Bad Boy Rich

“Yes. Just wanted to remember the face of the person that cost me my favorite dress and is making me late to an important appointment.”

“That dress is your favorite?”

I look down at my dress. It is my favorite. I bought it three summers ago at the Macy’s clearance rack during one of our girly road trips to Anchorage. It had this 1950s feel to it; halter neck with three large buttons that ran down my chest. The bottom flairs beneath my waist, covering my wide hips.

“Actually, it is.”

The blonde bimbo that accompanied him into the shop is by his side, eyeing me again like I belonged in a zoo.

“I bet you’re not from around here. Let me guess, you came here to be the next biggest movie star.”

They laugh in unison, only adding to my uncomfortable state.

“And let me guess, you came here to be the next biggest porn star!”

I don’t wait for her reaction, turning around and facing the counter desperate for Sarah to return with my cake. Beside me, Mr. Dick is laughing, prompting Bimbo to nudge him with her shoulder.

Sarah comes out of the kitchen carrying my box. Letting out a sigh of relief, I thank her as she passes it slowly over. I won’t open the box this time, turning my back towards them while I walk to the exit.

“Hey!”

I stop for a moment, contemplating whether or not to turn around and bother giving him another minute of my time.

“What?”

“I still didn’t get an apology.”

The box is steady in my hands as I turn around to argue with him one more time.

“Since I’ll never see you again, you can take my apology and shove it up your ass.”

His lips curve upwards, into a wide grin. “And if you do see me again?”

“Then I’ll take it out of your ass and actually mean it.”

I refused to entertain him any longer, pushing the door open and leaving the shop in a mad rush to Emerson’s house.

“This cake is divine.”

Emerson takes another bite as we sit outside on the back patio. Her house is enormous, surrounded by the greenest grass I had ever seen and views of the valley that stretched beyond the horizon. Towards the right there is an Olympic-sized pool with a small pool house on the opposite side. It was just like out of a magazine; picture perfect and could fit the tagline of Dream Home.

“Thank you. Again, I’m so sorry about my appearance. I’m not usually like this, I just…I can’t believe the nerve of that guy.”

She smiles, softly. “It’s okay. Once I almost walked on stage with toilet paper hanging out of my butt so I understand completely. Though that was entirely my fault.”

We both laugh with a mouthful of cake. Emerson was easy going, spending some time to explain the role and parts of her personal life. I had a good feeling about her; she seemed nothing like the other LA snobs I had encountered.

“I have a daughter. She’s six months old. Her name is Lola.” She taps on her phone and proudly shows me a picture. She’s a gorgeous baby with a full head of brown hair coupled with deep blue eyes. “She’s napping now otherwise I would bring her down.”

It explained why she had a baby monitor on the table beside her phone.

“I try to keep a routine. I work three days a week from nine to five and then on the remaining days, I work during her naps. When my fiancé is in town, I get a chance to work a bit more but to be honest—I just want to spend time with him.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what does he do?”

“He’s plays soccer. Right now, he’s in Brazil leading a soccer program for youths.”

“Sounds like you have your hands full,” I tell her, with ease.