I choke out a laugh at her ridiculous statement. “Excuse me?”
She ignores my bullfrog-like croak and holds out a hand as she steps toward me. “Windsor Reed. It’s a pleasure to meet you . . .”
She lets her words trail off, fishing for a name. The polite side of me automatically fills it in and shakes her hand.
“Greer Karas.”
Our handshake freezes mid-pump. “You’re the billionaire’s sister.”
I cringe at the description. Like Cav said—I’m more than that. I’m an actual human being in my own right.
“My brother is rather infamous,” I say instead.
“No, screw the brother. You’re the one who got away, and this poor bastard moped for . . .” She looks to Cav. “How long did you mope? And then you got all determined.”
Cav’s look is hard and pointed. “That’s enough.”
“What? You don’t want her to know you were worthless and pathetic for months and months because you had to leave her in New York?” She raises two fingers and presses them between her eyebrows. “This is the kind of stuff that’s helpful to mention when you’re trying to win a woman over, Westie. Get with the program.”
She shakes her head, drops her hand, and looks at me in female commiseration. “Men aren’t always the brightest creatures, and then put some tits in front of them and they basically lose all common sense. If it helps his case with you, he talked about you when he got drunk. Only to me, as far as I know, and never by name.”
So Cav didn’t walk away without remorse. Even though it shouldn’t, the regret and sadness she just described make me feel a little better. Like I mattered.
“Enough, Win. You good on the lines now?”
My gaze darts from Cav back to the blonde, following the change in subject like a tennis ball across the Wimbledon court.
“They should know better than to pull this crap. I forget the lines as soon as we wrap. It’s the only way I can make room for new material.”
“It’s Casablanca. It’s not complicated.”
“Casablanca?” I ask, insinuating myself into the conversation.
Cav nods. “We just wrapped the filming of the remake. That’s what we have to go into the studio to do the voice-overs for.”
Windsor grabs an orange handbag off the table between two club chairs facing the desk. “As long as you can keep from breaking Peyton’s face, we’ll be all good.”
Cav’s expression darkens immediately. “Fucking punk. If he says a goddamn word to Greer, I will not be responsible for my actions.”
“To me?” I’m so confused. How do I fit into this?
Windsor smiles triumphantly. “Cav has already defended your honor with his fists once on this set. Mitch will kill him if he does it again.”
I look from one to the other. “Umm . . . details?”
Her laugh sounds exactly the same as it does on TV. Husky, sexy, and perfect. “Don’t you worry about it. Just be happy you’ve got a real man and not some pussy-ass bitch.”
Hearing the crass words come out of her mouth takes me aback, and she sees it on my face.
“I can tell it how it is. My ex-husband was way too much like Peyton for comfort.” She tosses her golden locks. “So glad that’s over. Can you even imagine what a bloodbath it would’ve been without the prenup?”
I can’t imagine, nor do I want to. This entire conversation is so far outside of what I expected to be involved in when I woke up from my nap, I’m not sure how to react.
Windsor tucks her clutch under her arm and turns to Cav. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t be late or Mitch will kill you. You should’ve heard him after you told him that you couldn’t get back a couple days ago. Pretty sure his blood pressure is through the roof, so that whole relaxing vacation thing is shot.”
Cav shrugged. “Some things are more important than work.”
Windsor’s gaze lands firmly on me. “I can see that. So nice to meet you, Greer. I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you.” She doesn’t slow, just clicks on her sky-high heels out the front door.
I turn back to Cav. “She’s . . . interesting.”
He smiles. “Windsor’s a fireball. Not a firecracker, because it doesn’t have enough destructive power.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him if they were . . . together, but I don’t honestly want to know the answer. Can my newfound jealous streak handle knowing that he and the perfect blonde had a thing?
Who am I kidding? They definitely had a thing. The red carpet pics of the two of them were snapped regularly for months.
My thoughts must be clear on my face, because Cav is studying me. “She’s a good friend. That’s all.”
“I didn’t—”
“You didn’t have to. She was a great date to premieres because I didn’t want to take someone who was going to expect more, and she was going through a nasty divorce. She’s good people, and definitely a helpful friend to have in this business. Basically, she’s Hollywood royalty. Born and raised in this business, so she was able to teach me the ins and outs and tell me who I could and couldn’t piss off.”
“And you actually listened to her?”
His chest shakes against my side before the deep chuckle hits my ears. “Sometimes. Not all the time.”
“Who’s this Peyton guy? Why’d you break his face?”
Cav’s chuckle evaporates and he stills. “Not important.”