and tried to understand the roll of feelings. I felt like a thirteen-year-old girl. One who had just *cough* kissed a guy and had no idea how to handle it. I wasn’t even sure, catching sight of a cab, why I was analyzing this. We hadn’t even had sex. It was a one-night thing, nothing more. I had nothing in common with the man, wasn’t even sure he liked me. I had caught him in a weak moment and gotten a mind-numbing orgasm from it. End of story.
Probably.
Hopefully.
Not.
The stack of publications before me grew. People, In Touch, Variety, the Times, the Hollywood Reporter—I added Star to the pile and picked up the next, flipping through the newspaper, my eyes skimming for any mention of Nicole. My stomach flipped when I stuck the blue flag on page 7A, right by a story naming Boston Love Letters an expensive vanity project, one set to tank.
I shifted on my stool, in the Brantley’s kitchen, and eyed Nicole, who thumbed through a stack of mail. She wandered over, tossing the mail on the counter and reached for the newspaper, pulling it from my hands, her eyes darting over the article. “Is everything—?” I didn’t get the rest of the sentences out, barely having time to duck when she picked her phone off the counter and threw it.
“CLAARRRKKKE!” She screamed the man’s name like she was on the battlefield, and I heard his feet, heavy down the stairs. Then he was in the kitchen, T-shirt damp with sweat, ear buds hanging from around his neck. He stopped in the doorway, his hands braced on the frame, and looked at Nicole, his eyebrows rising in question.
“I told you this would happen!” Nicole screamed the threat as if it were the plague, and thrust out the newspaper, stretched tightly so we could read the headline: BOSTON LOVE LETTERS ALREADY IN TROUBLE. I slowly eased to my feet and picked up the laptop, ready to escape the carnage. “Chloe!” Nicole barked, pointing a finger in my direction. “Don’t go anywhere!” I slunk back down on the stool. Chanel deserted my feet and ran for cover, her nails clicking down the marble hall and out of sight. Lucky bitch.
“Nicole, calm down.” Clarke let go of the doorframe and stepped closer. Brave man. I shifted slightly, hunching behind my laptop in case things started flying in my direction. As quickly as possible, I navigated over to TMZ to see if there was any news about BLL there. This shit was about to get nuclear if they’d grabbed the story too.
“Calm down? Do you know what this says? It says I’m the reason we’re behind schedule and over budget. It calls me a C-list actress!”
“Well, this is your first big—” His stupid statement was cut off by another scream, this one punctuated by Nicole’s toss of the newspaper onto the floor, her fists waving in the air as she physically jumped up and down on it. Jumped up and down. In four-inch slingbacks. I watched in fascination.
“Fix TTHHHIIISSS!” she screamed, continuing her jumping fest, her breasts bouncing with each hop.
“I’ll call the publicist. We’ll get the papers to issue a retraction,” he started.
“It needs to be done NOW. Or so help me God…”
“It’ll be fixed.” He made a shushing sound and stepped closer, his hands reaching out and rubbing her arms, pulling her protesting body into his chest. Her stance relaxed for a moment, folding into his arms and pushing away only when she realized he was sweaty.
“By tomorrow,” she pouted, stepping out of the ruined newspaper bits.
“Okay.” Clarke shot a relieved look my way, and I smiled weakly, wanting nothing more than to be out of their kitchen, their house, their lives. Nicole snapped her fingers at me.
“Chloe, order beignets from that place around the corner.” Her tone was mild, like nothing had happened, and I nodded, looking down at my laptop.
And that was when I saw it. The top story on TMZ. Joey Plazen dating a new Mystery Blonde? Right below the headline was a grainy photo of Joey, his lips pressed hard to his latest conquest.
Me.
36. A Big Dick
It’d been less than four hours since the TMZ story hit and the entire world of entertainment had gone nuts. I locked my phone and resisted the urge to chuck it in the trash, my social media exploding as every friend I’d ever had felt the need to tag me on every news outlet that picked up the story. Thank