I’ve never understood what it takes to make a movie, and now I’m in a recording studio listening to Cav and other actors recite their lines so the voices can be layered over part of the film where the mic went out.
Casablanca.
How did I not have any clue they were remaking the movie? A classic, obviously, and not something I would have ever expected to see Cav in. But then again, he makes a perfect Rick. Windsor is gorgeous as Ilsa, and then there’s Peyton DeLong, who I hate on sight, even though I thought he was cute in his last romcom. If Cav determined his face needed smashing because he was talking shit about me, I don’t ever need to meet him.
But Peyton’s done with Victor Laszlo’s lines first and comes out of the booth where they’re recording.
I divert my attention to my nails, which suddenly become the most fascinating things on the planet. I’m staring down at them when feet enter my field of vision. Loafers, actually. The kind you see in Dolce & Gabbana ads but can’t picture any red-blooded man actually wearing. Apparently Peyton DeLong isn’t worried about being mistaken for a red-blooded man.
“You sick of your ride on his dick yet? Because I’ve got six inches waiting for you.”
I choke on the words six inches and lift my head enough to stare directly at his belt buckle. Then I raise my eyes the rest of the way up to meet his.
“I’m sorry, I must have misheard you.”
Does he really think it’s acceptable to come over here and speak to me like that? I know I opened myself up to all sorts of nasty comments when I posted my ad, but you’d think a guy who’s won so many Teen Choice Awards and statuettes for being a great role model for kids would have some class.
And you’d be wrong.
“That’s all you care about, isn’t it? Why is it you little rich girls always go for the trash before finding someone who’s your social equal. We get sick of sloppy seconds, you know.”
Oh. My. God. Is this guy for real? Cav is going to do more than just break his face.
“I would suggest you move along, Mr. DeLong. I think it’s safe to say you never have to worry about my being sloppy seconds for you.”
Even saying the words gives me the creeps. Gross. I wouldn’t go near this guy’s dick for all the money in the world.
And then he touches me. Uninvited. Hand on my chin, tilting my face upward.
I slap it away, but it’s too late. The soundstage door slams open.
“I told you to fucking stay away from her. You just couldn’t do it, could you?”
Cav yanks Peyton’s arm away from me and shoves his chest. The other man stumbles back across the room, falling into a chair.
“You touch me again, and I’ll make sure they blackball you, Westman. You can’t fucking push me around.”
“I can and I will. Watch me, you little fuck. You put your hands on a woman, and every time they’re gonna side with me.”
I stand and move behind Cav, my hand pressing against his back. “Baby, it’s okay. He tried to impress me by telling me he had six inches for me. I hope he was joking, because that’s just sad now that I’ve had a real man.”
My words are pitched low, but I project well enough for Peyton to hear them clearly.
“You little—”
Windsor, who I didn’t realize had followed Cav out of the soundstage, bursts into laughter. “Six inches? God, Peyton, at least tack on a few extra if you’re going to try to make it sound appetizing.” Her laughter quiets for a moment and her next words are hushed. “Oh Lord, did you already artificially inflate your size? Because if you did, that is sad. My ex-husband can recommend some excellent penis pumps. Guaranteed to give you at least a little more length and girth to please the ladies. You want his number?”
If I were on the fence about Windsor before, I’m now firmly in her camp. She’s da bomb.com.
Peyton’s face goes from flushed red to enraged red when she drops the penis-pump line. It’s safe to say he probably wouldn’t call 911 if any of us were dying.
“Fuck all of you. I’m done. If Mitch needs anything else, you can tell him to suck my dick.”
“All six inches of it?” I can’t keep the question from my lips, and Peyton snarls as Cav and Windsor laugh.
He turns and storms out the door.
“I always figured he had little-dick syndrome. It explains so much.” Windsor taps a finger against her brilliantly red lips. “I’m guessing he’s a solid five inches. Maybe four. His poor little Disney Channel girlfriends. They’re going to be in for quite the shock when they get a look at a real man.”
Tears of mirth spill down my cheeks and I try to wipe them away discreetly, but it’s impossible. Cav pulls me into a hug and uses his thumbs to catch them.
“It’s not usually that eventful around here,” he tells me, “but goddamn, Peyton’s a fucking douche. Next thing you know, we’ll be catching pics of him in some European gossip rag with a horse cock photoshopped on it so he can save face.”
I press a hand to my chest, but the laughter won’t stop. “Oh my God. If this is your job, it’s the best.”
“Oh, honey, you ain’t seen nothing yet,” Windsor drawls like a perfect Southern belle. She looks pointedly at Cav and drops the accent. “You’re bringing her to the party at my place tonight. It’s a small gathering of friends, nothing too intimidating. The paps won’t be able to get past the front gate, so you don’t have to worry about that nonsense. It’s going to be a hell of a good time. Only the fun people. None of the little pricks like Peyton.”
Party? At Windsor Reed’s Hollywood pad? Banner will kill me if I say no.
I look to Cav and he shrugs. “If you’re up for it, we can go.”
My mind instantly goes where every girl’s mind goes at this point—what am I going to wear?
“Um, I didn’t exactly come party-dress ready on this trip,” I mumble to Windsor.
Her smile is wide and genuine. “No worries about that. I’ll have something sent over. I wouldn’t let you show up underdressed or out of place. Trust me, G.”
All of a sudden, my world has tilted in an entirely new direction. With the nickname she’s bestowed on me, the same one that my best friend uses, I feel like I’ve become part of Cav’s world.
Is this what he wanted when he brought me here? To see if I could fit and we could have a life outside New York and both our pasts? Is that what I want?
A few weeks ago, I would have said my entire life was in New York—my job, my friends, my family. But right now, with Cav’s hand resting on my hip, I feel like I really could have a new beginning here. Maybe a new job. More friends. And my own family. It’s a foundation-rocking thought, but I’m thinking it nonetheless.
Windsor is waiting for an answer, and I give her the only one I want to speak. “That would be great. Thank you so much. I can’t wait.”
She smiles at both Cav and me. “You two are so fucking cute. Come have fun tonight; I swear it’ll be worth it.”
“Thanks, Win. We’ll be there.”