“Here’s your gown,” Charly says from beside me. “You want me to help you put it on?”
“No, I got it.” My voice comes out sharper than intended.
I take the robe from her without looking at her.
I can’t look at her right now.
I just need to get the fuck out of here and clear my head for a few minutes.
That, or go and tug one out.
I pull the robe on my arms, but it feels tight.
“Why doesn’t this fit?” I bark, finally looking at her.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I must have mixed up gowns with Logan.”
She laughs, and something inside me pops.
All I want is to get my cock covered and get the fuck out of here and away from her because I want her, and I can’t have her, so somehow, now, this is all her fault.
“You think this is funny?” I snap. “I’m stark fucking naked. All I ask for is a fucking robe that fits, and you can’t even get that fucking right!”
Hurt flashes through her surprise-filled eyes. Those gorgeous blueberry eyes.
Guilt lances across my chest, leaving behind a painful ache.
The whole set is silent.
I can feel my face prickling with shame and residual anger.
Anger that I directed in the wrong place.
I’m such a prick.
I see movement in my peripheral. Logan is handing her a robe. She takes it from him and holds it out to me. Her arm stiff. Her expression fixed. But her eyes can’t hide the hurt.
“Charly…” I softly say her name, taking the robe from her.
Suddenly, I don’t care so much about putting it on. I just want her to forgive me.
And, anyway, my erection is gone. Apparently, my cock doesn’t like me hurting her either.
“Do you need anything else, Mr. West?” Her voice sounds strong, but I hear the slight waver in it.
It makes me feel like shit.
I swallow down. “Pins…”
“No? Well, okay then,” she says in an overly loud voice, “I’ll take these to get laundered.” She quickly picks up my discarded clothes that I removed in the scene, clutches them to her chest, and strides away, leaving the set through an exit door.
“What the hell was that?” Natasha says in a low voice, coming up beside me.
I pull on the robe, tying the belt. “I don’t know.” I sigh.
“That wasn’t like you, Vaughn.”
I look her in the eye. “I know,” I say.
Something flickers in her eyes.
“Ah, you like her,” she says. “That’s what caused the chubby.”
“Chubby? Jesus, Natasha.”
“What?” She laughs. “I’m a mom now.”
I shake my head.
“So, you like the girl. Go for it. She seems sweet.”
“I can’t.” I sigh, leaning back against the bar that Drew just screwed Lexi on. “I promised Jack and myself that I’d keep my pecker clean while I made this movie.”
Understanding passes over her face.
“Well, no matter what, you owe her an apology.”
“Yeah”—I sigh, looking over at the door Charly just exited out of—“I know.”
Charly
I don’t cry.
It’s not something I ever do.
The one and only time I remember crying was when my grandmother died.
That was twelve years ago. I haven’t shed a tear since.
I think my tear ducts are defunct.
When I do get hurt or upset though, I get angry.
And, right now, I’m seething fucking mad.
What a wanker Vaughn West is!
Yelling at me like that in front of everyone. All I did was accidentally pick up the wrong robe. It was an easy mistake to make. And, honestly, I was just feeling all flustered after watching that scene he did with Natasha, and I wasn’t paying full attention to what I was doing.
And don’t think I didn’t spot the erection he was sporting after the scene. Sure, it must be hard, being a guy and grinding up all over a beautiful woman, but she’s married with a kid, and he got a hard-on over her, which is gross.
But then he did get an erection before I stabbed him in the balls. Maybe he just gets hard when he’s close to a woman. He does like to put out, as the press has recently reported.
Ugh. He’s a pig!
He’s off my Christmas card list—not that he was ever on it.
This morning, after I thought on it, I figured he had probably been off with me in his trailer because he was tense over doing that scene. So, I was going to let it go. But, oh no, super asshole comes out to play after the scene is over.
It’s official. I really, really dislike the hot jerk.
I’m in the main warehouse where we store all the clothes. Ava asked me to put away the shoes from today’s shoot. After I wheeled them over here in a cart, I reach inside and grab a pair of men’s brogues.
Even though I know these shoes are not Vaughn’s, I still slam them onto the rack like they are his. If I can’t take my anger out on him, then the shoes are getting it.
Sorry, shoes.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
I whirl around at the voice, my heart making a break out of my chest.
Vaughn.
“Jesus, you scared me.” I frown at him, pressing my hand to my heart, trying to settle it.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“Yeah, well, you did.” I turn away from him and grab another pair of shoes—Jimmy Choos this time. I’m a little more careful with putting these ones back. No way can I abuse a pair of Choos.