Casey’s bright white smile was so blinding I had no choice but to wear my sunglasses indoors. Our waitress nearly dropped her drinks after looking directly at him. Poor thing was probably going to have to wear a patch on the eye closest to him.
“So.” He cracked his knuckles. If his smile didn’t irritate me to death, it was going to be his cracking habit. “What’s going on, Jo-Jo?” Or the nickname. Crack, crack, crack. I inhaled slowly and counted to three before answering.
“You tell me.” I placed my phone on the table, screen up, and pointed to the picture of him kissing one stripper while another girl, stripper number two, was grabbing his man junk from behind. Empty champagne bottles were littered everywhere, along with drug paraphernalia, and the caption read, CARTER GOES OVER DEEP END AFTER BREAKUP WITH SUPERMODEL GIRLFRIEND.
Casey glanced at the screen, his green eyes narrowing before he rubbed the back of his neck and smirked. “Make love, not war, that’s what I always say.”
The grin was back full force.
I was immune to it.
Unfortunately for him.
It hadn’t always been like this. Casey was my very first client. Both of us had been trying to make names for ourselves. I poured everything I had into him. I’m pretty sure I didn’t sleep for an entire year. After his breakout role in a superhero franchise, he needed constant supervision. He wasn’t the type of celebrity that handled fame well, and the minute his name exploded he went from a friend who brought over Chinese takeout and texted me when I was having a rough day to jet-setting to the South of France and dating supermodels. He was one of the good ones—he’d made me adore my job—but the minute the money started pouring in, he changed right along with his bank account.
At the time, the changing friendship hurt, but I knew it was for the best. Our lives were going in completely different directions.
Besides, we’d still celebrated birthdays together and met once a week for a coffee break.
His movie roles became more demanding and suddenly he wanted to be taken more seriously. As his publicist I told him it wouldn’t be a good idea to alienate all of his avid female fans by taking a year off to do an indie flick none of them would even see. He saw Academy Award, I saw flop. I was right, and things had only unraveled since then.
“Aw, come on, Jo-Jo.” He reached for my hand, smile tight. “I was lonely.”
“Buy a dog.”
He laughed. “Guys like me don’t get dogs.”
The arrogance I could really do without. What happened to the guy who used to pull out a woman’s chair and open doors?
“No, guys like you are dogs. I’m saying get one to keep yourself from turning into one.”
“You’re funny.” He grinned and cracked his knuckles again. My right eye twitched. Oh, hell. “Hey, tell you what, why don’t we share a bottle of wine like we used to and forget this ever happened?” Was he really trying to use our past emotional connection to manipulate me? My throat ached with the swell of emotion as it continued to mount. I was ashamed that it had worked before. That a year ago I would have made it all better while he promised to be a better friend and client.
Clearly, I wasn’t the same person anymore. Was I that insecure? That attention from a good-looking man was enough to make me forgive a multitude of sins?
Casey reached for my hand again.
“No.” I jerked my phone back and tossed it into my purse. “This is the sixth time you’ve been out partying this month. A new stripper each time, and the paparazzi are having a field day. You wanna get taken seriously? Stop hitting on women half your age and buy a dog.”
“What’s with you and this dog thing?” He raised his voice. “I’m not getting a damn dog.”
“It’s like this,” I said slowly. “I’m trying to teach you how to be a responsible adult rather than a man so obsessed with his own penis he had a mold made of it to put in the middle of his apartment!”
Casey shrugged. “I’ve never gotten complaints about my art.”
“It’s not art.”
“It’s art.” He nodded. “Ask the ladies.”
“Look.” I held out my hands. “Parents buy their kids dogs to teach them how to take care of something other than themselves. Maybe it would be cruel to the dog. Maybe I’ll grab you a goldfish, because at least if it goes belly-up I won’t feel like a puppy killer.”
“Huh?” He snapped to attention. “You want me to kill a puppy?”
“Lower your voice,” I hissed.
He blinked, his eyes a little too wide.
I sighed. “Are you high?”
He paused and then chuckled. “Maybe.”
“Forget the goldfish—you couldn’t even take care of a Tamagotchi!”
“A what?”