SLEAZE: A Hollywood Comeback Story (Book #1)

Chapter 10

“That dress isn’t yours?”

“As if I’d really wear a three thousand dollar dress to a club if I’d paid for it. I have to give this back to the store by five tonight.”

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Sophie had reminded me just how valuable it is to be beautiful in Los Angeles. The paycheck I’d been so excited about cashing yesterday now felt pretty insignificant. “How did you manage to tear it in the first place?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied in an artificially saccharine tone. “You were the one who kept manhandling me all night, maybe you snagged it on something.”

I couldn’t stop my mouth from falling open and letting an incredulous laugh escape. “Gee, I’m sorry, Soph,” I said as my voice rose. “Maybe if you hadn’t been a total shit show I wouldn’t have had to take care of you at all. My bad for trying to keep you from slipping on your own puke and falling on your face.”

Not backing down, Sophie whined, “Where was Vinny? Did you even tell him that you were taking me home?”

“Who do you think begged me to deal with you so he wouldn’t have to?” I retorted and a flash of hurt crossed Sophie’s face.

“Vinny and I take care of each other when we go out. He would never ditch me,” she said with so much confidence that I had to gnaw on the inside of my cheek to keep from shattering the idealized image she had of her childhood friend.

“Fine, you know what? Why don’t you ask him about it?” I picked up my phone from the bedside table where it had been charging and tossed it at her. Sophie caught it and stared at me. “He has your phone and I gave him my address last night, so call him and tell him to come get you.”

I bit off a piece of fingernail and ground it between my teeth while Sophie called the dark haired DJ, whispering into the speaker so I couldn’t hear her what she said. I’d known that Vinny had been right when he’d warned me not to expect Sophie to thank me for taking care of her, but that just added on to all the ways her self-entitlement already irritated me. Maybe it was true that her industry friends—real and fake—didn’t always treat her right, but shouldn’t that have made her a little bit more appreciative of the few who actually tried to have her back? By the time Sophie ended her call and turned back around to face me, I’d simmered for too long and the words bubbled out of my mouth unrestrained.

“Is he coming?” I demanded, taking my phone from her grasp and slipping it into the pocket of the sweatpants that I’d worn to bed.

Sophie nodded, looking down. My eyes followed her gaze to the lines of crusted blood that covered her feet. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d said that her shoes were painful. “He just left the set of a shoot in Century City. He said he’d be here in twenty minutes.”

“That’s funny, I kind of figured that he would’ve had enough of cameras after last night.”

“What does that mean?”

“I told you already: ask him.”

“Why are you pissed at Vinny?”

“I’m not,” I replied honestly and Sophie frowned.

“Then why do you keep telling me to talk to him about what happened?” she asked. “Did he do something to you?”

“No, he didn’t. I’m just hoping that if you hear the story from him, you’ll realize how messed up it is that you haven’t even thanked me for getting you home safely.”

Sophie gathered her hair so that it fell over one bony shoulder and began examining the tips. “I mean, I am grateful and everything, but what happened last night wasn’t really my fault. I grabbed the wrong drink and there was probably something in--“