Red Carpet Kiss - Melissa Brown Page 0,41
believe Luke. She wanted to believe every word that left his mouth. But the truth was, she didn’t know him. Not really. They’d known each other for a few months, and reality was setting in on their relationship. Reality that included both Troy and Gina. And she wasn’t sure where that would leave them.
“Besides, stuff like this is good, right? I mean, for the show.”
If Luke’s eyes hadn’t held such innocence and obvious good nature, she would’ve been tempted to slap him right across his beautiful square jaw. That type of statement was the exact reason why she didn’t date actors—or get involved with anything that could be spread across gossip rags or websites.
“Maybe. There’s a delicate balance between good and bad press.”
“I thought all press was good press.”
“And that’s why you are an actor and I’m not.”
Elle’s posture stiffened and she pulled away from Luke’s embrace, missing him the second they parted. He rubbed his chin as he peered into her eyes.
“I should go. Justine will be back any minute and I don’t want to halt production.”
“Fine, but . . . are we okay?”
Elle nodded, faking a smile, knowing there was nothing more to say. “Yes, we’re fine. I’ll see you out there.”
“He has a point.”
Whitney took a large sip of her lemon drop martini as the two ladies sat at the bar and waited for their dessert to arrive. Elle rolled her eyes, not wanting to hear it. Whitney should side with her, not Luke. Was it juvenile? Of course, but after two martinis of her own, it’s exactly how she was feeling.
“Explain.”
“Well.” Whitney hesitated, biting her bottom lip. “You’re not exclusive, you have no real commitment. He can see Gina and you can see Troy if you want to—see if there’s still something there.”
“Did you seriously just say that? Troy isn’t someone I’d see. Troy is all or nothing. And there will always be something there.”
“Who says?”
“Me. I say.” Elle shook her head. “Our past is just . . . it’s this sea of uncertainty, you know? When we were together, it was blissful—”
Whitney made a gagging sound into her martini glass. “Blissful? I don’t think I’ve ever heard Elle Riley use that word.”
Elle shrugged, shifting uncomfortably on the leather cushion of the barstool. “It’s the truth. But then . . . things always go wrong. Always. They get convoluted and confusing and we end up screaming at each other. Or I get terrified and shut things down completely.”
“Is that what happened in Vegas? You’ve never really told me.”
Elle’s eyes moistened. “I can’t . . . I can’t even articulate what happened in Vegas. I wish I could. Let’s just say it was the worst day of my life.”
Whitney placed her hand on Elle’s shaky fingers. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about that. One day you’ll tell me.”
“Thanks.” She wiped the moisture from her eyes. “So what do I do, Whit? I feel so lost.”
“Well, you and Luke are okay now, right? I mean, you threw your tantrum, he calmed you down, and now you’re just . . . I don’t know, kinda dealing with the aftermath?”
Elle swirled her drink and nodded. “Yeah. In a nutshell.”
“Ladies.” The bartender slid a large plate toward them. A large slice of flourless chocolate cake sat atop the white plate, adorned with two forks. Chocolate and caramel drizzle decorated the dessert, making it almost too beautiful to eat. “Enjoy.”
Whitney’s eyes rolled to the back of her head as she tasted the cake. Elle giggled, watching her friend close her eyes tight, the fork still inside her closed mouth.
“That good, huh?” the bartender asked with a laugh.
“Honey, all we need is whipped cream and a curtain.”
Elle rolled her eyes.
“I’m serious,” Whitney insisted. “I need a moment alone with this cake.”
Elle laughed into her hand, shaking her head at Whitney’s candor. The bartender erupted into laughter, slapped the bar, and gazed at Whitney.
“We should put that on the specials board—it’d be the perfect slogan.”
Whitney pointed her fork at the bartender. “You should! You’ll have wall-to-wall women in this place.”
“Sounds good to me.” Dimples formed on the bartender’s cheeks. “I’m Mac, by the way.”
“Hey, Mac.” Whitney flipped her long chocolate locks behind her shoulder before extending her hand. “I’m Whitney. This is Elle.”
“Nice to meet you, ladies. I’ll, um . . . leave you with your dessert. But I’ll check on you later.”
“You’d better.”
Whitney watched the bartender as he walked away while Elle dug back into the cake.
“You’re watching his ass, aren’t