figure out how to spin this so Spence will agree to host. I couldn’t care less about celebrity news that doesn’t involve me. Until a picture of Heather Troy slides onto my screen. I roll my eyes and click on the image, because apparently I’m a masochist.
She’s arriving at the Chateau Marmont for dinner with friends. Which is shocking as hell because I didn’t know she had any of those. She’s in all black, of course, but this ensemble is different. It’s a skin-hugging lace catsuit, a style that demands one wear fancy lingerie because it shows. A normal woman would wear black panties to keep it classy. Not Heather. I enlarge the photo with a thumb and forefinger and nearly drop my smoothie.
What. The. Hell?
This disgusting skank is wearing my underwear. A purple La Perla thong practically glows through the black lace covering her bony ass. No way we bought the same pair. Heather only buys black. So how in the hell did she get them? And what in the hell does she think she’s doing wearing them?
Question one... I can’t even. Rage rattles my brain to think of the possibilities.
Question two is simple. This is her not-so-subtle way of telling me to fuck off. Wearing my underwear is the whore’s equivalent of a double dog dare. A bring-it-on-bitch challenge that further proves how nutso she is. Hiking her leg and peeing on Devon would be less obvious. She wants to spook me and damn if it isn’t working. I drop to the padded gym carpet, landing so hard I bounce.
“What’s wrong?” Spence asks, sitting up from his bench.
“Nothing.” He gets a canned female response because I honestly don’t even know where to begin explaining all that’s wrong in my life. What the hell is she doing with my thong?
“Carly?” Spence lays a hand on my shoulder. It startles me. I turn to him and shake it away, closing my phone so he can’t see. “I’m...um...leg day.” I force a smile. “My muscles are Jell-O.” It’s a horrible lie he gracefully accepts. But he’s not stupid. He knows me well enough to know there’s something more.
“Shit, Carly. I’m sorry.” Spence leans over and takes a swig of his water. He obviously assumes my horrible lie is about his refusal to host, oblivious to the numerous piles of dung littering my life.
“No, it’s fine. I understand.” I wave a hand like it’s nothing. Until the thought of breaking this news to Iliad piles onto my growing list of problems. Okay, maybe it’s not okay. I groan over the total trainwreck my life is these days, not even knowing where to begin sorting out the mess.
“This is your big break. I want to be supportive. You can use my yacht. Insiders know the boat. They’ll get the joke. But my name on that invitation is a press story I can’t afford. The boat is the best I can do.” Spence is confident, giving a definitive Chairman of the Board nod.
“Wait...really?” I shake my head, so consumed by thoughts of bitches in purple panties that I don’t realize what he’s saying. The massive problem he’s solved for me.
“I’m doing this for you, not them,” he says.
“Oh, Spence.” I throw my arms around him. “Yuck!” I say, and recoil from his sweat. He chuckles like I’m an idiot. “I owe you the biggest favor in the world for this. How about I start with Maria?” I offer, adding a fake giggle for good measure. It lodges in my throat like a rock.
“Don’t bother.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t want Ryan Algood’s sloppy seconds.” He wipes sweat from his face with a towel.
“Right.” I look down at my phone. It’s burning a hole in my hand. “Look, I gotta run. I’ll have Iliad send the information. Thanks again. You’re the best!”
I can’t get out of the gym fast enough. Bursting through the doors, I suck in greedy breaths of sunshine-filled air, hoping they calm my insides, because something is seriously about to explode in there.
Without hesitation, I dial his number. He answers on the second
She’s arriving at the Chateau Marmont for dinner with friends. Which is shocking as hell because I didn’t know she had any of those. She’s in all black, of course, but this ensemble is different. It’s a skin-hugging lace catsuit, a style that demands one wear fancy lingerie because it shows. A normal woman would wear black panties to keep it classy. Not Heather. I enlarge the photo with a thumb and forefinger and nearly drop my smoothie.
What. The. Hell?
This disgusting skank is wearing my underwear. A purple La Perla thong practically glows through the black lace covering her bony ass. No way we bought the same pair. Heather only buys black. So how in the hell did she get them? And what in the hell does she think she’s doing wearing them?
Question one... I can’t even. Rage rattles my brain to think of the possibilities.
Question two is simple. This is her not-so-subtle way of telling me to fuck off. Wearing my underwear is the whore’s equivalent of a double dog dare. A bring-it-on-bitch challenge that further proves how nutso she is. Hiking her leg and peeing on Devon would be less obvious. She wants to spook me and damn if it isn’t working. I drop to the padded gym carpet, landing so hard I bounce.
“What’s wrong?” Spence asks, sitting up from his bench.
“Nothing.” He gets a canned female response because I honestly don’t even know where to begin explaining all that’s wrong in my life. What the hell is she doing with my thong?
“Carly?” Spence lays a hand on my shoulder. It startles me. I turn to him and shake it away, closing my phone so he can’t see. “I’m...um...leg day.” I force a smile. “My muscles are Jell-O.” It’s a horrible lie he gracefully accepts. But he’s not stupid. He knows me well enough to know there’s something more.
“Shit, Carly. I’m sorry.” Spence leans over and takes a swig of his water. He obviously assumes my horrible lie is about his refusal to host, oblivious to the numerous piles of dung littering my life.
“No, it’s fine. I understand.” I wave a hand like it’s nothing. Until the thought of breaking this news to Iliad piles onto my growing list of problems. Okay, maybe it’s not okay. I groan over the total trainwreck my life is these days, not even knowing where to begin sorting out the mess.
“This is your big break. I want to be supportive. You can use my yacht. Insiders know the boat. They’ll get the joke. But my name on that invitation is a press story I can’t afford. The boat is the best I can do.” Spence is confident, giving a definitive Chairman of the Board nod.
“Wait...really?” I shake my head, so consumed by thoughts of bitches in purple panties that I don’t realize what he’s saying. The massive problem he’s solved for me.
“I’m doing this for you, not them,” he says.
“Oh, Spence.” I throw my arms around him. “Yuck!” I say, and recoil from his sweat. He chuckles like I’m an idiot. “I owe you the biggest favor in the world for this. How about I start with Maria?” I offer, adding a fake giggle for good measure. It lodges in my throat like a rock.
“Don’t bother.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t want Ryan Algood’s sloppy seconds.” He wipes sweat from his face with a towel.
“Right.” I look down at my phone. It’s burning a hole in my hand. “Look, I gotta run. I’ll have Iliad send the information. Thanks again. You’re the best!”
I can’t get out of the gym fast enough. Bursting through the doors, I suck in greedy breaths of sunshine-filled air, hoping they calm my insides, because something is seriously about to explode in there.
Without hesitation, I dial his number. He answers on the second
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