Hollywood Dirt (Hollywood Dirt, #1)(73)
“You live here, you work in the industry. You don’t have to be it.”
“Is this still about Summer? Or is this a f*cking psych session about my life now?” Cole stood, his voice rising.
When Brad rose, squaring off against him, the dynamic changed. Cole stepped a pace back.
“Let’s go to mediation. Keep your mouth shut in there, and let me do my job. When you get back to Quincy, I want you to get your head straight about Summer. Either date, or befriend, or stay the f*ck away from her. But you need to make a decision one way or the other because otherwise you’re going to drive her and yourself crazy and ruin the movie in the process.” Brad put sunglasses on and nodded to the door. “Let’s go.”
Cole waited like an obedient dog for Brad to pass, then he followed. When they stepped into the sun, he saw Justin. And beside him, her head tilted back in a laugh, was a strange brunette. He tensed, then saw Brad approach her, his hand wrapping around her waist. This must be the soulmate. So glad to know she was present to witness this train wreck.
“Julia,” Brad said. “This is—”
“Cole Masten,” she interrupted with a smile. “I’m aware. And I’m sorry for aiding my husband in his evil plot to destroy your breakfast.” She gripped DeLuca’s arm with affection, and Cole tersely nodded. The woman was obviously insane. Any woman who chose to spend a life with that man had a death wish. A vision of Summer on her porch flashed in his mind, how her eyes stuck to Brad, her warm smile at him, and Cole’s mood darkened further.
“Are we leaving?”
Brad shot him a warning look and kissed his wife, a kiss that lasted a breath too long, in Cole’s opinion. “There’s a driver up front in an S-Class. Do you want to use him, or would you prefer to drive?”
“I’ll use the driver. Get some shopping in while you boys work.” She hugged Justin, and Cole wondered, at what point in crazy time, she’d managed to break his shell. She turned to Cole, and he stiffened, not ready for a third pep talk this morning. “It was nice to meet you.” She stuck out a hand, and he breathed a sigh of relief, shaking her hand, his eyes catching the details. The rock on her finger. The tan skin, peeking out from a slouchy tee and capris. Her barely present makeup and long, natural hair. She released his hand, and he stopped himself from wondering if she’d be friends with Summer. This was ridiculous. The girl was stalking his thoughts.
His feet moved, following Brad and Justin to the front, a mini traffic jam caused by the crowd of hotel guests waiting in the lobby, their camera phones out. He swallowed. This place had only thirty suites, and every single resident must be there, on their toes, hands waving excitedly for his attention. He smiled, big and beautiful, his eyes dead behind his shades. Out front, steps away, his car. His retreat. He ducked into it, waiting for Justin, watching Brad step into an adjacent Mercedes, his wife taking an identical one. “You know where we’re going?” he growled to Justin, hitting the gas before the man’s door had safely shut.
“It was one mistake. I’ll have the manager fired. Don’t be an * about it.” Justin pointed to the outside lane. “Four lights down, take a right. It’ll be a block down.”
Cole’s tires squealed on their exit from the hotel, and it was the only sound until he pulled to a stop at their destination.
Either date, or befriend, or stay the f*ck away from her. Those had been the options offered by DeLuca.
But how could he choose between three impossibilities?
CHAPTER 78
“In Hollywood, brides keep the bouquets and throw away the groom.”
~ Groucho Marx
Nadia was, as always, flawless. Cole studied her face, the perfect lines of her makeup, and wondered, as he often had, why she bothered with the team that arrived every morning, equipped with makeup brushes and extensions, their home’s dressing room turned into a circus for a valuable hour in the morning that’d be better served sleeping. She didn’t need all of it; she was beautiful without it. And for a day like today, for her to know she’d be sitting across from him, her jilted husband, the extra effort seemed cruel. But that was Nadia. She’d always wanted everyone to want her, especially those who she rejected. She looked up from the document and met his eyes.
“You have beautiful eyes.” The first line after their first screw, which had happened minutes after he’d walked into his trailer and found her stretched out on his bed. She’d said the word shyly, her feet sliding to the edge of the bed and off, and he’d shrugged.
“Thank you.” That had been his unimaginative response. He hadn’t needed imagination.
“They distract from your nose.” She had wrinkled her own and raised to her tiptoes, the movement pushing out her bare breasts. From her new height she had peered at his nose, then dropped to her heels again. Her breasts had bounced back into place; he had stared. “I have a guy, if you want a referral. He did my roommate’s nose. Really great work.”
“My nose?” It had drawn his attention away from her breasts and to her eyes. “Are you joking?” Even then, he’d been a superstar, one Oscar already in the bag. And his nose, broken twice—once from a fight and once from a snowboarding injury—was one of his trademarks. It took the polish off his pretty boy features and made him rugged. Now, looking back, he could see how calculated she’d been. Playing the part of the cool girl who wasn’t impressed by the big star. She’d played him hot and cold, didn’t f*ck him again until a third date, and had him tie her up on the fifth. She’d been a porn star in the bedroom and used every bit of his money, power, and name to fuel her own star. She’d been an unscripted extra on that first movie. On his second, she’d played a minor role with lines. Then graduated to supporting roles. Five days after their wedding—a gaudy affair that had made every magazine cover—she got her first big-budget, starring role. From nothing to famous in a year.