Chasing Fate (Dark Love 5)

“No,” she responds flatly.

“I see. It must be exciting, though, and a rewarding job. Miss Winters is deemed one of the most talented actresses of her generation,” I try again.

“It is. And yes, she is.”

Okay, this is like pulling teeth. Her shirt is buttoned up, no exposure of her ample tits which look nice and fake underneath the fabric. Her skirt is long, almost reaching her knees, not giving me any glimpse of her panties. The only thing that’s turning me on are the very tall pumps she’s wearing—a camel color that looks nice against her California tan. I have no idea how she walks in them, and when I lean my head to peer through the glass table, she’s purposely pushed them as far back under her chair as possible so I can see nothing.

Jesus, I might as well have walked into a nunnery.

Frigid, prude, probably still lives at home, possibly with several cats—such a waste. Stunning woman. She needs a real man to show her a good time unless she’s batting for the same team.

My God, yes! She likes pussy. Such a waste, but it wouldn’t stop me from jerking off to an image of her and some woman eating each other out.

The door opens, and Presley bustles through, apologizing for taking longer than anticipated. With Presley in the room, Ms. Bentley talks more animatedly about the project, even laughing on occasion.

Huh, I wonder why she was so stiff with me? Probably because she can sense how desperate your dick is to find her boss. Plus, she’s not into dick, so she’s awkward around attractive men like myself.

“Well, then, it was really nice to meet you, Ms. Bentley,” Presley says, standing up.

“And you,” she replies with a genuine smile.

Presley shakes her hand and moves around the chair. I follow her lead and extend my hand, making sharp eye contact with her.

“Thank you, Ms. Bentley, I look forward to working with both you and Miss Winters.”

Ms. Bentley hesitates, unlike with Presley, and reluctantly extends her hand. I move in closer and shake it, holding on for a bit longer and never breaking her gaze. Just in case she does like men, and Kate’s theory is true, I give her a good handshake so she knows what I’m sporting below.

She looks at me for a brief moment, breaking my stare and pulling away. “Likewise,” she responds coldly.

Presley has left the room, and just when I’m about to walk out, Ms. Bentley calls my name. “Mr. Mason?”

I turn around, surprised to see her leaning against her table in a suggestive pose. That or my brain is desperate to conjure up that image.

“Please, call me Noah,” I say.

“I’ll be in touch, Noah.” This time, she smiles softly, cocking her head to the side before walking around her table.

“Looking forward to it, Ms. Bentley.”

I step out of the room to Presley who’s waiting for me. That was odd, whatever that was. Talk about multiple personalities. Or, she’s afraid of me.

It doesn’t matter, anyway.

I’m this close to finally meeting Scarlett Winters.

NOAH

“What was she like? Did she have the red lips on? Is she as tiny as the magazines depict her?”

Kate and Charlie are throwing a thousand questions at me, interrupting my meal. Charlie’s an excellent cook. Tonight—chicken parmesan. It looks so delicious, the cheese melts to perfection on top of the breaded chicken. I take a bite, ignoring them for a moment, hoping Lex will save me from the interrogation.

“What about her face? Does it look like she’s had a nose job? Because those before-they-were-famous pics floating around look nothing like what she is today,” Eric says in one breath. “Word on the street is that she was sleeping with Beverly Hill’s top plastic surgeons.”

I lift my gaze to meet Eric’s waiting stare. We met last week during one of his so-called impromptu visits, and after several warnings from both Charlie and Kate, he’s exactly who they described him to be.

Lex shakes his head while enjoying his dinner. Throw me a lifejacket, I beg him with pleading eyes. I attempt to sway the topic to something else, but every time I try, we wind up right back where we started.

Finally, after much deliberation, I tell them, “I haven’t met her yet.”