Ripped (Real, #5)(9)
“Waiting. I’ve summoned the lawyers, and I’ve already texted Trenton.”
“The f*cking producer? You get her in the movie, she’ll be the target of a million angry fans, don’t you get it? They’ll know her face. They’ll know she was mine, and she’ll never be safe again in her life!”
“Ahh, protective, are we? I like this side of you, Kenna. Never seen it before. Hell! All the more reason we want her in! We want whatever it was that happened just there.” Lionel signals to the door that leads to the Meet and Greet hallway. “We want that. And we want a kiss-and-make-up scene at the Madison Square Garden concert. For the public, and for the camera. Next, we want her at the premiere, on your arm, before we make up a fine breakup story that leaves you home free.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Lionel!”
“Whoa, my ass! I saw how she rattled your cage. I saw drama. I saw more than what we have for this f*cking movie, which is mostly you boys drinking and getting laid. I saw an opportunity, and as your manager, you pay me to cash in on such opportunities.”
“No,” I say.
“Listen, Kenna, all I need from you is a couple of good scenes, a make-up scene near the end of the movie, and her on your arm at the premiere. Give me this, and I’ll give you what you asked for.”
“You’re finally caving?”
“Yep.”
I start pacing, considering his offer. I get what I want, what I have long been asking for. And I also get to have her close. Talk to her. Maybe I can’t tell her the truth, but I can win her back if I want to.
And f*ck, I not only want to, my pride demands I do.
Once, her mother told me I wasn’t good enough for her. I vowed to her that in a few years I was going to be good enough for any woman’s daughter . . . especially hers.
“You’re the best singer, and the prime attraction, but let’s face it, Kenna, you’re the shittiest actor among you three. But with this . . . it’s brilliant. With her, you won’t even have to act.” He grins. “Now go out there and finish the Meet and Greet. I’ll take care of your girlfriend.”
“My girlfriend,” I sneer, “is a pervy, tomato-throwing man-eater who seems only too delighted with the opportunity to hang around to give me hell!”
“Yep. That’s good stuff.”
THREE
LOOKS LIKE I’M GOING TO HAVE TO KISS THE FROG
Pandora
“It’s a lot of f*cking money,” Melanie says as we ride back home.
“Melanie, I f*cking robbed them. I would’ve caved for half. Hell, I’d kiss a hippo’s ass for half!”
What just happened?
I’m still trying to grasp the fact that I just signed my life away. Or more exactly, three weeks, a kiss, and a movie premiere appearance away.
I’m on my way back from the most surreal couple of hours of my life. In the space of ninety minutes, I met Trenton the movie producer, a bunch of lawyers, and a big, fat check.
Now we’re riding in the back of a limo provided for Princess Melanie by none other than her very own Mr. King. The driver is apparently her boyfriend’s driver. I tell you, being with her lately is giving me a f*cking complex. Especially after your ex just looked at you the way Mackenna looked at me. Like he wants to murder me, slowly, and then chop off my body parts and hide them in a box. So the legend goes—Pandora in a box, not Pandora’s box.
Melanie raps manicured nails against a crystal glass she’s lifted from the minibar inside the car. The letters on the nails spell G-R-E-Y with a heart on her thumb.
Ridiculous.
Both my friends are in committed relationships with men who’ve proven themselves true by doing the unthinkable—leaving their lives for them. I loathed Melanie’s playboy because I thought he wasn’t right for her, but it turned out he was exactly what she’d dreamed of and more. Hot, protective, dangerous, and alpha to the max, he’d do anything for Melanie. And Brooke? Brooke is already married to her guy—no, he’s not just a guy, he’s like a beast. A tall, lean, muscled, dark-haired, blue-eyed, sexy beast—who looks at her like he lives for her.
I don’t tell Melanie how it hurts when Greyson shows up at the office to steal her away for the day, or how it hurts to see Brooke and her husband instinctively nuzzle each other when they talk. Maybe it’s because I feel uncomfortable letting anyone see that I notice that shit. But I do. I notice it like I’d notice that I’m missing a limb, or like I’d notice slamming into a tree branch and having it stick out of my torso.
Yeah, I notice how Greyson looks at Melanie, and how Remy looks at Brooke. Only a few months ago Brooke and her husband were in town with their baby, and I saw the way he smiled at her across the room. How they each sought out the space in the room where the other was. How, when they were close, he put his hand on her hip, a huge hand, and ducked his head to her, so near that his lips moved against her ear, his lips curled, his eyes twinkling down at her. I noticed Brooke’s smile, almost shy, and the way she turned her body to his and cupped his jaw. You could feel the love in the air, and I almost felt like I was intruding on something intimate and special. Seeing them, I scowled down at my lap, because I couldn’t take it.
And Melanie? She was probably wishing on some stupid star, hoping that one day that would be her. And now, guess what? It is her. Her f*cking boyfriend dotes on her. She’s found genuine love. Love that I won’t ever let myself wish for because I will never have that with anyone. I will never duck my head shyly or be the kind of girl who inspires a man to protect her the way my friends’ men protect them. I will never inspire a man to want to change for the better because of me. Because I’m not inspiring. I’m the bitter one nobody likes to hang around with for too long.