Hollyweird by Terri Clark Page A

Desi short and he really liked her?
    Before I could sort out my thoughts or have a braineurism, Jameson laid his hand on my back and said, “We’ve got double trouble.”
    I followed his look. “Oh, shit.”
    Missy.
    Watching her stalk her way across the club gave me all the excuse I needed to bodily grab Des by the shoulders and pry her from Dakota. “The Devil wears Prada is here and she looks steamed,” I hissed in her ear.
    Glassy-eyed and puffy-lipped, Des looked up at me through the horny haze blurring her mind.
    â€œMissy is here and our ass is grass,” I repeated.
    Ah! Her eyes cleared. Ugly reality pierced the veil. She smoothed her skirt, patted her hair, rubbed her passion-plumped lips, and peered around as if trying to place her whereabouts. Then, “Hide the booze!” she hissed. In a panic, she shoved the Cristal bottle (which I really wanted to keep as a souvenir) and glasses at Dakota. He waved his hand and someone immediately swept away all evidence of our imbibing.
    This could be good or bad. Good, because I felt pretty sure we were in over our heads, or bad because Missy could go all Froot Loops and lock us up for the rest of our vacay.
    Dread pretzeled knots in my stomach as I watched my sister part the sea of clubbers with nary a word nor a touch. Her skintight ruby dress and crimson lips were a slap in the face of Chastity’s pristine dress code, and every fiber of my being screamed she knew it and relished every wide-eyed, shocked look of admiration.
    When she reached our table, I toyed with the lace in my dress but made up my mind to own this situation and play it to the hilt. Good former Girl Scout that I was, I’d prepped for this sitch just in case.
    â€œHey, Missy! So glad you could make it,” I said.
    Hands on her waist, hip cocked to the right, she gave me a viperous smile. “Are you now? You were expecting me?”
    â€œOf course!” I looked to Desi for confirmation.
    â€œAbsolutely,” Des chimed in. “Didn’t you get our text?”
    Missy’s eyes squinched up in suspicion. “Text?”
    â€œYeah,” I said. “I texted you—”
    Missy shook her head, blond curls flying. “Uh uh. I never got your text.” She thrust out her hand. “Give me your phone.”
    I handed over my Blackberry and watched her scroll through my sent messages.
    â€œYou sent it to the wrong number,” she snapped.
    â€œWhat? No waaay.” I hoped I acted shocked enough. “Let me see.”
    Missy shoved the phone under my nose. “It’s 4321. Not 4312.”
    I gave her a sheepish look. “I’m sorry, Miss. I guess I transposed the numbers.” Just as Des suggested. This way it looked like we’d tried to do the right thing without actually having Missy in our biz. ’Til now.
    â€œYou’re not fooling me,” she snapped before jabbing a French-manicured finger at me. “If Dad found—”
    â€œYou’re not going to tell Dad anything,” I sniped back. “ ’Cause if you do, I’ll—”
    Dakota cleared his throat.
    I froze, suddenly remembering who I was with and where I was.
    â€œOh, hell’s bells,” I said with a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”
    Missy gave Dakota an appraising look and he spread his arms wide across the back of the couch as if inviting her to a closer inspection.
    â€œYou must be Dakota,” she said, her tone leaping from pissed to purring in a hot second.
    â€œThe one and only,” he said with a cocksure smile. “And you must be Aly’s super-sexy older sister.”
    Missy practically meowed at the compliment. Wincing, I peeked at Des, who scowled and then laid a proprietary hand on Dakota’s shoulder. Her ire only got worse when Missy glided into the spot on the other side of him. Dakota turned to face her, not only dislodging Des’s hand but very rudely turning his back on