Lucky for him, I still enjoyed an occasional romp in the hay.
Now, he had a fiancée and I had a hit TV show. Casual hookups were off the plate.
“You gave a good speech, though,” he said, referring to the acceptance spiel I’d delivered when Ty had, in fact, won the award I’d presented. “Much better than that shithead would have.”
“You’re just upset that he landed that role and you didn’t.” Was it shitty that I was glad for that? I had no relationship with the actors on NextGen. I could do my thing and go home. If Chris had been cast, it would have been harder to stay detached.
“Damn right, I’m upset. Doesn’t change that he’s a douche. I’d have done a better job and shown up to receive my accolades. You know what? I’m glad he didn’t show.” His eyes stroked down my body. “You looked much better giving that speech than he would have too.”
“Stop it. Megan’s just in the bathroom.”
He shrugged, not seeming to care that his future wife could potentially catch him ogling another woman. “You’re a wet dream, Em. I don’t mind telling you – when I’m not in the mood and Meg is, you’re my go-to fantasy.”
“God, Chris. Are you sure you aren’t the one who’s the asshole?” Amber’s philosophy had been that men would try to get under a skirt no matter what. “Might as well charge them for it.” I’d hoped she was simply jaded, but in the years that had passed without her, her point was made more than once.
I lived in Hollywood, though. That did qualify my experiences. The environment was only a step away from a whorehouse on so many levels.
As if to demonstrate my thoughts, Chris leaned in close, whispering in my ear, “Can’t help it. You inspire the naughty. You’re that kind of beautiful.”
I groaned inwardly as I pushed him away. I’d gotten it my whole life. I’d exploited it, even. But I’d gained some self-esteem in recent years and now the comments and the looks rubbed me in ways they hadn’t before. It was shitty to be valued for genetics. It was shitty to be treated as though it were my fault men were horny pigs.
You sure didn’t seem to mind it when the remarks and heated glances came from Reeve. The chiding voice in my head sounded more like Amber’s than my own. Which made it a hell of a lot easier to tell it to fuck off.
Chris read the disgust on my face. “Too much?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry. I’ll behave.” He studied me, without any sign of desire this time. “Seriously, though, how are you? I was disappointed when you didn’t come to our New Year’s get-together.”
“It would have been weird.” When he started to refute, I added, “Besides, I was out of town.”
“Nice. Where did you go?”
And now I regretted the admission. Because now I had to tell him. “Just to the Sallis Resort in Palm Springs.” And now I was thinking about Reeve, an ache settling low in my stomach. Lower.
“God, I haven’t been there in ages.”
“You’ve been, then?” It was meant as small talk. Easy words that didn’t require much focus.
“I used to spend a lot of time there. With Missy.”
Required or not, he had my attention. “Missy? Mataya? I didn’t realize you knew her.”
“You didn’t? I guess that was before I met you. I did some modeling gigs with her when she was starting out. We hit it off and stayed close right up until she died.”
“She started out at fifteen. Oh, my God. You could have been her father!” Not that I hadn’t slept with my share of older men.
“I wasn’t banging her.” His eye twinkled with a wicked gleam. “Well. Not regularly, anyway.”
I shook my head. Honestly, I couldn’t have cared less if he’d been fucking a teenager or not. What I did care about was what Chris might be able to tell me. If they were friends when she died, if Chris had visited her at the Palm Springs resort, did he have any insight into her death?
I was still searching for the best way to ask when he said, “Look, it was back in my cokehead days. I was a mess back then. So was she for that matter. But shh about Missy, because there’s Megan, and I don’t like her knowing much about that part of my life.”
I made a mental note to call Chris sometime for coffee and gossip without his significant other and turned my focus to my greeting. “Megan,” I said, maybe too brightly. “I absolutely love your dress. It’s Terani, isn’t it?”
“Thank you, Emily.” Her voice rang with possession. Her carriage was guarded. Although we were the same height, she peered down at me. “And you – don’t you look… cute… with those pockets.”
The only thing shittier than the way men treated a pretty woman was the way women did. More often than not, the catty remarks and jealous eyes made me want to show how easily I could steal their men if I wanted to.
I swallowed against the desire to be malicious. “You’re too kind. I went for comfort. I figured no one would notice me anyway.” Okay, I was a little snarky after all. Because people noticed me. They always noticed me. “But don’t let me interrupt your evening. It was good seeing you, Chris.” I leaned in and gave him the faux hug that was popular in my crowd. That was spiteful too. While it played as genuine, the contact was only to irk Megan. I nodded to her. “Next time.”
I glanced at the clock on my phone. It hadn’t even been an hour since the party had started and I’d promised my agent at least two hours of “presence.” When I’d protested, he’d said, “Everyone assumes you’re ugly. If you want your next role to be more than a voiceover, you have to show them that you’re not.”