Emmett’s dad sent this woman? Why did she jump over the wall, then?
Emmett yanks his hand away like the door turned into a viper. He’d take a step back if I weren’t in his way.
“Shouldn’t you answer that?”
“Two seconds ago, you didn’t want me to.”
“Yeah, but that was before I knew she works for your dad.” Who knows what Hollywood people think is normal?
“Yoo-hoo!” she says. “Hel-lo-oh! Your father sent me! It’s important.”
I elbow Emmett gently. “You should probably see what she wants.”
He sighs, then opens the door.
“Hi,” she says chirpily, standing hipshot. “I’m Brenda. Are you Emmett Lasker?”
“Yes,” he says slowly.
“Oh, wow. Cool that you’re so hot. Hahaha! That was a joke. But seriously, I was kinda worried you might not be.”
I stare at her. What a bizarre way to talk to someone you just met. Whether Emmett’s dad sent her or not, she seems one wheel short of a hamster cage.
“I really wanted a hot costar,” she adds with a winsome smile that says she’s not crazy.
“Ooookay.” Emmett clears his throat. “So, uh. What are you here about?”
“It isn’t about what I’m about, but what we’re about.” She undoes the belt around the trench coat and shrugs it off her shoulders. She’s completely naked underneath. And completely shaved, I note. She raises both arms like a game show hostess showcasing the best and final prize of the night. “Ta-da!”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Amy
Oh my God. Holy cow. I try to look away, but only manage to raise a loose hand in front of my eyes.
Emmett is staring, too, his gaze unblinking. Couldn’t he at least put a hand up or something as well? He doesn’t seem to really be interested, but he isn’t showing any annoyance, either. His expression is a weird combination of I-knew-it and I-can’t-keep-my-eyes-off-her.
The latter part bothers me more than anything. She might be hot, but has she read The Mathematics of Financial Derivatives? I don’t think so.
Okay, snap out of it. I’m being ridiculous. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I’m jealous, except I shouldn’t be because technically Emmett and I are having a sex-only fling.
“What the hell are you doing?” Emmett says finally.
“An audition,” she says like it’s completely normal to stand on somebody’s doorstep buck naked on a sunny Saturday. “For Ted’s next movie.”
“Your dad makes porn on the side?” I ask, flabbergasted. Ted Lasker has produced countless hits—the kind of movies you watch in theaters—but maybe he does other things, too. After all, sex sells.
“No.” Emmett’s response is immediate and firm.
“But she’s naked and…” Something else she said earlier pops into my head, scattering confusion like confetti. “She said you’re her costar. When do you find the time?”
“I don’t. And I’m not her any star. I don’t act, and I have no desire to act.”
“Sure you do,” she cuts in. She sounds breathless, which has to be fake. Nobody gets breathless just standing there. “Your dad said so.”
“So?”
Confusion ripples over her. “Everyone wants to be a star!”