Under the Lights

He’s got a 25yo wife w/busy hands. Groped me @ dinner, grabbed my ass on the way out, and now she wants to meet up in the hot tub.

Yet another thing to hashtag #LiamProblems. The guy gets more unwanted potential ass than anyone I know, and it’s completely wasted on him. She hot?

Yup.

So stop hiding, I write back, because I know there’s no shot in hell he’d ever screw around on Ally, and I like being a dick.

Don’t be a dick.

I laugh. He’s so fucking predictable.

The waitress returns with a flaming shot of I don’t even know what. I stick a twenty in her bra, hold up the glass for her to blow out the flame, and toss it back.

“Good?” she asks, her voice low.

I hadn’t noticed one way or the other, but it doesn’t stop me from saying, “You tell me.” I pull her down to me and let her taste my tongue, and when I sit back, she looks a little dizzy.

“Pretty good,” she blurts out, and even in the dark lighting of the club, I can see her blush.

Too easy.

“Josh Chester.” The smug way the voice says my name makes my skin crawl, and I watch a tall, skinny, vaguely familiar-looking guy make his way toward me. I have no recollection of who he is, and the drinks I’ve already put away tonight aren’t helping.

“Do I know you?”

“Chuck. We met at one of your parties a little while ago.”

“If you were at one of my parties, shouldn’t I have already known you?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He laughs. Fearless prick. “I’m the guy who works with Joe Perotti. You weren’t so thrilled to see me then. I’m hoping you’ve got better feelings about it now.”

I’ve always been able to hold my liquor, but suddenly, I feel sick. “And why would I be any more excited to see you now? I didn’t want you or cameras in my face filming my life then, and I don’t want it now.”

He hands me a small, sealed envelope, which I’m tempted to ignore, but have a feeling I’d be sorry about. I open it up and see one of my mother’s personal notecards. Joshua, it says. I have locksmiths set to arrive at the Malibu house at 9:00 a.m. You will not be given a copy of the new key unless Chuck returns to me with these papers — signed — tonight. Love, Mother.

“Love?” I mutter aloud. “Really?” I look up at Chuck, wondering if he’s banging her. “What papers?”

He reaches into a pocket on the inside of his cheap jacket and withdraws a folded-up package that I see is a contract, complete with waiver. This is so, so fucked up. “You’re serving me?” I ask as I flip through.

Chuck grins, his crooked teeth flashing neon colors in the light of the club. “See it however you like. But sign them.”

“Are you doing my mother?”

His smile doesn’t falter; he just waits patiently. I decide he probably isn’t. Even my mother would never bang a lowly hired hand.

“I have an agent,” I tell him. “I can’t just sign these without her taking a look.”

“So call her,” he suggests.

This is getting exhausting. I love my house, and a reality show would be easy money, and it’d be nice to stop having this guy ambush me every second. Plus, then I could skip that stupid Wings of Phoenix audition I have no desire to go to. But Holly would probably chop off my balls, and she’s already my fourth agent. I’m not sure I’ll get a chance at a fifth.

“There’s no way she’d agree to me signing this without her seeing it,” I say flatly.

“Then don’t call her.”

“You’ve got really stellar business sense.” Shit. What do I do? If I don’t sign on and then I don’t get the movie, Holly’s gonna drop me. “Give me a minute.”

I hop off my chair and storm out back, which is quieter and decently well hidden. Liam’s clearly a little too busy for me right now, so I call Ally for advice instead.

She picks up immediately, her voice hushed. “Liam?”

“Your caller ID sucks, Duncan.”

She exhales slowly. “Sorry, Josh. I didn’t even look. What’s the big emergency? Is Liam okay?”

“He’s fine, as far as I know.” If you don’t count that he’s trying to fend off a hot older woman at a private estate, which apparently you don’t know and I’m not going to tell you. “I just needed your opinion on something.”

“Josh. It is 4:00 a.m. in New York. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Whoops. “Well, you answered.”

“Yeah, because I was waiting — never mind.” She sighs. “What is it?”

“Remember that reality show my mom wanted me to do?”

She laughs. “Seriously? You’re still thinking about it?”

“You’ve seen my house, right?”