Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
AND AREN’T THEY THE PICTURE OF HOLIDAY HAPPINESS?
GREER
Well, Tripp warned me.
Honestly, Clark Carter wasn’t as bad as I’d expected.
Based on Tripp’s description, I’d been braced for a lecherous devil with hooves and horns.
Instead, he was only kind of crappy. And honestly?
That wasn’t bad. He was a typical celebrity.
A little inappropriate. A little egotistical.
A little too blunt since he probably never had to watch his words the way we peasants did.
Otherwise, he was friendly and funny, with the same throwaway flirtatiousness his son had.
Of course, I was now sleeping with Tripp, so maybe that wasn’t the best example.
While we waited for dinner, Clark peppered us with questions that I did my best to deflect back to him.
I was good at that. If there was one thing I knew about famous people, they loved to talk about themselves.
Actually, that was true of most people, and he was no exception.
He had a lot of interesting stories to tell, so it wasn’t a dull hardship.
Especially since Tripp was rewarding my effort by teasing a rough fingertip along my thigh, following the hem of my skirt.
Skylar eventually returned in a dress that showed even more than her pajamas had. Clark pinched the bridge of his nose but otherwise ignored his… companion.
When Percival filled the entryway to announce that dinner was ready, Tripp let out a muttered, “About damn time.”
“We’ve only been here for a little while,” I whispered back.
“A little while in Hell is seven hundred years in the real world.”
“In that case, I hope they have flying cars when we get back out there.” I grinned as he helped me to my feet, going so far as to steady my hips that didn’t need steadying. He gave me another squeeze before moving his arm to wrap around my shoulders as we walked.
The grand dining room looked like something out of a Hallmark movie. Staff members were busy fussing with last-minute details as we sat at the long table. Clark was at the head, with Skylar and I on either side, and Tripp at the other end.
Unsurprisingly, that didn’t work for him. He pulled out my chair, settling me in before moving the other place setting so he was sitting right next to me. I caught a small smile on Percival’s face as he stepped in to assist.
Clark just shook his head, unfazed by Tripp or the lack of symmetry in the beautifully extravagant table.
The first part of the meal went fine. Better than fine, actually. The food was delicious, each course served rather than presented in a buffet style. As much as I loved the typical Christmas dinner with all the trimmings, the gourmet version wasn’t exactly lacking.
Best of all, though, Tripp continued his teasing touches under the table, making it harder and harder to focus on the food.
Things only started to go bad as Clark’s glass grew empty, just to be refilled and emptied again. His tongue loosened, and with it came more questions, more stories.
And more judgments.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, waving his hand as food spilled from the fork he must’ve forgotten he held.
He stabbed the now empty prongs toward Tripp.
“Why the hell would you take that role? Couldn’t your agent get you out of it?
I told you, you should’ve stayed with my agency.
Harold wouldn’t have let you take a supporting role.
It’s a downgrade. A big one. You need to strike while the iron and you are hot. ”
Funny enough, his words were reminiscent of Tony’s during the meeting, but Tripp didn’t say that. “I take the roles I want. I wanted to take this one.”
“Well, back out, for Pete’s sake. No one will care that it’s unprofessional.
You can’t have loyalty in this business.
Roles are fickle, beautiful women, only available for a short time.
If you stay focused on one, you miss out on everything else your fame brings.
One day you’ll wake up and think about all you could’ve had, and by then, it’ll be too late. ”
At the apt metaphor, every last bite of delicious food suddenly sat in my stomach like shards of glass coated with thick acid. It burned and tore at me as my belly churned.
Clark’s mouth tipped down, and for the first time, he looked his age. Or closer to it. “I passed up on the chance to star in a blockbuster movie after you were born, and I regret it every day.”
“I’m sure you do,” Tripp muttered under his breath.
My hand shot to his leg under the table just as he readjusted his position. I’d meant for my touch to be reassuring, but the end result was my palm landing on his crotch instead of his thigh.
I should’ve moved it.
I was going to move it.
But before I could force my body to listen to common sense, Tripp caught my intention and cut off my escape. He covered my hand with his and shoved it back down. Not only that, he dragged it up his hardening cock, then back again.
Grinding it against him.
Despite the twisting in my stomach since Clark’s warning tapped into a very real insecurity, my brain was instantly clouded in a lust haze. I remained like that. Frozen with Tripp’s dick under my hand as conversation continued around us. I wasn’t even sure what was being said.
A shrill ring cut through the air, and I jumped, dropping my fork with a clatter as I snatched my other hand away.
Realizing the ringing was coming from my pocket and not a chastity alarm in Tripp’s pants, I slid my phone out to cut off the aggressive noise.
It’d been set to silent with only a few exceptions, and one of those people was sitting next to me. Two would text instead of calling.
That left one.
Sure enough, it was Mom’s name that flashed across the screen. I lifted my napkin from my lap and set it on the table. “I’m sorry, it’s my mom. Is there somewhere I can take this?”
Percival appeared behind me like magic, pulling my chair out before Tripp could stand.
That was likely a good thing given what was happening under Tripp’s napkin.
“I’ll show you to the study.”
I followed Percival down the long hall that was as over the top as the rest of the house.
Framed photos of Clark from sets, awards shows, and with other people I didn’t recognize were dotted throughout.
He pushed open a heavy door and stepped aside.
“I’ll be down the hall when you’re ready to return.
” He gave a sympathetic, knowing look, like he was aware that table was the last place I wanted to be. “But take your time.”
“Thank you.”
Once I was closed in, I scanned the study. The heavy shelves were lined with books, and I wondered if they were ever read, or if they went to waste on display. Like the hall, more framed mementos and photos decorated those walls, too. An archive to Clark Carter’s achievements.
Or a shrine to his fame.
I lifted my phone to my ear, dialing into my voicemail. Only it wasn’t one message from my mom waiting. It was a dozen.
My dad’s voice carried through, the familiar sound filling me with rage and heartache and guilt until I had no choice but to collapse onto an uncomfortably firm chair that I doubted got much use. My shaking knees wouldn’t support me. “Hey, sweetheart—”
Delete.
“Please—”
Delete.
“I know you’re—”
Delete. Again.
I kept going like that before hesitating on one.
I should’ve hit delete without listening, but the urgency in his voice got to me.
“Greer, sweetheart, please. It’s Christmas.
I want to see my only child. I… I don’t know when that’ll be an option again.
I wanted to talk to you in person, but you and the house arrest ankle monitor aren’t leaving me much choice here.
” He let out a sigh that wasn’t frustrated or annoyed.
It was devastating. Shaky and filled with so much sadness.
“I’m pleading guilty. My lawyer thinks she can get me a good deal, but even if she can’t…
” Another heavy pause. “I just don’t want to put you and your mother through anymore.
I’m sorry, sweetheart. Your old man really made a mess of things.
I know you’re mad. I understand. Just, please.
Please, let me see you. I love you, Greery greens. ”
I tried to scoff at the stupid nickname that I hadn’t heard since the year I went full vegan as a kid, but it came out a choked sob.
He’s pleading guilty?
Will that still mean jail time?
There was a part of me—a big part—that had assumed he would somehow skate by unscathed. Or mostly unscathed. Sure, his practice was gone, his friendship with Maddie’s dad was nonexistent, and his marriage was definitely over.
But other than that.
I’d just figured that he could smooth talk his way out of any legal ramifications.
After all, Josh hadn’t been looped into the drama, and as far as I knew, he was the one with the most proof.
All Mom had—thanks to Kerri’s detective work when they thought my dad was stealing drugs for himself—were some inconsistencies.
Some fudged paperwork. From the bit Josh had shared on our last phone call, what my dad was guilty of wasn’t even that bad.
Bad.
But not drug cartel bad.
I didn’t get why Dad would plead guilty when a good lawyer could probably get him out of it.
I wonder if I should ask Easton to look at the case.
I dismissed the thought immediately. Mostly. I wouldn’t have Easton do it himself. He’d already helped Maddie’s parents dissolve the practice, and I was sure there was some conflict of interest there. But I could ask him to recommend a different lawyer.
If nothing came of it, at least I would know I tried. Maybe that would loosen the guilt that squeezed my chest every time I thought about my dad.
Seeing him was probably a good idea, too.
I’m sure Tripp won’t mind the quick stop, awkward as it may be to meet my dad. Actually, I’ll ask him to wait in the car.
I’m just not ready to share… Any of it. It’s all a disaster.