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“He’s just a friend,” I mumbled, hoping someone would change the subject. And like a true best friend, April did.
“Have any of you been to one of these parties before? Is there entertainment — like, are there strippers?”
The rest of the ride went smoothly, and I relaxed into the conversations. The limousine pulled up outside the hotel’s front doors and the guy behind the desk checked our ID before sending us to level forty-one.
“Miss Wright,” he said, calling me back. “Your room key.”
I took it and looked at it, confused.
“I didn’t book a room.”
“There’s a room booked in your name,” he said, with anI-don’t-care-who-booked-itexpression. “Level forty-two.”
I thanked him and tucked the key in my purse.
“Does this mean we can all stay over?” Jerome asked in the elevator. “Like a sleepover?”
“You know what this means,” Jamie added. “Pillow fights!”
“We’ll see.” I fingered my bag as the elevator traveled upwards, the LED numbers on the panel above the door displaying 21, 22, 23. I wondered whether the production company had booked the room — or whether Dean, Wyatt, and Isaac were behind it. We reached level 41 and there was a ding as the doors opened into a corridor. We followed it to a set of double doors that hadAlexander Rakoff Ballroomon a plaque on one side andPushing Daisy Wrap Partyon the other.
I held my breath and waited for the others to walk in before making my entrance.
The room was already full of people who were dressed up and mingling. I recognized a few familiar faces — other actors, crew members, and Preston, who was dressed like the conductor of an orchestra in a black and white suit.
But the lead actors weren’t there.
I scanned the room again, sure that I must have missed them, that perhaps they were standing at the back of the room and I’d simply overlooked their gorgeous faces, but as I looked again, I knew that wasn’t true. They stood out, and theirs were the first faces I saw in any room I entered.
I went back into the corridor and checked my phone: no new messages except the one I’d missed from Crystal, and no missed calls. The party started an hour ago, and they hadn’t mentioned anything about arriving late. Had there been an accident? Were they okay?
I dialed Dean’s number and paced in the corridor, ignoring the people who approached me to say how great they thought the movie was going to be.
“Come on, pick up,” I muttered as I listened to the dial tone. His phone rang out, so I tried Isaac. No answer. I tried Dean. Nothing.
My heart thumped as I returned to the ballroom and peered around again, searching for their faces.
Cameras flashed and everyone wanted to talk to me. An actress grabbed my arm and introduced me to her friend, but his name slipped out of my memory before I even heard it. Waiters streamed through the crowd with hors d’oeuvres, and I ignored them, no longer hungry.
I opened my bag to check my phone again and my fingers closed around something stiff. The room key.
“Excuse me,” I said to the man who’d stopped to ask me for an autograph, and slipped out of the room and back into the elevator. I expected the doors to open to another corridor,but instead, the elevator took me directly into the middle of the largest hotel room I’d ever seen.
I stepped out, and the doors closed behind me.
Everything was gorgeous. Designer furniture, a three-hundred-and-sixty view of the city, and best of all… three sexy men holding cocktail glasses and wearing expensive suits.
“What took you so long?” Dean asked and plucked a fourth drink from a tray and held it out for me to take.
42
WYATT
God, Kyla looked good. As soon as she walked into the room wearing the dress that perfectly matched the color of her eyes, my dick grew hard.
She must have known it, too, because her hips gained a sexy wiggle as she came over and accepted the drink that Dean held out for her. It was a non-alcoholic martini and seeing her plump red lips close over the rim of the glass gave me ideas about what else I’d like her to wrap her lips around.
“Aren’t you going to the party?” she asked after she swallowed.
