Love, Chloe
Page 20
Get me a change of clothes. I was, apparently, the only one with shaky legs and a raging libido. I thought that would be better. I wiped my hands on my jeans and pulled out my cell. Sent Hannah a text that the asshole she called a boss needed new clothes. I ignored the colorfully grouchy emoticons she sent back in response, too busy trying to clean up the mess. I thought that would be better. Ouch.
First kisses could tell you a lot. Ours told me that his sex appeal wasn’t limited to his looks. Ours told me that any attraction I felt for Joey Plazen wasn’t returned.
First kisses were often last kisses also.
I used to think that I was hot. Nabbing one of New York’s most eligible bachelors did that to a girl’s ego. But then Vic cheated on me. And my track record ever since had sucked. Between the thousand-dollar asshole and Joey’s reaction to our kiss—paired with zero date invites in the last year—I was failing terribly as a single in New York.
Nothing was going right.
“Hey, Nicole’s girl.”
The first time he’d spoken to me since our disastrous kiss, and that was how Joey Plazen summoned me. By command, one step above him slapping his knee and whistling at me like I was a dog.
I ignored him and kept walking, a juice in one hand, new shooting schedule in the other. Two weeks wasn’t long enough to heal the sting of that snub.
“Hey!” I zagged right and heard him curse as he jumped over a mass of cords and tried to catch up. I swallowed a smirk, speeding up a little. “Chloe.”
I stopped, spinning around and raising my eyebrows, his arms coming out as he reached me. I took a casual sip of the juice and winced, too much ginger in the blend.
“Where are you going?” He tucked both hands in the front pockets of his jeans.
An unexpected question. I stared, taking me a minute to remember where I had been going. Oh, right. To pick up Nicole’s cardigan. “Wardrobe.” I managed the word and took another sip. Waited for him to say something—anything—and when he stayed silent, his eyes roaming over the concrete between us, I turned to leave.
“Chloe.” My name was a puff on his lips, and I heard the scrape of his shoes when he lunged after me, his hand closing on my shoulder, a gentle pull that I ignored.
“What do you want, Joey?” Because that’s what it was. He wanted something. If I’d learned anything from two months of being on set with Joey, it was that every smile was a bribe, every flirt was a favor, and our kiss against the wall … that was just entertainment. Benta had more properly defined it as him trying to put me in my place. It had certainly, if anything, put my ego in check and killed any fantasies of a future between us.
“You know, for an assistant, you sure do walk around with a stick up your ass.”
WOW. Whatever he was chasing me down for just moved a lot further out of his reach. I kept walking.
“Chloe…” When he closed his hand on my shoulder a second time, it was harder, his fingers biting in and holding on, his pull forcing me to stop. I looked down at his hand.
“Move your hand or I’m pouring this juice all over it.”
He lifted his hand and held it up in surrender. “Chloe, please. Let’s grab lunch. I don’t have a scene ’til two.”
“Why?”
“I can’t ask you to lunch?” He scowled, and I liked that. I understood grouchy Joey. It was the random spurts of friendliness and sexuality that unsettled me.
“I can’t know your motives?” I smiled as sweetly as I could and he looked irritated. I guess he hated Fake Chloe as much as I hated Fake Joey. Ugh. Our names rhymed. How had I never noticed that before?
“I just want to talk. That’s it.”
I examined his face warily. The conversation was getting weirder by the minute. I glanced at my watch. “Chat now. I’ve got stuff to do.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Here?”
I bit back a sarcastic comment about him needing privacy and eyed the crowded path. I nodded to our left, cut between two trailers and walked to a quiet spot behind a rack of lights. “Better?” I asked, my voice quieter.
“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly hesitant, then leaned closer in to me. “We need Nicole to cough up more cash.”
It was so unexpected I laughed. I’d heard that rumor since the day I walked on set, snide comments following Nicole wherever she went. The general consensus among the crew was that she’d bought her spot on the cast, a rumor I hadn’t debunked. It distracted them from the truth: that Paulo was more interested in what was between her legs than what was filling her pockets.
Joey glared. “I’m serious, Chloe. The film is way over budget. The studio is balking.”
“So? Don’t most movies go over budget?”
“Yeah, but the studio is already skittish, especially with Condom Barbie’s name attached. Paulo approached me about needing a cash infusion.”
That surprised me. I didn’t know crap about movies but it seemed odd to ask the star to fund it after filming had begun. “Is that normal? A director approaching you to help fund the film?”
“No. But Paulo and I are the ones who found this script and pitched it to the production company. I offered to step in with cash then but it wasn’t needed.”
“So put in the cash now.”
His eyes darkened. “I’m not paying for Nicole’s mistakes. The only reason we’re over budget is her. She’s taking three takes longer than anyone else, and has Paulo’s ear, requesting script changes every other day.”
Something was off. I watched his toe stub at the ground, saw the flex of his jaw as he looked to the side. I’d lay down odds that Joey couldn’t step up with the funding, and it had nothing to do with Nicole and everything to do with a lack of cash. Maybe he wasn’t as successful as he wanted everyone to believe. Or as responsible with his success.
I didn’t call him out. Instead, I asked how much was needed, flinching at the twenty million number he threw out. An amount he seemed intent on Nicole covering.
“Will she do it?”
I shrugged. “Why are you asking me? You see her nine hours a day, ask her.”
He reached out and grabbed my hand, a move right out of his Endearing Gestures Toolbox. “You know her. What’s their financial situation like? Is that kind of additional investment feasible?”
I studied him. Joey was actually worried, the tension in his grip indicating exactly how interested he was in my response. For all his bitching about Nicole tanking the film, he wanted to see it through. He wanted to see it funded. But not only that … he wanted to see it succeed. Maybe Big Bad Joey Plazen wasn’t the confident ass he portrayed. Maybe when cut, he bled insecurity just like the rest of us. He raised his eyebrows and stared at me, waiting.
“I don’t know,” I finally said, tugging my hand back. There’d been a few hints here and there that money wasn’t as free-flowing as it might have once been. Which wasn’t to say the Brantleys were downsizing anytime soon. But Nicole was yacht-shopping last week and Clarke shut down that idea down really quick. “I don’t think it’s a given. A possibility, maybe.” I glanced at my watch. “I have to go.”
He nodded and stepped back. “Thanks.”
“Sorry I couldn’t help out more.”
He flashed a smile, one almost convincing enough to look carefree. “No biggie. Someone will come forward, if she won’t.” He waved, turning away, and I watched him walk off, not buying his sudden ease.
First kisses could tell you a lot. Ours told me that his sex appeal wasn’t limited to his looks. Ours told me that any attraction I felt for Joey Plazen wasn’t returned.
First kisses were often last kisses also.
I used to think that I was hot. Nabbing one of New York’s most eligible bachelors did that to a girl’s ego. But then Vic cheated on me. And my track record ever since had sucked. Between the thousand-dollar asshole and Joey’s reaction to our kiss—paired with zero date invites in the last year—I was failing terribly as a single in New York.
Nothing was going right.
“Hey, Nicole’s girl.”
The first time he’d spoken to me since our disastrous kiss, and that was how Joey Plazen summoned me. By command, one step above him slapping his knee and whistling at me like I was a dog.
I ignored him and kept walking, a juice in one hand, new shooting schedule in the other. Two weeks wasn’t long enough to heal the sting of that snub.
“Hey!” I zagged right and heard him curse as he jumped over a mass of cords and tried to catch up. I swallowed a smirk, speeding up a little. “Chloe.”
I stopped, spinning around and raising my eyebrows, his arms coming out as he reached me. I took a casual sip of the juice and winced, too much ginger in the blend.
“Where are you going?” He tucked both hands in the front pockets of his jeans.
An unexpected question. I stared, taking me a minute to remember where I had been going. Oh, right. To pick up Nicole’s cardigan. “Wardrobe.” I managed the word and took another sip. Waited for him to say something—anything—and when he stayed silent, his eyes roaming over the concrete between us, I turned to leave.
“Chloe.” My name was a puff on his lips, and I heard the scrape of his shoes when he lunged after me, his hand closing on my shoulder, a gentle pull that I ignored.
“What do you want, Joey?” Because that’s what it was. He wanted something. If I’d learned anything from two months of being on set with Joey, it was that every smile was a bribe, every flirt was a favor, and our kiss against the wall … that was just entertainment. Benta had more properly defined it as him trying to put me in my place. It had certainly, if anything, put my ego in check and killed any fantasies of a future between us.
“You know, for an assistant, you sure do walk around with a stick up your ass.”
WOW. Whatever he was chasing me down for just moved a lot further out of his reach. I kept walking.
“Chloe…” When he closed his hand on my shoulder a second time, it was harder, his fingers biting in and holding on, his pull forcing me to stop. I looked down at his hand.
“Move your hand or I’m pouring this juice all over it.”
He lifted his hand and held it up in surrender. “Chloe, please. Let’s grab lunch. I don’t have a scene ’til two.”
“Why?”
“I can’t ask you to lunch?” He scowled, and I liked that. I understood grouchy Joey. It was the random spurts of friendliness and sexuality that unsettled me.
“I can’t know your motives?” I smiled as sweetly as I could and he looked irritated. I guess he hated Fake Chloe as much as I hated Fake Joey. Ugh. Our names rhymed. How had I never noticed that before?
“I just want to talk. That’s it.”
I examined his face warily. The conversation was getting weirder by the minute. I glanced at my watch. “Chat now. I’ve got stuff to do.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Here?”
I bit back a sarcastic comment about him needing privacy and eyed the crowded path. I nodded to our left, cut between two trailers and walked to a quiet spot behind a rack of lights. “Better?” I asked, my voice quieter.
“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly hesitant, then leaned closer in to me. “We need Nicole to cough up more cash.”
It was so unexpected I laughed. I’d heard that rumor since the day I walked on set, snide comments following Nicole wherever she went. The general consensus among the crew was that she’d bought her spot on the cast, a rumor I hadn’t debunked. It distracted them from the truth: that Paulo was more interested in what was between her legs than what was filling her pockets.
Joey glared. “I’m serious, Chloe. The film is way over budget. The studio is balking.”
“So? Don’t most movies go over budget?”
“Yeah, but the studio is already skittish, especially with Condom Barbie’s name attached. Paulo approached me about needing a cash infusion.”
That surprised me. I didn’t know crap about movies but it seemed odd to ask the star to fund it after filming had begun. “Is that normal? A director approaching you to help fund the film?”
“No. But Paulo and I are the ones who found this script and pitched it to the production company. I offered to step in with cash then but it wasn’t needed.”
“So put in the cash now.”
His eyes darkened. “I’m not paying for Nicole’s mistakes. The only reason we’re over budget is her. She’s taking three takes longer than anyone else, and has Paulo’s ear, requesting script changes every other day.”
Something was off. I watched his toe stub at the ground, saw the flex of his jaw as he looked to the side. I’d lay down odds that Joey couldn’t step up with the funding, and it had nothing to do with Nicole and everything to do with a lack of cash. Maybe he wasn’t as successful as he wanted everyone to believe. Or as responsible with his success.
I didn’t call him out. Instead, I asked how much was needed, flinching at the twenty million number he threw out. An amount he seemed intent on Nicole covering.
“Will she do it?”
I shrugged. “Why are you asking me? You see her nine hours a day, ask her.”
He reached out and grabbed my hand, a move right out of his Endearing Gestures Toolbox. “You know her. What’s their financial situation like? Is that kind of additional investment feasible?”
I studied him. Joey was actually worried, the tension in his grip indicating exactly how interested he was in my response. For all his bitching about Nicole tanking the film, he wanted to see it through. He wanted to see it funded. But not only that … he wanted to see it succeed. Maybe Big Bad Joey Plazen wasn’t the confident ass he portrayed. Maybe when cut, he bled insecurity just like the rest of us. He raised his eyebrows and stared at me, waiting.
“I don’t know,” I finally said, tugging my hand back. There’d been a few hints here and there that money wasn’t as free-flowing as it might have once been. Which wasn’t to say the Brantleys were downsizing anytime soon. But Nicole was yacht-shopping last week and Clarke shut down that idea down really quick. “I don’t think it’s a given. A possibility, maybe.” I glanced at my watch. “I have to go.”
He nodded and stepped back. “Thanks.”
“Sorry I couldn’t help out more.”
He flashed a smile, one almost convincing enough to look carefree. “No biggie. Someone will come forward, if she won’t.” He waved, turning away, and I watched him walk off, not buying his sudden ease.
