bob bustled over. She grabbed Geneva’s other arm. “If you’ll excuse us,” she said, flashing a desperate smile at Waverly. “Geneva’s car is ready to take her home.”
“I don’t need to go home. She needs to go home,” Geneva said, jutting her chin in Waverly’s direction.
Xavier waited until the suit had a firm grip on Geneva’s arm before letting go of her wrist. “Lovely meeting you,” he called after them as Geneva was hauled off.
“Did you just swoop in here and White Knight me?” Waverly said, raising her glass to her lips.
“No, Iintervenedwhen I detected a potential security threat,” he corrected her. They watched Geneva get dragged into the elevator by her handler.
“Who was that?”
“The screaming maniac throwing accusations or the overworked woman who corralled her?”
“Both.”
“Geneva St. Regis, totally not her real name. She’s an actress who is still very upset about a part that I beat her out for when I was fifteen.”
“You were fifteen, and she accused you of sleeping with someone to get a part?”
“Par for the course, trust me. The woman who swooped in and saved us all some embarrassment is Geneva’s long-suffering agent. Probably hoping to get one last movie out of her before dumping her in rehab.”
“Speaking of rehab. What’s in the glass?” He frowned at her drink.
“Relax, Saint,” she rolled her eyes. It’s club soda. I don’t drink.”
“Ever?” he asked.
“Ever. You seem surprised. It’s not even legal for me to drink yet.”
“I’ve been at bar mitzvahs in this town that served booze to kids,” Xavier told her.
“Money can buy your way around a lot of laws,” Waverly reminded him. “But in my case, my mother drinks, so I don’t drink.”
“Simple as that?”
“Some things are that simple, X.” She smiled up at him, and he felt a funny twist in his gut. She was using her real smile on him, and it worked better than any weapon of destruction.
“There’s my favorite Sinner.”
