Confessions of a Bad Boy(29)

“Yes. The girl you asked me about, I presume.”

“Right,” I say, pulling Jessie close like we’re posing for a family photo.

“It’s so nice to see you outside of the studio, Ms. Ferreira. I feel like I can actually tell you what a great actress I think you are.”

“Well, thank you for the compliment…ah…”

“Tessa.”

“Yes. Tessa. I’m sure you’re very good at…”

“I’m your costumer.”

“Yes, that’s it. And a fantastic one at that. Say, Tessa, you wouldn’t happen to know where the porter is, would you? Tall man, strong shoulders, stubble?”

“Jason? I think I saw him going towards the kitchen. Why?”

“No reason,” Dominique says, casting a mischievous glance at me as she begins to walk past. “I just need him to take care of something for me. Lovely seeing you.”

We watch the actress walk away, and when she turns a corner both sigh deeply.

“Where the hell were you?” I ask.

“I was with Alexandra. She was showing me some of her wardrobe. You wouldn’t believe how beautiful the room she’s staying in is. What happened?”

“Oh, nothing. I almost became the latest victim of L.A.’s wildest predator, but that’s about it.”

“Yeah. I could tell you weren’t having fun ’cause of that look you had,” Jessie chuckles as we start walking back.

“What look?”

“The look you always get when you want to get the hell out of something, but you don’t want to offend anyone. You do this thing with your eyebrows, and this big, little-boy smile. It’s cute. It’s bashful.”

I snort a little laugh.

“First I ‘smolder’ now I’m ‘bashful.’ Is there anything else in my repertoire you wanna tell me about?”

“Relax. Of course I see these things, I’ve known you since you were twelve.”

“Right, so why do I feel like I’m still learning things about you?”

“Maybe I’m just more complicated.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” I say, smiling at her as we move back towards the lobby, barely even registering the fact that we’ve still got our arms wrapped around each other even though nobody’s watching.



Dinner goes better than I ever could have imagined. Suddenly I realize why Robinson was so intent on dragging me here. Anywhere else and the people around the long table would be at each other’s throats, fighting tooth and nail over every inch of a deal. For most of the year, they usually are; side-swiping, backstabbing, and generally pulling every trick they can to get one over on each other.

Since we’ve been at the retreat, however, everyone is acting like their working days are far in the past, and that the stakes don’t count anymore. Inside stories and secrets spill as easily as the wine that was made nearby. Hated enemies laugh at jokes about themselves, directors give the scoop on their last shoots, actors discuss top secret new scripts, and even Robinson self-deprecates about his outfits. It’s almost surreal. A genuine insider’s circle that I would call conspiracy on if someone told me about it before I saw it with my own eyes.

Most impressive of all, though, is Jessie. Sitting across from me, at a table filled with actors and agents who have built their careers on looks, charisma, and wit, she’s the most radiant person there. She’s confident and cool, funny and sharp; by the end of the night, almost everybody at the table is under her spell. Me, I just try my best to hide the fact that I’m watching every smile and laugh from those sweeping lips, every movement of her breasts in that tight tank top. After a few more glasses of wine, I don’t even bother.

“Where did you two meet?” asks Marianne, the Oscar-winner seated a couple of seats away from Jessie, who seems to have grown fascinated by her at some point between the main course and dessert.

The question immediately pulls my attention away from the story someone’s telling at the other end of the table. Instantly, I regret goofing around in the car on the way here, rather than clearing up some details. I hurt my teeth trying to chew down a mouthful of ice cream, but before I can speak Jessie’s already doing the talking.

“Oh, Nate and I have known each other since we were kids.”

I feel my heart drop, and waves of nausea ripple throughout my stomach.

“Really?” Robinson says, frowning severely. “That’s not what Nate told me. He said you’d met on a flight from Paris.”

Time seems to freeze for a moment, as if it wants to punish me by letting me truly feel the moment it all comes crashing down. Suddenly, I notice how quiet the table seems, how many pairs of eyes are trained upon Jessie, waiting for her answer, as if all of them already know. Vultures waiting for the kill. I pray it’ll be painless.

But then Jessie just smiles, like it’s all a game. She turns to me, hazel eyes sparkling like the fine cutlery, and winks.

“That’s because Nate is incredibly embarrassed to be so sweet,” she says, so convincingly I almost believe it myself. “He thinks it’s super cheesy that we’re childhood sweethearts who used to sneak kisses in my treehouse and ride our bikes to the corner store for popsicles—” she pauses as coos of ‘aww’ and ‘how sweet’ echo around the table from the other women. “And that it makes him look less ‘manly.’ Of course, he will hate me saying that out loud. But he’s actually a total softie.”