Love, Chloe - Alessandra Torre Page 0,27

day become, one who knew everyone, anticipated everything, and was utterly calm despite it all.

“Yo.”

That was her introduction. She propped open the door to Nicole’s trailer and popped a bright purple bubble of gum. I was alone, surrounded by trunks, and in the midst of a panic attack. The girl saw my face, stepped inside and shut the door.

“What’s wrong?”

I didn’t think, just held out my list of Nicole’s demands, all screamed at me with morning breath fifteen minutes earlier, when she walked into the trailer and had an absolute conniption. I had scribbled down the items while Nicole stalked around the tiny space, waving her arms and opening and slamming things shut.

“Ha.” Another pop of purple gum by the tattooed stranger, the grape scent hitting my senses. Grape. When was the last time I’d had grape bubble gum? Elementary school?

She passed the list back. “Her contract outlined what would be in her trailer. She knows that.”

“So … I tell her no?”

She laughed. “Nicole Brantley? No. You call an outfitter and get her what she wants. But she’s paying for it, not the studio.”

I took the list from her outstretched hand. “And she’ll be okay with that?”

She shrugged. “She doesn’t belong in this movie anyway. Trust me, she won’t do anything to jeopardize her role. If she told you to get these perks, she expects to pay for it.”

I blindly followed the woman’s lead, listening as she made a call and rattled off Nicole’s list without pause. I dumbly handed over Nicole’s AmEx and verbally approved the ridiculous price the guy quoted. When she locked my phone and tossed it back, I finally found the manners to introduce myself.

“I’m Chloe. I’m new. Nicole hired me a couple of months ago.”

“Hannah.” She reached out and shook my hand. “I’m Joey Plazen’s assistant.”

My hand stalled halfway through the shake. “Really?”

She grinned, detangling from my grip. “Really.”

“Joey Plazen? The Joey Plazen?” my voice squeaked.

“That’s the one.” She headed for the door.

“He’s in this movie?” I couldn’t figure it out. Why would an A-list movie star be in something like this?

She paused in the doorway. “Yeah. It’s a big budget film.”

“But…” I couldn’t think of a nice way to ask my question.

“You wanna know why Condom Queen’s in it?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Great question.” She raised her eyebrows at me and, with another pop of gum, left.

I finally discovered the meaning of a hard day’s work. It had rained all day, the bottom half of my pants soaked. Running from vehicle to trailer, lugging all of Nicole’s things over every inch of the film grounds, had covered my skin in a film of sweat, rain, and dirt. And my hair. I’d been hoping for beachy waves, but with all the moisture, it’d become a teased out cotton ball. My feet were too tired to properly pick up and down and I dragged the soles of my flats across the nasty sidewalks until I finally reached the stairs to my building’s front door, my hand heavy as I reached for the handle.

When the front door of our building swung out, my hand wasn’t yet on it, and the swift motion caused me to stumble back, my foot missing the step below, the dark New York City sky tilting forward as I fell back.

I almost died. A backward tumble, down six concrete stairs, onto the sidewalk. For sure, my head would have cracked, brains spilling out, blood gushing, heartbeat flatlining.

But I didn’t die. I didn’t because a hand reached out, a body rushed forward, and my wrist was grabbed, my back supported under the warm cover of an umbrella. I inhaled the rich scent of oranges and leather on a dress shirt and looked up, my body carefully righted on wobbly feet.

“Carter?” I found my footing and stood. My super-sexy super was there in a dark blue dress shirt, charcoal pants, a thick watch glinting, hair neat, sex appeal kicking.

“Are you okay?” He looked at me with worry. “Are you crying?”

Crying? I reached up and ran my hand underneath my eyes. My fingers came away black. Oh. Guess that cheap mascara I’d grabbed wasn’t waterproof. Great. I probably looked like a drowned raccoon. “Rain,” I mumbled.

“Sorry about the door.” He stepped right and opened the door, holding it for me.

“It’s fine.” I stepped inside. “Fixing something in a suit?” I nodded to his outfit, the hour late.

He glanced down, then shook his head, a wry smile crossing his lips. “Ah—no. I live here. C9. Perks of the