Say It Sexy (28 page)

Tyler went back to scrolling, seeming indifferent to my persistence. “That’s not a hobby I make a point of keeping, unlike Neanderthals like you.” He smiled tartly and I battled the urge to clock him across the mouth.

“How’s that NASA thread treating you?”

Tyler scowled.

“Well,” Shane announced, marching into the fray with his own brand of arrogance. “This Neanderthal has a hot date tonight.”

Glad for the distraction, I sat back and swallowed my pain, kicking my eyebrows up. “Oh, really? And is she a young millionaire author, by chance?”

I had never seen Shane flush that particular shade of carnation pink, but he did. “No,” he muttered.

“You’re kidding. By the way you guys were locking lips at that party, I thought I was going to have to pry you two apart with a crow bar. I didn’t imagine it, did I?”

His jaw clenched. I could tell he wanted to say something, but instead he digressed to another topic. “I met this other girl last week when I went to grab some coffee. We’ve been texting.”

“You got a picture?” I asked, humoring him with a lewd grin.

“Oh, please,” Tyler begged at his Galaxy, his voice lacking all sincerity. “Yes. Show us a picture. I can hardly contain myself.”

Shane bucked up, fishing his phone out of his jeans. “Yeah. We took a selfie before I left. Better brace yourselves. She’s super hot.” Opening his phone, he pulled up the picture and passed me the phone.

I could have died on the spot.

“Her name is—”

“Rachel,” I finished, sick over the image of the blond-haired blue-eyed Barbie with her lips pressed against Shane’s cheek.

“Yeah!” Shane laughed. “You know her? Small world! She’s great.” He started rambling. I couldn’t hear a word even if I wanted to over the blood roaring in my ears.

Rational thought left my mind, replaced by a spiny, clawed madness. Standing up suddenly and upending my chair, I thumbed over to his contacts, scrolled down to her name, and dialed the number.

“Whoa, man! What’s up?” Shane asked, clearly unsettled as I put the phone to my ear.

After three rings, her syrupy voice answered. “Shane! Hi, sugar!”

“This isn’t Shane,” I growled, fixing my eyes on the wall and envisioning the shock I hoped hung on her fake face. She didn’t say a word because I didn’t give her a chance to. I honestly hoped that on the other end of the line, she stood choking on her tongue. “You know damn well who it is. I’ll say this once, and only once. You stay the fuck away from my friends. And you stay the fuck away from Gwen. I’m dropping her, but I’m never coming back to you. No matter who you puppet, or what lies you spread, I am never putting myself in your slimy, sinister, traitorous hands again. That shit you pulled with not only the press, but with her god damn
father
was low. I never thought you’d sink to that level. Gwen has her issues, but she didn’t deserve that. There was a time I did what I do to make you jealous, to seek revenge when I made it big, and left you in the dust. Those days are done. I’m doing this for me now. I’m going to be successful, happy, and whole for me. After this moment, know that I will never think of you again. But if you continue to contact me, or my friends, I will file a restraining order. I will drag your synthetic ass through court and the mire of public scorn for being the psycho, grasping bitch you are. Do not test me, Rachel. This is the only warning you’re going to get.”

With that, I ended the call and dropped the phone on the table. Ignoring Shane and Tyler’s pale expressions of horror, I stalked out of the break room.

Gwen

Feeling as though I had been hollowed out with a newly sharpened ice cream scooper, I sat in the chair in the conference room, oblivious to the buzz of conversation around me as more of the crew filed in. Even though I’d been shaking in my boots, I had succeeded in standing up to my dad, informing him that I was continuing my role on
Straightlaced
. I had never heard him scream at me like that before. But with Lyle’s support, I’d stayed strong. I’d told my dad I didn’t want to see him or hear from him until he could be civil. Then Lyle had gone the extra mile and told my dad if he didn’t leave, he’d be forced to call the police.

When I’d said nothing, my dad looked like I’d plunged a knife into his stomach.

I’d almost caved then, but I didn’t, not even when my dad turned and walked away from me without another glance.

Two weeks had since passed—two agonizing weeks with no word from my dad. Two weeks of being close enough to touch Garrick, and simultaneously a thousand miles apart. The tabloids had had a field day, the story erupting across the internet. I tried to steer clear of it. I tried not to put myself through even more agony by reading the comments.

I tried.

But I failed.

What a slut.

Wow. WHORE.

I knew she’d go crazy. They all do eventually.

Where did she buy that crap outfit? Walmart?

Her father must be so proud.

Ew.

That guy can do so much better.

HE’S SO HOT!!!

Go die, bitch.

It all echoed in my head—a hellish symphony that never shut off, and no one around to cover my internal ears.

Now, aside from Erica (who had been too engrossed in production of the second book to have time for me), I had no one. Garrick had written me off, something I justly deserved after what I had put him through. Tyler and Shane had both tried to talk to me, to buoy my spirits on set, but they hadn’t succeeded. While I appreciated the effort, what I wanted most was to be left alone, the only place I felt safe anymore. I didn’t even try to call Vi, who had always been a wonderful confidant and shoulder-to-cry-on in the past, because I was in New Mexico and California seemed a world away, and without her physical presence to comfort me, I knew talking to her over the phone would just make me feel worse.

I had entered protective mode, fully absorbed in self-preservation and enduring the least amount of hurt possible. The less I gave credence to my emotions, the less propensity they had to be wielded as weapons against me.

“I think you all know why I called you here today,” Lyle’s voice announced, breaking me out of my reverie.

I looked up to find Garrick, Shane, Tyler, Erica, Alice, and a slew of other extras seated around the table.
When had they all come in?

From the behavior Garrick had demonstrated toward me, I inferred that he had no desire to reconcile the damage done. Why would he? Garrick had said he was falling in love with me, and I had thrown that back in his face in front of my father. We’d never recover from that. He had not failed me that night. He had fought—played his strongest hand in my defense. I had folded.

Lyle clapped his hands together and rubbed them excitedly. “Tomorrow, we have our very first open press panel at Winrock Mall.”

“Woohoo!” Shane cheered, thrusting his fist upwards. I wished I could have shared in his joy even as Tyler rolled his eyes.

Chuckling, Lyle pushed his glasses up his nose. “They’ll be holding it in the open store space adjoining the food court. I’m sure you’re all as eager as I am to talk about the show! However, I wanted to be sure to remind you not to give away any spoilers for future seasons. Since Episode Six will have already aired, you can discuss matters leading to Episode Seven, but nothing beyond that.” He shook his finger and clicked his tongue as though he stood surrounded by kindergarteners. “You’re under contract, and discretion and secrecy is mandated. If all goes well, we may be appearing at other conventions in the near future!”

With that said, Alice ventured a step toward the front and took the lead. She stood with her hands behind her back, supporting my earlier musings that she may have had some army training after all.

“I have sent reminder emails to all of you, detailing the time you should arrive, and the questions you should be prepared to answer. Try to be as cryptic as you can with the direction Lyle plans to take with
Straightlaced
, and as detailed as you can with questions directed specifically at your characters, and how you may have grown as an actor or actress while playing him or her.” She sighed softly. “We anticipate the typical bias between male and female questions. Gwen, try not to take offense when most of your cue is strictly physical. They’ll ask about your diet, your exercise regimen, how you prepared for the role, etc. I sincerely wish we could mandate equality as far as the quality of your roster, but it’s rare that society thinks females have the brains to answer serious queries. Understood?”

A series of yeses and nods went up from the collective. I stared blankly, cataloguing Alice’s warning into a part of my brain that I had set aside for important information, but in no way responding emotionally.

Drained and deadened, I couldn’t scrounge up even a shadow of a smile.

“Also,” Lyle spoke. “Gwen and Garrick, it’s very possible that you will receive an enormous amount of questions and suspicion regarding your activities and relationship off screen. I sincerely apologize for not organizing a better security system for you. Most of them were still at the cast party, where we had expected you to be.”

I nodded, faked a smile, and said, “It’s nothing. Over with now.”

Garrick grunted his agreement, but we didn’t meet eyes.

Concern stamped on his expression, Lyle’s attention volleyed between us, as though trying to prompt a magnetic reaction between our gazes. “Nevertheless, I would recommend preparing your answers together, to avoid confusion. That goes for the panel at the Winrock Mall, as well as your individual appearances on the Carl Marsh Show, which have been scheduled over the next two weeks.”

That’s right, I thought. Alice had told us about our guest appearances on the Carl Marsh Show weeks ago. At the time, I’d been thrilled. Now, it just seemed like another obstacle to navigate.

“That’s not necessary,” Garrick stated. “We both know precisely what happened. We’ll handle it.”

Sick inside, I let my attention fall away and drift on the waves of what was, and what might have been.

Garrick

With a stone sulking in the pit of my stomach, I took my seat on stage amidst the cheering of our audience gathered inside Winrock Mall. Faking a grin had never been hard for me, and the enthusiasm coursing through the room caught on like a contagion. I waved. Whistles and whoops resounding through the conference hall the size of a small auditorium answered me.

Chancing a glance at Gwen, I did a subtle double take and struggled to conceal my alarm. She wore a strangled, wan smile—plastic as Rachel’s nose—directed at the crowd. My insides constricted at the strange shade of pale coloring her face.

I had noticed that yesterday, at Lyle’s meeting, she seemed distant and flat. It took everything in me to restrain myself from reaching out to her. She probably wanted to be left alone. At least, that had been my conclusion with how standoffish she seemed on set. So, I turned cold. Not to mention the fact that being around her ached like a festering wound. I had not endured that level of embarrassment, that level of rejection, since the night I walked in on Rachel and Dominic. Gwen had stated her feelings very clearly. And though we had yet to make our peace, it hadn’t been my impression that she needed further closure.

But Hell knew
I
did. It was a matter of judging when she was ready to give it to me. Unlike her, I hadn’t been able to just turn off my feelings. And that in itself was completely backwards. Solely based on our personalities and history, I should have been the numb one.

How had one girl, one chance firework of chemistry, so profoundly altered my way of living?

What had happened to enjoying all the things that life had to offer, and not deluding myself or restricting my focus to one woman, or an abstract concept? I had come to realize that Gwen shone as the best offering. That was how. That was why. The only problem was, she didn’t want me. I had thousands of girls pining for my attention. The only one I wanted to lavish with affection and effort had publically shoved my face into the dirt of denial.

However, I had to gather all that angst up and toss it into a suitcase to be sorted through later. I knew what this panel meant for the show, and to Lyle.

And it scared the shit out of me, for the first time in our professional relationship, to start doubting Gwen’s ability to do the same. With a gentle tap to her elbow, I tried to ensnare her attention, if only to remind her to buck up.

She didn’t look at me.

Shit.

Our host introduced us one by one, Shane on the far left and Tyler beside me on the far right. Erica sat beside Gwen. The host, who disclosed that she doubled as a news anchor, wore a nametag that read Cera Silverman and a sinfully tight pencil skirt. After a few preliminary messages and basic inquiries about
Straightlaced
, Cera took questions from the audience. Most of them were directed at Erica to begin with, all about her plans for the series and what inspired her to write it.

Gwen fared alright initially, a bit flat and emotionally dead, but she completely crumbled at the first mention of our relationship off screen. From that moment on, it was like a feeding frenzy. The first drop of blood had been spilled into the water and the sharks came in swarms. Some of them grilled Gwen about the night of Logan’s party. Others insisted that she tell all about our private activities. Thirty minutes in, I saw Erica take Gwen’s hand under the table and squeeze. And not to comfort her, but to rouse her. Gwen was sluggish, dead—completely unenthused by the entire scene. A bee could have stung her and she wouldn’t have reacted. It was as though someone had stolen Gwen and replaced her with an empty husk, puppeted from somewhere offstage.