“You touch me again, and I’ll make sure they blackball you, Westman. You can’t fucking push me around.”
“I can and I will. Watch me, you little fuck. You put your hands on a woman, and every time they’re gonna side with me.”
I stand and move behind Cav, my hand pressing against his back. “Baby, it’s okay. He tried to impress me by telling me he had six inches for me. I hope he was joking, because that’s just sad now that I’ve had a real man.”
My words are pitched low, but I project well enough for Peyton to hear them clearly.
“You little—”
Windsor, who I didn’t realize had followed Cav out of the soundstage, bursts into laughter. “Six inches? God, Peyton, at least tack on a few extra if you’re going to try to make it sound appetizing.” Her laughter quiets for a moment and her next words are hushed. “Oh Lord, did you already artificially inflate your size? Because if you did, that is sad. My ex-husband can recommend some excellent penis pumps. Guaranteed to give you at least a little more length and girth to please the ladies. You want his number?”
If I were on the fence about Windsor before, I’m now firmly in her camp. She’s da bomb.com.
Peyton’s face goes from flushed red to enraged red when she drops the penis-pump line. It’s safe to say he probably wouldn’t call 911 if any of us were dying.
“Fuck all of you. I’m done. If Mitch needs anything else, you can tell him to suck my dick.”
“All six inches of it?” I can’t keep the question from my lips, and Peyton snarls as Cav and Windsor laugh.
He turns and storms out the door.
“I always figured he had little-dick syndrome. It explains so much.” Windsor taps a finger against her brilliantly red lips. “I’m guessing he’s a solid five inches. Maybe four. His poor little Disney Channel girlfriends. They’re going to be in for quite the shock when they get a look at a real man.”
Tears of mirth spill down my cheeks and I try to wipe them away discreetly, but it’s impossible. Cav pulls me into a hug and uses his thumbs to catch them.
“It’s not usually that eventful around here,” he tells me, “but goddamn, Peyton’s a fucking douche. Next thing you know, we’ll be catching pics of him in some European gossip rag with a horse cock photoshopped on it so he can save face.”
I press a hand to my chest, but the laughter won’t stop. “Oh my God. If this is your job, it’s the best.”
“Oh, honey, you ain’t seen nothing yet,” Windsor drawls like a perfect Southern belle. She looks pointedly at Cav and drops the accent. “You’re bringing her to the party at my place tonight. It’s a small gathering of friends, nothing too intimidating. The paps won’t be able to get past the front gate, so you don’t have to worry about that nonsense. It’s going to be a hell of a good time. Only the fun people. None of the little pricks like Peyton.”
Party? At Windsor Reed’s Hollywood pad? Banner will kill me if I say no.
I look to Cav and he shrugs. “If you’re up for it, we can go.”
My mind instantly goes where every girl’s mind goes at this point—what am I going to wear?
“Um, I didn’t exactly come party-dress ready on this trip,” I mumble to Windsor.
Her smile is wide and genuine. “No worries about that. I’ll have something sent over. I wouldn’t let you show up underdressed or out of place. Trust me, G.”
All of a sudden, my world has tilted in an entirely new direction. With the nickname she’s bestowed on me, the same one that my best friend uses, I feel like I’ve become part of Cav’s world.
Is this what he wanted when he brought me here? To see if I could fit and we could have a life outside New York and both our pasts? Is that what I want?
A few weeks ago, I would have said my entire life was in New York—my job, my friends, my family. But right now, with Cav’s hand resting on my hip, I feel like I really could have a new beginning here. Maybe a new job. More friends. And my own family. It’s a foundation-rocking thought, but I’m thinking it nonetheless.
Windsor is waiting for an answer, and I give her the only one I want to speak. “That would be great. Thank you so much. I can’t wait.”
She smiles at both Cav and me. “You two are so fucking cute. Come have fun tonight; I swear it’ll be worth it.”
“Thanks, Win. We’ll be there.”
“What the hell did she send you? Is that the whole dress?” I’m ready to kill Windsor.
Short. Tight. Red.
It’s traffic-stopping.
In all reality, the dress is no worse than what you see any night of the week in the LA clubs, but on Greer, it looks sinful. I want to wrap her up in a nun’s habit so no other man can see all her soft, creamy skin. Her dark hair is pulled up, leaving her neck bare and vulnerable.
“You don’t like it?” Greer turns in the mirror, tugging the short skirt of the dress down so it covers a few inches past the curve of her ass.
“Fuck. I love it, but I still want to kill her. She knew exactly what she sent you, and she did it to see if I’d let you out of the house like that.”
Greer turns, and her anxiety about the dress is clear on her face. I’m not helping matters with my outburst.
“It’s not that bad, is it? I mean, it’s not like you can see anything.”
She’s right, you can’t, but the length of the dress and the color makes me want to bend her over and pull the skirt up before I paddle her ass until it matches the red of the fabric.