Chapter 9 #2
I righted the chairs, pulling one out from the bushes. I didn’t attempt to clean more than that since I wasn’t equipped with a hazmat suit.
No wonder Greer thought I’d been robbed.
Thank fuck the cleaning service will be here soon.
I went inside and flopped down on the couch to wait for them as I settled in for a chill night.
The night had started chill.
The cleaning service came and went, putting shit in order. I’d scrolled furniture options before remembering why I never got far. Since I had no damn clue what I was doing, I’d texted Easton for his decorator’s info, but his lackluster review of her left me back at square one.
Alone.
In an empty house.
An empty house that was too fucking quiet.
Rather than having people over to trash all the hard work the cleaners had done, I’d decided to go out. I hadn’t wanted to see all the happy couples and throuples and whatever else at Gilded. I sure as shit hadn’t wanted to escape to one of the backrooms with anyone.
Not unless a pretty siren suddenly showed.
But she was likely busy with whoever had her blushing and racing away from me.
So I’d settled on my favorite nightclub.
It’d been a mistake.
The packed club was too loud.
Filled with too many people.
All of them with too many fucking cameras aimed my way.
Through the fog and smoke, my favored VIP dais in the middle of the excitement suddenly felt like a center stage.
No.
It was an exhibit, and I was an item on display to be gawked at.
I shot a glare to the side as women approached the roped-off area, trying to talk their way past the security who stood nearby.
If it were a month ago, I would’ve had the barrier open.
Every lush couch, chair, and high stool in my little section would’ve been filled with a beautiful woman who would laugh, smile, and nod at each word out of my mouth.
But never roll her eyes.
Only Greer did that.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I wasn’t sure why I was so wrapped up in someone I’d known for a week. Especially when those feelings clearly weren’t reciprocated. The only time I’d seen her ruffled was because of someone else.
The lucky prick.
I need to get laid.
It’d been too long since I’d entertained anyone other than my hand. I knew better than to hook up with someone at one of my house parties. I never spent the night with anyone, and kicking them out was always awkward as shit.
Gilded used to offer a nearly endless candy store of whatever perversion I wanted to sample, but it hadn’t packed the same appeal it used to. I was too on edge, never relaxed enough to enjoy anything or anyone. I left feeling empty.
And not just my balls.
With my unintentional dry spell, it was no wonder that one woman—one who was too young for me to begin with—had me all twisted. I just needed to fuck her out of my system.
Easy.
“Tripp! Tripp, over here!”
Fucking hell.
Unlike the main entrance, the discreet exit in the maze of back alleyways was usually empty of waiting paparazzi.
It was apparently my lucky fucking night.
Club security tried to pull me back inside, but I waved them off. The damage was done. The only thing I wanted to do was get the hell out of there.
A dozen men screamed questions at me while recording with their phones. It was pathetic. They used to do us the courtesy of lugging around better quality cameras so we looked our best while they caught us at our worst. Like film cameras, DSLR cameras were a dying medium, and the artistry suffered.
One question managed to cut through the rest of the buzz. “Who’s your new lady friend?”
My mind automatically jumped to Greer, and I wondered if she’d been spotted leaving my house earlier. Or maybe just my party the weekend prior.
But when a hand wrapped around my forearm, I glanced over to see a woman standing close.
I blinked down until she was in focus, though it still took me a second to remember that I’d seen her inside. Unlike the other women, she hadn’t immediately given up when security blocked my section. She’d tried repeatedly to get through.
I respected the persistence, but that was it.
“Did you follow me out here?” Dislodging myself from her hold, I kept a smile on my face and my tone light so the narrative didn’t get twisted into me being a dick.
It wasn’t going to be that easy, though.
The woman grabbed me again and tugged me closer so I could hear her over the yelling. “Don’t you remember me?”
I could walk away right now and forget your face within minutes.
I was drunk but not drunk enough to share that thought.
Flashing a forced apologetic smile, I said, “Listen, I’m tired—”
“We met here a couple months ago. I accidentally fell in your section here.”
That fall almost cost me my movie premiere.
I must not have been doing a good job hiding my displeasure at the memory because she quickly added, “I defended you. I have a ton of followers, so I went live right away to clear it all up so people knew you were innocent.”
I scoffed.
Right.
Me.
Innocent.
Pure as the motherfucking driven snow.
“I appreciate that,” I lied. “Have a good night.”
“I have a better way you can thank me…”
She kept going, alluding to a wild night before outright promising one, but I wasn’t tempted. I gave the cameras a wave as I eased toward the end of the alleyway and left her to answer questions.
She should be the one doing it.
Based on what they said, I was fairly certain she’d been the one to call them there to begin with.
Some followed me, throwing compliments and insults in equal measure, not caring which got a reaction as long as it got one.
Tires squealed as a Rolls-Royce hung a U-ey and slammed on its brakes to park illegally at the curb.
Hank—my driver and occasional bodyguard—stormed out of the vehicle before it even stopped rocking.
A couple of the men took one look at the intimidating SOB before hightailing it back to get the story from…
Whatever her name was.
Two men stayed, snapping pictures and yelling more.
Hank blocked me with his stocky body and hurried me into the backseat of the car where the tinted windows were blacked out. Once I was inside, the flashes and questions stopped instantly, and the assholes hurriedly scuttled away from his hulking form.
I didn’t blame them. The older man looked like he snorted protein powder for breakfast.
They didn’t have to know that he was one of the nicest people in that shitty-ass town.
He proved it by climbing in and letting his concern show freely. “You were supposed to text when you were on your way out.”
“Figured it was safe since that exit is usually empty.”
“Not anymore.” He met my gaze in the rearview mirror. “This is going to keep happening more and more. You need someone full time.”
He wasn’t wrong, but I was fighting it.
Growing up with Clark Carter as a father meant my old man had a whole team of bodyguards to protect him from the rabid, unhinged fans who truly believed they were in the drawn-out drama of the fictional Meadow Stars.
It made it hard for me to sneak his booze, get laid, or do any of the other typical teenage shit when I lived in a fishbowl with eyes on me all the time.
Eyes that were all too happy to rat me out to my father.
Once I got my own place, I’d been able to blend in with the other mildly famous schmucks.
The occasional overzealous fan or paparazzo out for a viral story was a small price to pay for some privacy.
I had Hank for when I was going somewhere too populated.
Or, more often, when I was in no condition to get behind the wheel.
“I already told you I’m happy to work more hours,” he continued. “Fuck knows you already pay me enough.”
“I don’t think Darren would agree,” I pointed out since his husband probably wasn’t big on how often Hank had to drag his ass out of bed in the middle of the night to get my drunk ass home safely.
He scoffed. “Our offer on that house in Encino was accepted thanks to you. It’ll be a wonder if he doesn’t build a shrine to you in the living room.”
“Congrats,” I said, knowing how hard they’d tried to get a place.
Hopefully they furnish theirs better than I have…
Slowing to a stop at a red light, he looked in the rearview mirror again. “We’re both fine with me working more. You’re getting too famous to be out without protection.”
Lucky me.
He knew he’d pushed enough and dropped it. “Golden or someplace else?”
“Home,” I said, leaning my head back and closing my eyes.
I wonder if Greer is home.
And if she’s alone.