Total Trainwreck (6 page)

Chapter Nine

If I looked any hotter, I’d replace James Franco’s fine ass on that famous Gucci billboard overlooking Sunset. The backless black silk jumper I’m wearing is to die for. It’s elegant, understated and sexy—everything I’m supposed to be—beyond fuckable, and totally unattainable. Strings were pulled to get me a same-day appointment with L.A.’s most sought-after stylist. My balayage highlights are on point and the thousand-dollar hair extensions flowing down my back are so buttery soft I can’t keep my hands off them.

We’re three stories above the Pacific Ocean. Booze cruising the Malibu coast on the late Vincent Hugo’s favorite toy. It’s either an insane display of his wealth and power or the biggest compensation purchase ever. Considering how much ass Spence gets, I’m pretty sure small dicks don’t run in the family.

“I’m excited to see your movies, Miss Klein. I’ve heard your work is outstanding.” A man I’ve never seen in my life approaches Spence and me. We’re standing in the center of the party, everyone milling around us like we’re a centerpiece. He leans in for an air kiss and I can’t help but return the gesture. Kissing strangers like they’re my besties is the theme of the night.

“That’s very kind. I hope you enjoy what you see.” Charm and grace drip from every pore. Because that’s who I have to be. The man turns to Spence.

“Mr. Hugo.” He clasps Spence in a strong handshake like they’re old college buddies. They lean together. The man whispers into Spence’s ear. They pause, then erupt into laughter. Spence is still chuckling when he walks away.

“Who was that?”

“The president of the Academy.”

“What did he say?”

Spence shakes his head and takes a sip of whiskey. “You don’t want to know.”

“Yes, I do.”

“He inquired after the number of nominations it would take to get you in bed,” Spence says through a devilish smile from behind his glass, his focus straight ahead on the man’s back. I choke on my vodka water and shoot daggers at the man’s head disappearing into the crowd. Typical. All men like that ever care about is fucking the talent. I roll my eyes and wish Maria were here to share my disdain. I wanted her here, but the studio’s PR tyrant had a damn coronary at the suggestion.

Where the hell is he? The instructions were clear—all cast members were to be on the boat by seven sharp. Every time the elevator door rolls open my head snaps to attention, expecting it to be him. It’s eight and the deck is too damn crowded for me to see.

This was supposed to be an intimate gathering. Fifty guests later, the top deck is at capacity. One deck below, the pool is covered with thick, clear plastic. Beanbag chairs in the party’s colors of white, ivory and sage face a gigantic screen stretched across an exterior cabin wall. Blankets, champagne buckets, popcorn bowls and trays of hand-rolled Cubans line the aisles. I’ve never been to one of these parties, but I can’t imagine it gets much cooler.

Evening has fallen into night. Lights dot a distant shoreline. Warm breezes waft up from the inky water, bringing with them the sea’s sweet saline scent. It’s enough to calm the iron butterflies battering my poor stomach. I’ve been on pins and needles waiting for him to show. Maybe he isn’t coming. The thought makes my heart hurt. For days I’ve awaited his response to my demand. Nothing. This morning, faced with the reality of silence possibly being his answer, all I could think about was how badly I want to be in his arms. I ache for it. To feel the fire only his touch brings. To hear his voice slide wickedly into my ear. To know the bliss of his body melting into mine. The thoughts alone start my pulse racing.

I close my eyes, trying my damnedest to let the vodka do my thinking for me. When I open them she’s there. Leaning heavily on the bar, staring me down through glassy eyes like she’s about to pounce.

Heather Troy, trying to appear all innocent and pure in a flowing white dress and upswept hair. She fails miserably. A woman like her can never look innocent. Calculating, yes. Innocuous, no. I stare back, refusing to give an inch. The memory of our last meeting fuels my hatred. At the gala, she had the audacity to act like I was nothing more than an annoying fly she needed to swat away. That stung like hell.

Now? She’s sizing me up, which gives me the tiniest hope that maybe all isn’t lost where her tabloid husband is concerned. But, where is he?
I’m on my tiptoes peeking over the crowd when I hear him.

“Spencer.” Devon’s voice rings clear as a bell behind me. I spin on my heels so fast I nearly fall over. He’s smoking hot. Like sex-god-of-the-seven-seas hot. A crisp white button-down hangs open at the neck under a soft blue-gray twill blazer. Salt-and-pepper hair, moody blue eyes and five o’clock shadow perfection. He’s enough to make me open-mouth gawk. How does he get hotter every time?

Devon extends his hand to Spence but his eyes are firmly on me. My scalp prickles under the attention of his navy stare. It’s intense, hard and bold as hell. The kind of stare a man gives when he’s claiming something. My breath quickens and I lick my lips. I have to look away.

“Thank you for hosting our screening.” Devon snaps his gaze quickly to Spence and gives a forced smile once he’s done eye fucking me. The dank scent of scotch lifts off him in the breeze.

“You’re welcome. But I think we both know there’s only one reason why I’m hosting another studio’s screening.” Spence wraps his arm around my back, pulling me in close and trailing his hand along my naked ribs. Devon’s gaze falls to me again and his eyes blaze, livid and dark, watching Spence’s hand work its way over my body. Again hope sings into my limbs. I start to speak, but stop, unsure of the words waiting on my tongue. Instead, I clear my throat and swirl my ice cubes with a finger, licking it for effect.

“Right.” Catching himself before he makes it too obvious, he smiles quickly, rubs his lips and looks away in Heather’s general direction. “Do they have anything for motion sickness?” He waves a hand toward the bar. “Heather doesn’t do well on the water.”

“They should. If not I’ve got something downstairs.” Spence’s hand remains on my side, tracing up and down. Me, I’m church-mouse quiet, trying to figure out if I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing in Devon or if I’m just drunk-hallucinating.

“You look lovely.” Devon leans into me. I look up in time to see his gorgeous face coming at me. I freeze. He lands a soft kiss on my cheek in the totally platonic way every other man has air kissed me tonight. But it’s what he says next that knocks the air from my lungs. “Sunshine,” he whispers so only we can hear. His voice is hot and loaded with the memory of every orgasm he’s ever given me. It’s so much that my thighs instantly clench. A shiver shoots through me. My nickname. It’s us. It’s his way of telling me he’s not done with us. Right? Why else would you whisper your lover’s nickname in her ear?

“Thanks.” I manage an embarrassed schoolgirl smile when he pulls away.

What the hell am I doing?
Get it together, Carly!
I land an internal bitch-slap hard across my face. If anyone saw this interaction, it would be obvious as hell we’re fucking. The desire for self-preservation turns me into the actress I am, flipping that easy switch. “Who could refuse free Gucci?” I playfully toss my hair and give a small spin because I know how this outfit hugs my curves. I’m all smiles and totally carefree. Not letting on how desperate I am to know what he’s thinking. It’s the most brutal game I’ve ever played.

“Nice boat.” He nods at Spence and disappears into the crowd. We silently watch him leave.

“
Nice boat
.” Spence mimics. “It’s a fucking yacht, asshole. I cannot believe you still want to fuck that douche bag,” Spence whispers under his breath.

“I do not,” I shoot back, lying through my freshly whitened teeth.

“Whatever.” Spence removes his arm from my back now that Devon’s gone and motions to the waitress for another whiskey.

“No way!” A woman’s voice rises above the crowd, easily carried by the crisp night air. The proverbial record skips and everyone turns to see what the fuss is about. “I’m not leaving you here with her!” Heather yells at Devon, waving her hand in my direction. Only, she’s so drunk she winds up waving at the entire crowd. Spence wraps his arm around me, pulling me close, sensing how dangerous an insinuation like this is for my career. We both look around trying to figure out who this said
her
is. Like we don’t already know.

Holy shit!
I laugh nervously inside. Unable to believe Devon is trying to get Heather to leave and she outs him like the drunken idiot she is. She sways on her heels and is seconds from hitting the ground when Devon sweeps in and catches her bony ass. The crowd gasps and moves closer.

“What the hell?” I ask under my breath.

“Shit.” Spence pushes his drink into my hand for safekeeping and steps forward, ever the gentleman. Heather is out stone-cold in Devon’s arms. Spence moves to grab half of her and nods toward a door. “Nothing to see here, folks!” he yells good-naturedly over the crowd. “It isn’t a Hugo party until someone hits the floor!” Spence reminisces back to the epic parties his dad used to host. A few of the older souls nod their heads in agreement and chuckle at the new generation carrying on tradition. The crowd turns back to their drinks, but I’m struck dumb watching my night go from good to fucking awesome. Ding, dong, the bitch is gone.

* * *

Four vodka and waters in an hour. That’s one every fifteen minutes, which is definitely a personal best. I climb off the stool, satisfaction swelling my chest, and immediately grab the bar to stop the spins.

“Carly,” Spence whispers through his teeth, landing an elbow in my ribs to get my attention.

“Wha...” I regrettably pull my eyes from crowd-scanning. He nods straight ahead and I follow his gaze to where the head of Iliad Films is giving a speech. I look at him just in time to hear my name called.

“And our leading lady Carly Klein is pure perfection.” He’s praising me, but in my inebriated state all I care about is finding Devon. Did he leave with Heather? Spence pushes me forward. I catch my stumble by grabbing onto his arm and take a quick bow, blowing kisses at everyone like I’m so honored. In truth, the only thing I am is a damned drunken fool. Spence guides me back to his side.

“You need to lay off until after the screening. Everyone will want to talk to you when it’s over.” He pries the vodka from my unwilling hands. It sloshes over his sleeve when he finally frees it. “Nice,” he hisses under his breath. A waitress appears at his side, takes the drink and hands Spence a napkin. The next thing I know he has me by the upper arm, discreetly dragging me from the crowd.

“Where are we going?” I stupidly ask, struggling to stay on my feet. He stops in a secluded hallway. I take the opportunity to kick off my heels. They’re totally getting in the way of life right now. He glares at me, horror and disbelief darkening his face, and bends to pick them up.

“Carly, you have ten minutes to get it the fuck together.” He shoves the shoes into my hands and grabs me by the shoulders, shaking me. “Have you forgotten your entire career depends on this night? What the fuck do you think you’re doing pining over some douche bag? You are ruining the only chance you’ve got to restart your career. This isn’t going to come around again.”

He shakes me so hard my teeth rattle and I bite my tongue. Tasting my own blood gets my attention. I snap to and his words break through my vodka-induced coma.

What the fuck am I doing? I started drinking to calm my nerves. I kept drinking to forget my heartbreak. Now I’m teetering on wasted, and I realize what a huge fucking mistake that is. “Okay, okay, okay,” I repeat breathlessly to let him know I get it and hopefully stop the violent shaking. My swollen brain is having enough trouble thinking without all the sloshing.

“Get your shit together.” He opens a door and points me down a stairway. “End of the hall is the master suite. You’ll find what you need. Splash some water on your face. Brush your teeth. Clean it up, Carly.” His brown eyes look like black orbs, daring me to say no. I stare at him wide-eyed, unable to believe this is my Spence yelling at me like this. He’s always been my club buddy—party till you puke. And if it were anyone but him giving me this pep talk, I’d probably laugh in their face and pour another drink. But Spence cuts through the bullshit. If he’s mad at me, I’m really fucking up.

“Yes...” I head down the stairs, shoes in hand. “Sir,” I hear myself add like he’s some militant authority figure worthy of respect. I hold onto the shiny walls of the stairway and hallway, finding my way to the master suite.

Tears of shock dampen my eyes and I blink them away. When I look into the bathroom mirror I gasp. God, I look awful. The wind has whipped my gorgeous hairdo to hell and back. My skin is as pale as the vodka I’ve been drinking and my eyes are glassy and dull. I’m no longer beyond fuckable. I look like every guy on the boat has taken me for a spin.

I start pulling open drawers and find the answers to all my problems. My stylist is a goddess. Brand-new makeup compacts in every shade and brand I’m wearing wait in a top drawer. More than that, there is a fat curling iron plugged in and ready.

Powder, blush, mascara and lipstick touch-ups done, I gargle a mouthful of Listerine and spit. Needing to save time, I decide to pee while I’m curling my hair. The only problem is this damn jumpsuit has to come all the way off for me to pee. I swear, these things are sexy as hell but so annoying when a girl’s gotta go. I unhook the top snaps, unzip the waist and sit down, wrapping a curl around the iron to double-team the effort.

Spence was right to mentally bitch slap me. Here I’ve spent my night either searching for Devon or pining over his unavailable ass. And it’s gotten me nothing. If he really loves me like he says, he’d have solved our problem by now. This night is supposed to be everything. Aboard the legendary Vincent Hugo’s infamously fabulous toy, screening my new film for the Academy members. The fucking Academy. There isn’t an actress in Hollywood that doesn’t wet-dream about moments like this. And here I am pissing it away.

No. I’m going to get it together. I’m going to sober up. Watch my film and then charm the pants off every voting member on board. I can do this. I can totally be awesome. And Devon, well, he’ll just have to wait.