Take Me To The Beach

by K. L. Grayson, Karina Halle, A. L. Jackson, Marni Mann, Monica Murphy, Devney Perry, Kristen Proby, Rachel Van Dyken

  Disappointment.

  Unemployable.

  Slut.

  Whore.

  I flushed, and as I went over to the sink to wash my mouth and hands, I caught a glimpse of my face. The retching had caused my makeup to run, my hair was sweaty and wild, and my eyes were bloodshot. I couldn’t stop staring at my reflection, at this girl who was gazing at me, because she looked nothing like me.

  Disgusted, I turned on the water, and just as I did, my phone lit up with a text.

  Eve: Where the hell are you?

  Me: Bathroom.

  Eve: Which one?

  I scanned the small room.

  Me: Black-and-white-striped wallpaper.

  Eve: I’ll find you.

  I washed my hands and dried them, and then I held on to the edge of the sink, keeping my face toward the door so that I wouldn’t catch my reflection. Before I knew it, there was a knock.

  “James, it’s Eve. Let me in,” she said.

  I reached for the knob, hitting the small button that released the lock. “Close it,” I said once she came in. “Lock it, too.”

  She immediately came over and hugged me. “Did you get sick? It smells like puke in here.”

  I pulled away. Her skin was too clammy, and it was making me hot again.

  “Eve, my agent just fired me, and so did my publicist. People are saying the most horrible things about me out there. I can’t…” I tried to take a breath. “I can’t be here anymore.”

  “Oh, honey, what did your agent say?”

  “He said the same thing as Brett. He’s done.” My chest was rising so fast, and my stomach was still so tight. My feet didn’t at all feel steady on the floor. “I have to go home.”

  “Someone said the paparazzi are outside. They’re covering the whole front lawn and driveway.”

  My belly churned and flipped.

  Oh my God.

  “They want a picture of me, don’t they?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  I couldn’t go out there. They’d already gotten enough of me, and I refused to give them more.

  “Where did all these people come from? I thought this was supposed to be a quiet girls’ night?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “They’re not supposed to be here.”

  “What am I going to do, Eve?”

  She shook her head, her hands playing with the front of my hair. I could smell the liquor on her breath. I could see her teetering on her feet.

  She was drunker than me.

  “I’m going to call my manager,” I said.

  He was the only other person I had, the only one who hadn’t left me.

  Her face lit up. “Yes, good idea. Tim can help. I know he can.”

  I grabbed my phone, found his number, and pressed it, holding the speaker to my ear.

  “James,” he said after the first ring, “is everything all right?”

  I could tell he’d been sleeping, and I’d woken him up.

  “No, everything is definitely not all right.” I told him about the phone call with my agent and the things people had been saying to me at this party and how the paparazzi were waiting outside and wouldn’t leave until they got a photo. “Tim, I need help. I don’t know how to get out of here.” I didn’t know when I had started crying, but tears were falling, my lips were soaked, and I couldn’t catch my breath. “I don’t know how to fix this. It’s all falling apart, everything, my whole life, and it’s just getting worse.”

  Eve reached for my other hand and squeezed it, catching my tears before they fell down my cheeks.

  “I have an idea,” he said.

  “Thank God,” Eve and I replied at the same time.

  “I’m coming to get you. Send me the address. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “I’m texting it over right now,” Eve said. She grabbed the phone from me, her fingers typing on the screen. When she finished, she set it on the counter and turned back to me. “He’s never let you down in all the years he’s worked for you. He’s going to make this better.”

  I listened to her.

  I tried to believe her.

  But I didn’t know how anyone could fix this or how things could ever get better.

  And, no matter what any of them did, they couldn’t get Brett to come back.

  “Don’t leave me,” I said. “Wait until Tim gets here, and then go back to the party. I don’t want to be alone.”

  She tightly held me and smiled. “I’m not going anywhere, babe.”

  And she didn’t.

  She stayed in that bathroom until Tim called. When I answered, he asked me to put Eve on the phone, and I listened while he told her his plan. As she hung up, she took off the small jacket she had on over her tube top, and she put it on my head. Then, she took a bath towel off the rack and wrapped it over my shoulders.

  “I’m going to walk you out,” she said. “The whole time, we have to make sure you’re completely covered. Tim’s parked right out back, so we only have to get you from the door to his car. Got it?”

  “Okay.”

  “I’d kiss you if you didn’t reek of puke.”

  I wanted to smile and laugh, but I couldn’t.

  She made sure I was ready, and then she opened the bathroom door and led me into the hallway. Behind the towel and jacket, I could only see my feet, so I had to rely on her steering me through the house.

  It was so hot under these layers.

  And there were more comments and laughter and people banging into me.

  I tried to ignore it all.

  I tried to hold my breath.

  I tried to focus on something other than what was happening.

  And, finally, I felt a burst of air, and I knew we’d made it outside.

  “That’s her!” I heard someone yell. “That’s James Ryne!”

  I felt a rush—feet on the pavement, the shuttering of cameras, questions and accusations being thrown at me.

  “Back up!” Eve screamed. “Give us some room!”

  Someone new grabbed my arm and said, “I’ve got her.”

  It was Tim’s voice, Tim’s grip, Tim’s feet that I saw close to mine.

  “I’m coming with you guys,” Eve said.

  I was afraid to respond because I didn’t want the paparazzi to hear my voice.

  Tim took care of that for me when he said, “Not tonight. I’ve got her.”

  He helped me climb up and shut the door behind me, and I was finally in the back seat of his SUV.

  I heard another door open and close, and he said, “Keep your head covered until I get us out of here.”

  As we began to move, I tucked my body into the corner, pressing one shoulder into the seat and another into the door, and I tried to relax my heart that felt like it was beating out of my chest.

  “Almost there,” he said.

  There was pounding on the windows and more on the doors and flashes that lit up the bottom of the towel.

  I felt the SUV jerk when Tim stepped on the gas, and finally, he said, “Okay, you’re safe.”

  I let the jacket fall to my lap, and I took in deep breaths of the air-conditioning.

  “Thank you,” I said, resting my face on the cool glass of the window, my eyes closing as my temperature started to come down.

  “I’m going to tell you my plan.”

  “Please don’t.” I didn’t even open my eyes. They hurt too much for that. And so did my ears. I just wanted silence. “I trust you, Tim.”

  I felt us turn and come to a stop, and then we were moving again.

  “You need to know, I ordered us a plane, and we’ll be flying out in an hour.”

  I adjusted my face to find more coldness on the glass. “Okay.”

  “Don’t you want to know where we’re going?”

  I hadn’t slept since the celebrity alert went out. I hadn’t even shut my eyes. Not even once.

  But here, in Tim’s car, with my face on the window and the air-conditioning blowing on me and the ja
cket and towel acting as a blanket, I felt sleepy.

  “Just help me, Tim. That’s all I care about.”

  Brett

  Scarlett: Are you awake?

  Me: No.

  Scarlett: Then, why are you answering me?

  Me: Because you’re fucking texting me.

  Scarlett: Can you come open your door? My hand hurts from knocking.

  I exited out of the text and checked the time. It was past two in the morning.

  I didn’t remember falling asleep, but I was on top of my bed, still in my clothes, my computer on my lap, and a half-bottle of scotch lying next to me. There was another one on the nightstand from the night before.

  I’d spent the entire day in meetings and had so much work to catch up on. So, when the guys and Scarlett had left to go to a concert that Max’s client was headlining, I’d bailed and come home to get shit done.

  I walked to the front door and pulled it open, not even waiting to see her face before I turned around and headed for the couch.

  I heard her follow me, coming in from the other side of the sectional to take the seat beside me.

  She slid off her heels and put her feet on the ottoman, turning her head toward me. “You missed a fun night.”

  “I’m pissed I had to skip it. I’m fucking drowning in work right now.”

  “I know. I’ve never seen your team submit this many contracts before.” She tossed her purse a few cushions down. “But that’s not why I’m here. We need to talk.”

  I sank down even further, resting the back of my head into the top cushion and crossing my feet next to hers. “What do you want to talk about?”

  She waited until I looked at her and said, “James Ryne.”

  My chest started to pound, and I had to wait a few seconds before I responded, “There’s nothing to say about her.”

  “I came to your house at two in the morning. We’re going to talk about her because you need to.”

  I said nothing.

  “Fine then, I’ll do the talking, Brett. You know I’m good at that.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “I’m going to guess that you met James during your last trip to LA. Probably at the Chateau Marmont because I know that’s where you and Smith were supposed to talk, and I know you didn’t end up meeting with Tony across town, so you were busy with someone. I’m thinking that someone was James. You two spent the night together, and then you flew back the next morning.” She leaned forward and slid all her hair onto one shoulder. “When I saw you that night at the bar, it was James you were texting back and forth with. If you plan on denying it, don’t. I saw her name on your phone. Anyway, I know you feel something for her, and she makes you happy. I saw that as well over the past few weeks. And then I saw your face when the celebrity alert came through. I thought you were going to start throwing punches.”

  “I almost did.”

  “Was I close to getting it all right?”

  I turned my head to look at her. “You’re in the wrong fucking career.”

  “It’s because I’m a woman, and I have good instincts, but I would make one hell of a PI, I know.” She tapped her thumb into my arm. “Is it because of her age? Is that why you didn’t tell us?”

  I reached up, pulling at the collar of my T-shirt. “I haven’t told you because there isn’t anything to say about it. James and I fucked. We talked on the phone for a month. I was going to see her in LA, and when the alert came out, I canceled my trip. End of story.”

  “Stop avoiding my question.”

  I turned my head away from her and sighed. “Jesus, Scarlett, I was on the front page of Miami Magazine as the most eligible bachelor in the city. She’s America’s sweetheart. She’s eighteen. I have no fucking business getting involved with her.”

  “But you like her. I can tell. So, obviously, her age didn’t matter when you spent the night with her.”

  “I gave myself a one-fuck pass.”

  “Then, what would you call this week?”

  I gritted my teeth together. “A fuck that never happened. We’re done here.”

  I went to lean up, and she stopped me by putting her hand on my chest.

  “We’re almost done. Do you know anything about the video?”

  “No.”

  “Well, did you give her a chance to tell you about it?”

  “No, Scarlett, I didn’t call her and ask her to give me every fucking detail about the dude who was fucking her. And don’t tell me I should have because the thought of that makes me want to throw this ottoman out the window and watch it fall down the thirty-five stories.”

  She pushed against me a little harder. “You’re a stubborn prick, you know that?”

  “I know I didn’t get to where I am because I’m a nice guy. I know the chick I was talking to was banging some other dude and just so happened to get busted.” I bit into my bottom lip. “I should have gone to meet Tony. Taking her back to my place was a fucking mistake.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe it wasn’t. But I think you should talk to her about it.”

  “Here we go with all the, You’re making the biggest mistake of your life, Brett. You’ll regret this, Brett.”

  Now, it was her turn to sit up, but it was only to get a better view of my face. “I think you’ll regret it, yes, because I don’t think you’re giving her a chance.”

  “I don’t want to hear her apologize. We weren’t together. We weren’t anything. There was no reason she shouldn’t have hooked up with him.”

  “Then, why are you upset?”

  “Because I fucking liked her, and it’s bullshit that—”

  A sound came through my phone, a ringtone that was reserved for celebrity alerts. I didn’t want to fucking look, but it could be about a client, and that was why I took my phone out of my pocket.

  Tables, dancing, grinding, oh my! Isn’t James Ryne having a grand old time?

  I held the phone out, so Scarlett could see the screen, and I clicked on the headline. A picture of James appeared. She was standing on a table with the girl she had been with at the bar. James’s arms were in the air, her knees bent.

  She was dancing.

  Grinding.

  And she was smiling so goddamn hard.

  “Can you fucking believe this?” I snapped. “I’m torn up because America’s sweetheart has a sex tape that’s ruining her career, and she’s out there, celebrating.”

  Scarlett shook her head. “Why isn’t her team advising against this? Doesn’t she know this is making it worse? That all the attention she’s bringing to herself is only fueling the media more.”

  “It’s not my problem.” When her eyes softened, I added, “Just drop it. I’m done. I’m not talking about it any more. It was a month—that’s all it was—and I’m over it.”

  Brett

  I returned to the office the following morning after only a few hours of sleep, arriving before my team so that I could get more work done. Before I came in, I’d spent an hour hitting the bag at the gym. Sixty fucking minutes, and I still hadn’t gotten all the anger out.

  I’d never been so wrong about a girl.

  And last night’s celebrity alert had only made it worse. If there were a chance I would have called her before, there was no fucking chance now.

  I turned my computer on, and the emails started to come through. My clients filming in Europe were just leaving the set and sending over documents that I’d needed them to sign. The European brands were getting in touch to inquire about some new contracts. New York was already filming, and there were set issues and no-shows. And I had a client complaining about things that hadn’t been delivered at their photo shoot. And, as I was looking at images of one of my actors who had gotten hurt on set, there was a knock at my door.

  “Come in,” I said, glancing up from my computer screen, knowing it was the guys and Scarlett, meeting about The Agency’s sixth-anniversary party that we were hosting in a few months.

  They all walked in with coffees in thei
r hands and took their seats around my desk.

  Scarlett hadn’t told the guys about our conversation last night. I was sure she hadn’t even told them she came to my place. That was how we all worked; some shit was meant to be shared between all four of us, and some just wasn’t.

  “Dude, you missed a hell of a show last night,” Max said.

  “I heard it was good,” I replied. “Sorry I had to bail. I just had too much to do.”

  “You know I understand that,” Max said, picking up one of the contracts on my desk to check out the first few pages.

  “How’s this morning been so far?” Scarlett asked me, looking as tired as I felt.

  I shook my head. “Fucking crazy. You wouldn’t even believe some of the bullshit going on. I might need to fly to New York tonight; I have a client in the hospital.”

  “Which one?” Jack asked.

  “Larry,” I said. “He fell off a balcony when they were filming on the second story of a hotel. Broken collarbone, both wrists shattered, and he needs surgery immediately.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Max said. “Have you heard from his family?”

  “They’re flying there now.”

  “Let me know if he’s all right,” Jack said.

  “Let all of us know,” Scarlett said.

  I nodded and heard another knock on my door. “Come in,” I said a second time.

  My assistant popped her head in.

  “What’s up?”

  She looked at the guys and at Scarlett before her attention turned toward me. “Sorry to interrupt, but you have some visitors.”

  “Who?”

  “James Ryne and her manager, Tim Thomas, are downstairs in reception. Since they weren’t listed on your schedule, the receptionist wouldn’t send them upstairs, so she called me. They know they don’t have an appointment, but they’re requesting to see you as soon as possible.”

  My teeth ground so fucking hard, I heard my jaw crack. “What do they want?”

  “They wouldn’t say when the receptionist asked. But, from my understanding, they just flew in and came straight here from the airport.”