Red Carpet Kiss - Melissa Brown Page 0,42

you?”

“Yep. And I’m pretty sure I’m going home with him.”

Whitney tipped her head when the bartender looked back in their direction before taking another bite of the delectable dessert. Elle watched her best friend in awe. Her confidence, her humor, her take-life-by-the-balls attitude were all things she admired. Elle had spent so many years living with her own imperfections and fears. Pushing people away in the name of saving herself from being hurt. She knew she could learn a thing or two from her best friend.

As predicted, after hours of flirting, Whitney left for the evening with Mac the dimple-cheeked bartender, but not before calling a cab for Elle. Once she finished her final martini, a more-than-just-a-little-buzzed Elle climbed into the taxi and, without even planning to, gave the driver the address for Anthony’s Pub rather than her home.

Despite her pounding heart and mounting anxiety, a besotted Elle made her way into the bar, plopping herself onto the nearest empty barstool.

“We’re closing in twenty minutes,” a young bartender warned her, a fake smile plastered to her face. Elle studied the plastic-like features of the bartender, disliking the malleable appearance of her nose and cheekbones. And for the slightest of seconds, Elle wondered if Troy was attracted to women like her. It had been a long time since she’d observed Troy’s dating preferences and was no longer familiar with his “type.” She could only hope that even though he now lived in Los Angeles, he wasn’t falling under the spell of women addicted to plastic surgery.

“Can I get a martini?”

“Sure. What kind?”

“Surprise me.” Elle craned her neck to look around the restaurant and bar. “Is Troy in?”

“Mr. Saladino?”

Relief spread through Elle’s nerves with that simple clarification. Anyone who called him that was definitely not keeping his bed warm.

“Yeah. Mr. Saladino.”

“He’s in the kitchen. I can get him if you like.”

“I like,” Elle slurred before giggling. When she did, a small burp slipped out. “Ooh, excuse me.”

“No problem, I’ll get him in a sec.” The bartender finished mixing Elle’s drink, pouring a purple-infused martini into a glass and garnishing it with a maraschino cherry.

“Mmm.” Elle pressed the glass to her inviting lips, but was interrupted when a rough hand swiped the glass from her grip.

“I think you’re cut off. Mel, could you grab her some water?”

“Sure, Mr. Saladino.”

Elle stared, mouth agape, at Troy, who was clutching the glass protectively, covering the glass with the top of his hand, and clearly out of her reach.

Elle attempted to stand, but lost her footing slightly and bumped into the wood of the bar. “You. I was looking for you, Mr. Sal-a-dino.”

“You smell like a bottle of vodka.” Troy supported her elbow with his hand, easing her back onto her barstool. His hand lingered there until Elle, in a more-than-obvious fashion, stared down at his hand on her arm.

“I was out with Whitney.”

“I don’t know who that is.” Troy furrowed his brow.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, isn’t there, Mr. Saladino?”

“I guess so.” Troy’s voice was rough, but calm and collected despite the fact she made no qualms about her attempts to goad him. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Your bartender said it earlier. It’s cute.” She took her pinky finger and tapped the end of Troy’s nose. He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t suppress a grin.

“Why are you here, Eleanor?”

Elle stood, wrinkled her nose, and placed her hands on her hips. “I don’t like when you call me that. You always call me Rigby.”

Troy looked away briefly, before making eye contact. “I was attempting to show you my serious side. Apparently, that isn’t working today.”

“Not really.” Elle giggled, then burped again. She covered her mouth up tight.

“You didn’t answer my question, by the way.”

“Oh.” Elle bit her top lip and scrunched her nose up tight. “What was that again?”

“Oh lord, you really are tanked.” Troy cleared his throat. “I asked you why you’re here.”

“I don’t know. I mean, my boyfriend, you met him way over there actually.” She pointed toward the back of the restaurant. “Well, he isn’t actually my boyfriend, but he was on some website all snuggly with the star of my show. They weren’t kissing or screwing or anything, but c’mon, it’s probably happening. I mean, it’s Gina and she does that sorta thing, and knowing her she’s doing it to get to me because of Whitney sleeping with Nolan. Can you believe that? I mean, it’s my show. And then I went out with Whitney and she went