I narrow my eyes at her.
“Get the fuck out of here. And for the record, serious actresses don't have to sleep with the producer to get a role. They're good actresses. I have never and will never hire a girl who acts like a whore.”
“Word about that gets out and you'll never get a date,” she mutters as she's pulling on her dress.
I take two steps toward her and grab her by the arm. “What the fuck did you say?”
She glares at me. “I’m sure you heard exactly what I said. Are you stupid? Why else would I want to sleep with some old guy? I'm just tired of getting nowhere.”
She grabs her purse and storms out of the bedroom in tears.
I follow her toward my elevator, push the button, and don't give a shit about how she gets home.
Fuck.
I plop down on my hard, modern leather sofa. Then quickly get back up and stare down at what the interior designer called a statement piece.
I look around at my penthouse. Dark woods, sleek furniture, lots of metal and leather.
It's like the inside of a fucking car, not a home.
I grab my phone and call Aiden.
Keatyn answers. “Riley, this better not be your one call from jail."
I glance at the modern clock above my fireplace, realizing how late it is.
"It's not. Sorry, I know it's late. Fuck. Can I come over? I need to talk to Aiden."
"Of course you can, Riley. Are you okay?"
“Not really,” I say and hang up.
I hit an app on my phone to get a black car. I'm not in the mood to drive.
On the way to Malibu, I wonder what in the hell I'm even going to say to Aiden. Truth is, I needed to get out of my cold penthouse.
I have the driver drop me off at the public beach.
I take my shoes off and walk in the sand, then sneak under the chain link fence into the Malibu Colony. I look up at the moon, thankful for the light.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, then make my way up their deck and knock on the window.
Aiden comes to the door wearing just shorts.
“Is that what you wear to bed?” I ask as he lets me in.
“Did you come out here at two in the morning to ask me that?” he chuckles.
“No. Where's Keatyn?”
“I told her to go back to sleep.”
“She gonna listen to you?”
He laughs. “Probably not. So, what's going on?”
“A girl I brought home tonight called me an old guy. When did we become old guys?”
“Well, I am almost thirty.”
“Fine. You're an old guy. I’m still twenty-eight for a few more days. Do I look old?”
“You look successful, Riley,” Keatyn says, walking into the study wearing a short silk robe and carrying a tray of warm, fresh-from-the-oven chocolate chip cookies and three tall glasses of milk.
“I’m gonna defer to her on that,” Aiden says. “No offense, but I don't really pay attention to how you look.”
Keatyn hands me a plate with four cookies and I take a glass of milk off the tray. When I got here, I wanted a scotch, but this is even better.
As I bite into the gooey cookie, I survey their home, wondering why it’s one of my favorite places. The walls are the color of sand. There's a worn leather chair in the corner and photos on the shelves. It smells clean like the ocean. And I realize it reminds me of our place in the Hamptons, where I’m surrounded by family.
And that’s how I feel here; like I’m surrounded by family.
“These are good,” I tell her. “Thanks.”
She's perched on the edge of Aiden's chair. One of his hands is protectively wrapped around her side and the other is bringing a cookie to his mouth.
Me, I'm double fisting it; cookie in one hand, milk in the other.
Bite. Drink. Repeat.
Keatyn gets up and gives Aiden a kiss. “I’ll let you boys talk.” On the way out of the room, she kisses the top of my head. “If you dated girls your own age, Riley, you wouldn't feel old.”
“How does she always know what's wrong before I even say it?” I ask Aiden, who's now double fisting milk and cookies too.
“Is that really why you're here? Because a girl called you old?”
“That's part of it.”
“It's Ariela, isn't it?”
“It's all of it. I'm tired of fucking a different girl every night. It's exhausting. My penthouse feels cold. I have so much stuff—”
“And no one to share it with?” he says, finishing my sentence.
“Yeah.”
“And the girl you want to share it with broke your heart. Twice now.”
“Yeah.”
“Riley, what do they say about Captive Films? About you?”
I chuckle. “That I'm the king of romance. Ironic, huh? I haven't romanced a girl since her.”
“What's the one thing about romance? About love?”
“It's a risk. If I could just get inside her head and know what she’s thinking. It's funny, really. You know how Keatyn turned her journals into the screenplays and now the books. She was telling me the other day that readers are clamoring for a book from your point of view.”