Page 3 of Seven Minutes In Heaven
The man hesitated. “Jake.”
“Well, Jake…” Claire couldn’t stop grinning in his direction.What’s he doing to me? I’m acting like a fool.Didn’t she have enough self-respect to keep from flirting with another man at her engagement party? Sure, it wasn’t a love match she got herself into, but would it be so bad to refrain from flirting with guys until Arthur was old enough for a nursing home? “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I try to make a point to meet the men closest to Arthur. That includes those under his employ.”
Jake looked as if he were on the verge of uproariously laughing. What was so funny? Did Claire have a run in her tights? Could he see her nipples through her dress? Did her old childhood lisp make a sudden return, and she hadn’t noticed?Why do I care what he thinks of me?Not like Claire was trying to impress this guy. What was the point?
She knew where this madness led. Having a crush on him. Pining after him. Thinking about him when she touched herself in the loneliness of the bed she kept far away from Arthur.
“Did I get something on my face, Jake?”
He slowly shook his head.
“You sure about that?”
Jake bit his lip before finally saying what was on his mind. “Trust me, Claire. If you had something on that beautiful face of yours, I would notice.”
She giggled.Ah, damnit!Blush, giggle, look away! The unholy trifecta of expressing interest in a guy!
“Tell you what, Claire.” Jake popped one of the nuts into his mouth. “I’ve got some people I need to say hi to. If I see you around later, let’s have a chat.”
“Okay,” she squeaked.
He winked at her. “See you later. Enjoy your party.”
Claire was too giddy to immediately go back to pretending to be the doting bride, full of love and sexual attraction for her husband. In fact, she was so infatuated with a man she could never have, that she excused herself to the bathroom so she could have a few minutes to regain her composure and come to grips with herself and her shit situation.
“Hey,” she said to her reflection. The water closet was so tiny that she could flex her elbows against the door and kick her heels against the toilet behind her. But at least it gave her some privacy. Enough to let her splash water on her face and say, “You know what you signed up for. Don’t be a stupid, slutty bimbo who thirsts after the first hot guy to cross your path after your engagement goes public.” She wasn’t even thinking of Arthur – not really, because she knew the only reason he wanted to marry her was so he could access her tight ass – but of her reputation. Scandal could be an effective way to drum up interest with the public, but it wasn’t enough to get her good roles. She’d be type casted as Half-Naked Woman Who Gets Killed for the rest of her twenties. After thirty? She’d be lucky to get a bit part on a daytime talk show. Ongoing cash, but not enough to save her soul.
Her grandfather hadn’t worked his ass off in Tinsel Town so his granddaughter could do that to her own acting career. Claire was better off working as a tour guide. Honest work for shit pay, but honest work nonetheless.
She stepped out of the bathroom to find a small line. After apologizing, Claire hustled down the hallway in the hopes of finding some respite from the party.
She settled in one of Arthur’s downstairs offices that he only used for entertaining Hollywood guests. The real shit was upstairs in another office: this place was decorated to show off his wealth, production experience, and the assorted acquaintances he had made over the years. He held no qualms showing off a photo of his first wife, either. Carmen Carter had been a bigshot star in the late ‘70s, with a string of blockbuster movies that showed off her natural charms – including that busty chest that Arthur had probably fallen in love with when he was a younger shit in the business.
That marriage had ended over a decade ago. The rumors were that Arthur cheated on her so much that she finally had a meltdown and went into seclusion. Carmen hadn’t made a movie in twenty years.
Claire sat in one of the corner leather chairs and helped herself to one of Arthur’s candies on his desk. She was conveniently located next to his private bathroom.
The bastard had left the door ajar.
“That’s it, baby.” Claire almost choked on her candy when she heard Arthur’s wheezing voice. “Think the stuff’s kicked in. That’s it. God bless those little pills.”
Claire slowly turned in her seat. The door was ajar enough for her to catch an eyeful of young, firm skin. Some young blonde tart – like her! – already had her legs spread around Arthur’s waist.
