Hollywood Dirt (Hollywood Dirt, #1)(84)

“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” I spoke up from my corner of the table. “And it was years ago.”

“So you already know what this is about?” Casey rested her weight on the table, her long red nails matching her lips.

“My rehearsal dinner?” I guessed.

“The Rehearsal Dinner From Hell,” she read loudly, her words over enunciated, her fingers shoving a glossy cover in my direction. It skidded halfway down the table and stopped. No one furthered its journey, but I could see the cover picture from where I sat. It was Scott’s and my engagement photo. Some creative mind at the magazine had drawn horns on my head and given me a tail. I looked away and saw Cole, staring at me, his weight against the wall. Our eyes met, and I couldn’t look away. I tried. I failed.

“Why didn’t you tell us about this?” Her voice rang out across the room, and I felt like I was eight years old, in Mrs. Wilson’s class, fessing up to forgetting to feed Sparky the Goldfish. I wanted to look at Casey, wanted to look at the floor, wanted to look anywhere but couldn’t pull away from Cole’s stare.

“Clear the room,” Cole spoke, a copy of the magazine crumpling in his fist. “I need to speak to Summer. Alone.”

No one moved, save for that Coca-Cola-drenched PA who started to stand, then realized no one else was, and plopped back down.

“I mean it.” Cole turned to Don, who sat next to Casey, his hands pressed to his temples. “Film the entry scenes. Have extras stand in for us. I want a chance to talk to her alone.”

Don looked at Cole for a long moment, then stood. No one, out of the ten who left, looked at me. It was three years ago, all over again.

When the door shut, I spoke. “Cole…” I didn’t even know what I had planned to say. I just knew I had to speak; we had to have something between us other than empty space.

“You should have told us. We can control something that we know about. This…” he set the crumpled magazine down on the table and tapped at its surface, “this we can’t control. Not now. Right now every tabloid and entertainment publication has someone, as we speak, getting on a plane and coming to Quincy. And they will talk to every one of your friends, and every Chatty Cathy they can find, and you will be a Trivial Pursuit answer before the end of the week.”

Every one of your friends. Ha. Good luck finding those.

“I don’t care.” I looked down at the table when I spoke, a dried glob of something… was it ketchup?… on its surface. With all of the Franks’ money, you’d think someone here would have cleaned that.

There was the sound of slickness on wood, and I turned my head, watching him walk down the long length of the table, his fingers braced on the wrinkly magazine, sliding it down.

Closer to me.

Three places away.

Closer to me.

Two places away.

He stopped. “Repeat that?”

I looked up into his face, and forgot, for a moment, how much I hated him. “I don’t care.”

“You will. Maybe you don’t right this second, but you will.”

I shrugged. “I don’t think so. I’ve been an outcast in this town for three years. I can’t imagine caring if some soccer mom in Nebraska also thinks I’m psycho.”

“It’s not just moms in Nebraska. It’s everyone in this industry.”

“No offense, but I hate your industry. This is a one-shot thing for me. Then I’m taking my money and running.”

“Really.” He laughed. “You get a lead role in a feature film, and then you are going to just disappear?”

I didn’t smile, I didn’t smirk, I just stared at him and made sure that he understood the words out of my mouth. “Yes.”

He slid the magazine the last seat length toward me and stopped. My thigh jiggled against the seat, and I wanted to stand, wanted to change this dynamic of him looking down on me, but I didn’t. I sat in my chair like a good little girl and tried not to look at the front of his pants. He half-sat against the edge of the table, pulling the magazine around and before me, and his new position was even worse. There, one leg cocked up, the other one on the floor, I could see the outline of him. He was not hard, but I… in this horrible situation, was turned on. I couldn’t help myself. It was a chemical reaction between us that didn’t understand anything else.

He moved his hand from the magazine, and I forced myself to look at that instead, at the glossy photo from a time when I thought that teasing my hair made me look sexier. It didn’t. It made me look trashier. I see that now, and I have no doubt the observation will be so helpfully pointed out by someone like Nancy Grace or Kelly Osbourne or… I swallowed hard. I told him I didn’t care, but part of me did. Part of me had just recovered from being ignored. I didn’t know if I had the strength to now be ridiculed.

When he said my name, it was an exasperated sigh, and I looked up to see him rubbing at his neck, his eyes closed, his features tight. “Summer…” he let my name fall and stretched his head back. “You are so different from every other woman I know.”

“Thanks.” I said the word without the slightest bit of sarcasm, and he laughed.

“Whether you value your reputation or not, we need you to meet with Casey. Let her do her thing. You may have to go on a couple of talk shows and tell your side of it.”