Dirty Love (Dirty Girl Duet #2)(32)
“He’s not on your list. How the hell did he get through the door?” Cav asks.
Windsor shrugs, her attention following the man’s movements. She clucks her tongue and we all turn. “Probably with her.”
Sean stops at the side of a stick figure of a girl who looks like she’s not quite old enough to drink despite the tiny dress, perfectly styled hair, and smoky eye makeup. Without a word, he grabs her hand and drags her toward the door.
“He really is a douchebag,” I say, not even conscious I’m speaking the words until both Cav and Windsor turn to me.
“He really is,” Windsor agrees, following the couple’s progress to the front door. “And good riddance to them both. She’s too young and stupid to realize that she’s going to be too old for him to find sexy in about six months. He’s got this weird slightly pedophile kink where he’s always looking for the younger chick. It’s creepy.”
Sympathy for Windsor having been married to a guy like that wells up inside me. It doesn’t matter who you are or how perfect your life seems from the outside, things can always be broken and f*cked up on the inside.
“Enough of that downer. I’m going to make the rounds and check that everyone is having a wonderful time, alert security so Sean doesn’t get back in regardless of who he has with him, and find myself a distraction for the evening. You kids have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” She smiles at us and strides away with a little backward wave.
“Is she okay?” I ask Cav.
He’s watching Windsor walk away, her laughter already ringing out, a little too bright and cheerful.
“She’s a trouper. She and Sean have been split for a long time, but the guy can’t seem to stay out of her face. It’s not even that he wants her back, honestly. I think he just misses having the security of her covering for him and the ease of having someone else run his life. It’s unusual for these Hollywood marriages not to be straight f*cked up.”
“Is that why you didn’t run out and marry the first famous chick who fell for you?” My question is a quip, off the cuff.
Cav’s eyes, looking steel-gray against his gray dress shirt tonight, cut to mine. “You already know the answer to that.” When I don’t respond immediately, he closes both his hands over mine and pulls our arms out wide until our bodies press together. “I was hung up on one particular woman, and she wasn’t in Hollywood. Nothing here could compare to the hold you’ve had on me from day one, Greer. You still don’t get it.”
Cav’s words are serious and completely at odds with the high-pitched laughter and conversation going on around us.
I don’t know what to say, but I’m wishing we were anywhere but in the middle of Windsor’s palatial home. I want to be back at his place, watching another movie without this crowd around us. Maybe pausing in the middle so he can bend me over the back of the couch and assuage the ache that continues to build inside me. Just the thought has me pressing my legs tightly together.
As usual, Cav doesn’t miss a thing. “Aw, my baby girl still feeling the edge?”
I lean close. “You know you left me hanging. That was plain mean.”
His eyes darken. “Don’t think I’ll leave you hanging for long. Now, let’s make an attempt at being sociable so you can get the full experience, and then I’ll take care of you.”
The I’ll take care of you is the only part of that sentence my greedy body cares about. I should probably be more intrigued by the famous people tipping back drinks, uncaring who sees them acting ridiculous.
We’ve only gone a few feet when it hits me—this is their safe zone. Windsor’s house is their haven. No one is going to out them for acting that way here, I assume, within reason, so this is the place they let it all hang out.
It makes a certain sort of sense. Back in New York, there are certainly parties where I’ve felt the same way. When all the guests are part of a similar social and economic stratosphere, things get a little wilder than normal.
Windsor’s home is a large square, with a mammoth courtyard in the center dominated by a sparkling blue pool, a hot tub, and several seating areas. A young couple is in the pool, and the woman has the man pressed up against the corner. Both of them are still fully clothed but completely soaked. In the hot tub, several women cluster around an older gentleman who I don’t recognize as being in any films. But given the harem he’s attracted and how they’re pawing over him, he must be someone of note.
“Who’s that?” I ask quietly, and Cav follows my line of sight.
“One of the top studio producers. Those girls are all B-and C-list actresses hoping to hop up on the A-train, and they know he gets a major say in casting all of the movies for a certain hot director.”
“Is that normal?”
“For that particular producer and director, it is. They’ve been working together for twenty years, so it’s a pretty well-known fact at this point.” Cav turns us away as a woman climbs on the man’s lap like she’s about to ride him. “And he’s fresh out of a divorce, so they’re looking to take advantage of it.”
In my opinion, it’s the older man taking advantage of the younger women, but I guess my instincts are screwed up here. Maybe it’s the women who are the predators in this situation. Everyone has a motive. It’s really not all that different from New York.