Total Trainwreck by Evie Claire Read Free Book Online

early. But the atmosphere in the room already feels hostile. Frantically, I search for a familiar face. Gavin’s is the only one I recognize.
    Where is he?
    “Carly!” Gavin rises to welcome me like we are actually friends or something.
    “Gavin,” I say, and offer a cheek for him to kiss. As much as I loathe this man, I’m not stupid—the suits around this table hold the future of our film in their hands. Even though it’s Devon’s picture, they could still kill it in a heartbeat. Gavin begins introducing people. I shake every hand that comes my way with a clammy grip, but I don’t hear a word he says.
    I’m way too distracted looking for the only person who wouldn’t need an introduction. Why isn’t he here? Is he late? Or is he too mad at me to be in the same room?
    “Where’s Devon?” The question slips out before I can stop it. When I realize what I’ve said, it’s all I can do to keep from facepalming over my idiocy. Costars don’t care about seeing each other off set. Unless they’re up to no good. I clamp my mouth shut and try not to act like this is a question I shouldn’t be asking. It doesn’t work. The room quiets and every eye turns to me. My eyes study a hangnail I’m picking. The temperature in the room soars to a balmy five-hundred degrees. Sweat prickles beneath my hair.
    Gavin slaps a tight smile on his face. One that warns me to shut the hell up. This is no way to start a meeting with people who can ruin your life. “Sit,” he says, pulling out a chair and waving a hand over it. I do as I’m told. My ass is barely in the chair when a newspaper smacks against the dark wood table and slides to a stop in front of me.
    Love is a battlefield.
    Below the caption, a pic leaps off the page in full color. Spence stumbles away from Ryan Algood clutching a bloody nose. Below that, another one shows Spence lying in my arms as I’m telling Ryan exactly where he can go. Maria lies splayed over the red carpet like a rag doll. This is easily the worst tabloid photo I’ve ever had. Pale, drunk and stumbling from a club, I look like Eurotrash in heels. Fuck. I place an elbow on the table and rest my forehead in my palm. This is not good. Where the hell is Jerrie when I need her? An agent worth their retainer would never let me walk into a trap like this.
    “Are you fucking Spencer Hugo?” The question comes from somewhere in the sea of suits and I am so caught off guard the old Carly jumps to my defense.
    “I don’t see how that’s any of your damn business!” I snarl, unable to believe he has actually asked me this. What an asshole! He better be glad the truth of who I am —or was—fucking isn’t plastered on this headline.
    Mr. Suit laughs in my face and turns away. A woman with a softer demeanor leans in, all good-cop-like.
    “Actually, Carly, it is our business. Your contract clearly states that while you’re under our employment your public life will be conducted in a way that benefits our interests.” She smiles, like this softens the blow of them playing God with my life. It doesn’t. But I do vaguely remember Jerrie mentioning something about a “moral clause.” At the time I didn’t care. I was determined to clean my shit up. Now I realize what it actually means. I take a slow, calming breath.
    “Spence and I have been good friends for a long time.” I place my hands in my lap, quietly collecting myself as best I can.
    “Good.” The woman’s head ticks to the side and she smiles. “Spencer Hugo is the kind of friend we like you photographed with. Under better circumstances, of course. But Maria Rhodes and Ryan Algood? They do nothing for your comeback.”
    “You don’t get to decide who my friends are.”
    “In public, for the press, yes we do.” Her smile weakens like she hates to break this news. I shake my head and purse my lips. These assholes. I don’t owe them this. I fucked up. One, okay, two nights. There were some horrible stories in the press. But that