He shrugs. “It’s L.A.,” he says, as if that’s all the explanation required.
I am going to say something else but stop when I see her.
She’s here.
My fingers tighten around my glass, and my stomach starts flipping over like a gymnast on the uneven bars, swoop, swoop, toss, spin—
“Breathe,” Tanner coaches. “Everyone has to run into their ex-girlfriend for the first time since a breakup. You’re just getting it out of the way now.”
But it isn’t Raven that I see laughing out by the pool. It’s not Raven with the glass of scotch and the long caramel hair and the smile that could power the whole goddamn Valley if she wanted it to.
It’s Devi Dare.
The balcony is lit up against the night, and the pool sends blue-white glimmers dancing across her face. She wears some sort of shimmery gold halter top that drapes low, exposing the smooth bronze skin of her sternum and teasing me with the hidden curvature of her tits, and leaving almost her entire back bare.
With her short black shorts and ankle-high gladiator heels, she doesn’t just look fuckable, she looks beautiful, and I wish I had a camera right now. I want to film her here, laughing and golden with the sparkling grid of the city behind her, and then I want to take her to a beach and see what she looks like against a backdrop of inky sea. Maybe we could drive up north, find an empty stretch of highway, and I could film her walking on the dark asphalt. With that shining gold top and those fuck-me heels, the contrast of her with a desert highway would be so stark and so gorgeous and thought-provoking. The kind of shit you see gif-ed on Tumblr.
And then she turns and sees me through the floor-to-ceiling window. There’s a moment where her eyes narrow, as if trying to make out my face in the dim interior of Vida’s living room, and then her face blossoms into the kind of smile that makes me want to give her everything in my wallet. If my stomach was swooping before, it’s a tornado now, whipping up emotional debris and lust and all the fantasies I’ve ever had about this woman, and I only barely remember that I’m supposed to be Worldly and Zen Logan in time to give her a flirty grin in return.
As she turns back to her friends, I realize my highway film would be all wrong. Devi is the living antithesis of asphalt. Devi is energy and health and vibrancy. She’s sunshine and butter-yellow flower petals and the sweet earthy smell of cinnamon and cloves. I was right before, with the ocean idea, or maybe the desert in the dark, when the night flowers are in bloom—
“Thinking about who you’re going to fuck?”
A sharp voice jolts me out of my directorial reverie, and I blink to find Tanner gone and Vida Gines standing next to me, a bright pink drink in her hand. She arches an eyebrow at me as she cants her head toward the massive windows, indicating the balcony outside. “I saw you making eyes at Devi.”
Worldly and Zen, I remind myself. Vida doesn’t need to know that I’m mentally comparing Devi to the flowering night desert. Be casual.
“Devi’s fucking hot,” I say, taking care to keep my voice casual. “Lots of hot girls here.” And then for good measure, I take a drink and look casually around the room. Casual Logan, that’s me.
Vida takes a drink of her own, but that eyebrow stays arched and I know I’m not fooling her one bit.
“Great party,” I volunteer, trying to deflect attention away from me and my overt ogling of Devi. The last thing I need after my insanely public breakup with Raven is rumors of a new fling. “Congratulations on acquiring Lelie, by the way.”
Vida nods. “Lelie is an amazing studio. Great vision, great philosophy. Tons of potential for profit. Which is why we should talk.”
I hear her, but for a moment, I zero in on the way her nails are painted the exact shade of her drink. Pink nails, pink drink, pink lips—the kind of thing a director would deliberately orchestrate. I make a mental note to toy around with this kind of visual sometime in my scenes. Surely, the girls wouldn’t mind me choosing their lipstick color? If it was for art?
“Logan?”
I snap back to her. “Sorry, what?”
That eyebrow is practically touching her hairline now. “I said we should talk.”
“I’m always happy to hear what a smart lady has to say.” And then I find the small of her back with my palm, leaning in to whisper, “Do you want to find someplace a little less noisy?”
Despite our age difference, and despite the fact that I know she only wants to talk business, my proximity affects her. She shivers and then laughs, pushing me playfully away. “You know how to make a woman feel young, Logan. This way.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say in a mock-submissive voice, and she rolls her eyes, but a suppressed smile tugs at her lips as she walks past me. I drain the last of my scotch, set the glass down on a nearby table, and follow.
We go down an open flight of steps, all roughly welded metal and dark wood planks, and then we’re in the heart of Vida’s filming operations. As we walk down a darkened hallway to her office, I see rooms filled with St. Andrew’s crosses, rooms furnished like high-school classrooms, rooms filled with nothing more than bare white walls and beds. And not all of these rooms are vacant; as we pass the last one on the right, I see that a small group of people have availed themselves use of one of the beds. They’re all skin and mouths and sloshing drinks, and without thinking, I reach for the doorknob and tug their door slowly shut before I walk into Vida’s office. When I first got into this business, I would have been right there with them, but maybe it’s the threesome I had this morning or the fact that I actually want to hear what Vida has to say, but the whole scenario fails to interest me.