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ica was way too skinny.
He spread his arms. “Good.”
While Chrissy checked out Mark, Chelsea checked out Chrissy’s vintage Fendi satchel with the classic Fendi clasp in black. The purse was so difficult to find, it was practically an urban legend.
“You look good.”
“Still with the old man you married?”
Ouch. That sounded bitter, and Chelsea figured that Chrissy must be a former girlfriend. She was the sort of woman Chelsea would expect to see with him.
“Howard’s not that old, Mark. And, yes, we’re still together.”
“Not that old? He’s got to be seventy-five.”
“Sixty-five,” Chrissy corrected.
Sixty-five wasn’t old unless you were thirty-five. Which was how old the woman looked. But who was Chelsea to judge? She might have married an old guy to get her hands on that vintage Fendi too.
The woman’s attention turned to Chelsea. “Who’s your girlfriend?”
That someone would mistake her for Mark’s girlfriend was humorous. “Oh, I’m—”
“Chelsea,” he interrupted her. “This is Christine, my ex-wife.”
Wife? She remembered Mark had said something about his ex-wife getting a nose job. She wondered how big it had been before. “It’s nice to meet you.” She stuck out her hand.
Chrissy’s fingers barely touched Chelsea’s before she dropped her arm to her side and turned her attention back to Mark. “I heard you were in a rehabilitation hospital until last month.”
“I got your flowers. Very touching. Does Howard know?”
She adjusted the strap of her Fendi bag. “Yeah, sure. Are you still living in our house?”
“My house?” He slid his palm to the small of Chelsea’s back. She jumped a little at the weight of his hand. The warmth of his touch heated her skin through the cotton of her blouse and spread tingles up her spine and across her butt. This was Mark Bressler. The guy she was paid to work for. She shouldn’t be feeling anything. “I’m moving as soon as I find a new place,” he added. “Chelsea’s helping me out with that.”
“Are you in real estate?” she asked Chelsea.
“I’m an actress.”
Chrissy laughed. “Really?”
“Yeh,” Mark answered for her. “Chelsea’s acted in a lot of different stuff.”
“Such as?”
“The Bold and the Beautiful, Juno, CSI: Miami, and some ‘go meat’ commercial.”
She was shocked he’d remembered. “Hillshire Farms,” she clarified. She glanced up at him, then returned her gaze to his former wife. “I’ve mostly acted in the horror genre.”
Chrissy raised one disdainful brow. “Slasher movies?”
Mark’s voice was a deep velvet rumble when he said, “Chelsea’s a real screamer. You know I’ve always been partial to screamers.” He smiled, a slow, sexy curve of his lips.
“That was one of your problems.”
“That was never a problem.”
Maybe it was his smile. Maybe it was the warm touch of his hand, but Chelsea couldn’t help it. Her mind went there and she wondered exactly what the man did to make women scream. She’d never screamed. She’d come close once, but never actually screamed out loud.
