Wardrobe Malfunction(4)

“I’ve let you have your time to be hurt and angry, but it’s enough now. I need you to clean yourself up. I need you out of the press for whom you’re fucking and back in it for what you’re working on next. You want revenge for what they did to you, Vaughn? Then, revenge is cleaning yourself up and getting back to work, stepping over them and climbing right back to the top.”

He’s right.

I know he’s right.

This isn’t me. Who I want to be.

But I’ve never been hurt like this before. It’s almost like I don’t know what to do with the hurt, so I ignore it, and when it becomes too much to ignore, I drink and fuck it away…until it comes back, and then I rinse and repeat.

Piper’s betrayal hurt. But Cain’s betrayal hurt way more.

He was my friend for ten years. I would’ve taken a bullet for the guy.

And he slept with my girlfriend.

I almost laugh out loud at the cliché of it.

Best friend fucks girlfriend for months under the nose of the boyfriend, and he has no clue.

Happens all the time.

But, when you’re a celebrity, then it’s the juiciest story of the decade. A story that just won’t fucking go away.

To the fans and press, I’m the wounded animal.

Pathetic.

Poor Vaughn.

It’s the pity and apathy that drive me fucking insane.

But no more. Jack’s right.

Arms folded, I lean my back against the window. “So, what do you have in mind?”

Jack smiles. “You have an offer.”

“For what?”

“More like from whom.” His smile widens, making me stand up straighter. “Evans.”

My heart stops. “Brandon Evans?”

“The one and only.”

“Holy fuck.”

Brandon Evans is the hottest director around at the moment. Everyone wants to work with him.

“What’s the movie?”

“The Lament. It’s a gangland thriller. Think Goodfellas 2017.”

“What’s the part?”

“Lead. Drew Asher, heir to the Asher family. It’s a great fucking script. Brandon wrote the part with you in mind.”

“You’re shitting me.” I’m almost breathless. My insides are lighting up like the sky on the Fourth of July. “Did you know?”

He shakes his head. “You know Brandon keeps things tight to his chest. I got the call just last night. There’s no doubt that he wants you for the part, but he has reservations, Vaughn…your recent behavior.”

“I’ll sort it out. Clean up my act.”

My heart is drumming, my pulse thrumming. I feel alive, like I haven’t felt in a long while.

This is the part I’ve been dreaming of. This could take me up to the next step. From the hot movie star to serious actor, like DiCaprio did with his career.

“This could be it, Vaughn,” Jack says, excitement in his voice. “This could put you at the top with no way of ever coming down. I’ll do the work at my end to get rid of the shit the press has been saying about you, but you have to keep your nose clean in the meantime. No more excessive partying, drinking, or screwing around until the film is released.”

“Consider it done.” I pick up the paper with the phone number that the redhead left behind. I crumple it in my hand and toss it in the trash can.





Charly

I’m admiring the gorgeous Fendi hanging from the shoulder of the woman walking in front of me when my cell starts ringing from inside my knockoff Stella McCartney.

I retrieve it from the bottom of my bag, expecting it to be Nick—my roommate and best friend since college—but see that it’s Ava Simms. She’s a friend and colleague. She works wardrobe like I do.

“Yello!” I sing cheerily to her.

I hear her laugh.

“Charly, do you ever answer the phone like a normal person?”

“Why would I when I can answer so colorfully?” I say in a puzzled tone, making her laugh again. “How you doing?” I ask.

“Good,” she says.

But I can tell from her tone that she’s not good at all. We might not be super close, like Nick and I are, but I know her well enough to know when something is wrong. I just hope it isn’t that prick of a so-called boyfriend of hers. The one she moved across the country to be with. Honestly, I can’t imagine leaving New York to move to LA for any guy. Especially not an out-of-work actor who sidelines as a hand model and thinks he’s God’s gift to women.

I don’t know what Ava sees in that guy. Granted, he’s good-looking, but he’s a dick, and she could do a million times better.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Are you still in Nashville?”

Okay. Not the answer I was expecting but whatever.

“Nope. I just landed in JFK.” I smile to myself, looking forward to having the week off that I booked in for myself. I haven’t had any time off in…forever, and even though I’m not rich, I have enough money in the bank to allow myself a week of doing nothing. “I’m actually walking through the airport as we speak, heading to grab a cab home. Why?”

“Well…I haven’t had a chance to tell you, but I landed a job on this big-budget movie, and I’m the wardrobe mistress—”