The club was packed tight with celebrity bodies and groupies alike who were just oozing with desperation and sexual excitement. I scanned the sea of faces and shiny clothing for familiar features, but only found strangers wearing Versace and Dior. Maya pulled my arm and pointed.
“Look, there's Zack Rider!” She exclaimed over the boom of the bass.
I followed her finger across the dimly lit room to the bar where Zack Rider was leaning against the counter, his 4.6 million dollar Louis Moinet Meteoris watch glimmering in the light shining from above. It was as if the spotlight was on him. I shook my head and turned my attention back to the rest of the club. Greens, blues, and reds exploded all over the dance floor in a visual spectacle that could have easily given someone seizure. We fought through the mess of bodies to the bar where we each ordered a beer and then sat at a table nearby that was decorated with confetti. My eyes trailed back over to Zack.
“You should go talk to him.” Maya prodded me with her elbow. “He looks a little lonely.”
“I'm pretty sure that group of fangirls behind him will take care of that.” I nodded in the direction of three tall women wearing knock-off Gucci dresses who were excitedly chatting into each other's ears.
Maya snorted loudly and said, “They don't have a chance. You're far more interesting. You're also not trying too hard to look rich when you're not.”
I laughed at her comment and sipped my beer. Zack Rider was such a spoiled child. He kept flashing his watch any time he raised his hand to run his fingers through his hair and he nodded nonchalantly every so often at people who waved excitedly in his direction. I was willing to bet that he only came for the praise and glory. He didn't need to turn up to these things to promote his ridiculously produced sexist garbage - simply having his name tied to anything seemed to guarantee instant success with the Hollywood 'it-crowd.' Which movie had he made again? Another steamy romance flick where the lead male shows the lead female that he can fix all of her problems with the wave of his hand? It was likely the same overly-used Hollywood plot that involved something along those lines. There was no individuality anymore. Jobs like mine were slowly becoming obsolete because the public didn't crave uniqueness. They wanted unity through uniformity, a name brand flock that they could cling to because they had no idea how to be real.
“I bet I could catch his attention.” Maya interrupted my thought process. I hadn't noticed half my beer was gone by the time I came back to consciousness. I swirled the rest at the bottom of the bottle.
“I bet you could.” I poked her shoulder in a flirty manner. “You're hot, girl. Go work it.”
With that, she stood and angled her way through the crowd to the bar where she gracefully placed herself near Zack, just close enough to get his attention without seeming too interested. She clicked her heels against the waxed marble floor and acted bored, shouting to the bartender for another drink and leaning back so her dress sparkled in the light from above the bar. Zack regarded her with little to no interest, likely because she looked gaudy trying to show off. I looked back down at my beer as Maya's attempted mating dance was becoming embarrassing to watch. When I looked up again, I locked eyes with Zack.
They were a cold blue, like icicles lining the inside of a cave in winter. Yet there was somehow a warmth to them at the same time, the deep blue of the ocean, maybe even of the marble floors we now stood upon, and they were piercing right through my skull as if to analyze every bit of my being. They were so wolf-like. I hadn't realized a shifter could embody so much of his animal form in just a gaze. They held me in a bond briefly until I broke away to scan the rest of the lousy club and its hedonistic inhabitants, willing myself not to blush. I admired a particularly elegant ballroom style gown until I noticed the cackling woman wearing it. Her million dollar porcelain smile didn't match the rest of her body and appeared plastic compared to her face. I grimaced.
Just out of my peripheral vision, I noticed a figure approach. He cleared his throat.
“May I sit with you?” He asked.
I turned to respond with something incredibly snarky until I realized it was Zack. My face flushed with embarrassment.
“Oh, sure,” I responded quickly, turning my attention down to my beer that was now empty.
“You looked a bit lonely over here,” He smoothed his hair behind his ear. “And it was getting so crowded at the bar. I seem to have a following.”
His eyes were totally focused on me. He didn't look around to scan the crowd or to search for friends. In fact, he didn't seem very interested in anyone else in the club. As of now, his focus was mine. Those blue arrows stung my skin like the rays of a harsh, midday sun. They penetrated every bit of my body right down to the particles until I was completely stripped bare – but they never wandered below my neck. He never broke eye contact even when I looked away. Now, I was captivated.
“You don't seem totally preoccupied by me.” He said.
I met his gaze with confidence and said, “Not at all. I don't find your work that impressive.”
He met my comment with a raised brow and an inquisitive nod.
“Well, I'm quite relieved. I don't think I could possibly handle another woman fawning over my work just to get into my good graces.” He smiled sweetly. “I know the guy who owns this place. It's why my party is being hosted here. He actually gave me this watch.”
Our eye-lock finally broke when he looked down at his wrist, shook it with a look of fondness, and then readjusted it to a more comfortable setting.
“I would have felt bad appearing without wearing it, but it's not typically my style. It's sort of flashy, no?” He held it up for me to look over.
Bravely, and against all inner intuition, I reached across the table to outline the edge of the watch with my finger. I tapped the glass with my nail.
“You could have fed an entire world with this watch.” I shrugged. “But morality first: don't offend anyone. Right?”
Zack met my gaze again with a teasing smile before saying, “You are no ordinary LA woman, are you? You care more about what's out there than what's in here. What's your name?”
“Skylar Jones. I'm a screenwriter.”
He shook my hand.
“It's lovely to meet you, Skylar Jones.”
Oh ya, my name sounded much better coming out of his mouth.
I giggled, against my better judgment, and held his gaze this time, feeling much more confident than when he'd sat down.
“The world needs change, Mr. Rider. I think that change has to start in big places like Hollywood. Don't you think so?” I wanted to challenge his way of thinking to see if he was more intelligent than his flashy suit.
“Please, call me Zack. And I think that's a noble cause. I completely agree. People are so preoccupied with image and they could use an awakening.”
He placed his hand gently over mine as we continued to chatter on about the status of Hollywood and currently existing inequalities. I explained my situation with my screenwriting and how I felt that no one was taking me seriously as an artist. He apologized, saying that many executive producers who were shifters simply weren't interested in changing the status quo. Their focus was on the money that could be shoveled in and the potential groupies that it would bring.
“Everything is about sex and money, and how to market that to the rest of the world so it becomes normal.” I couldn't break away from his eyes. I was being sucked in further with every bit of our conversation.
“Indeed. If we invested more into our female compatriots, we could see such a bigger shift in public thinking. Compassion, harmony, civility, and acceptance would be ingrained instead of greed and body shame.” His intelligence was surprising.
“I don't get it.” I shook my head and laughed. “You're so culturally aware and informed. How is it you seem so...so…?”
“Aloof? Dull?”
I nodded, almost embarrassed to admit that earlier I'd considered him a spoiled brat.
“Yes...I'm sorry. I don't mean to imply y
ou're not educated. You just don't act like you agree with these things.” I curled my fingers around his hand that was still resting over mine.
“You don't have to be sorry for your opinion. You just have to be sorry that you were wrong.” He teased.
As I gaped at him, my eyes wide, he threw his head back in an uncontrollable yet surprisingly charming laugh and squeezed my hand.
I instinctively swatted his hand away.
“Oh, darling! I hadn't meant to offend.”
“Sorry – habit,” I said sheepishly.
His wolf-life eyes were sparkling from across the table as if the unexpected chemistry igniting between us was inspiring his wildness to shine through. I hadn't noticed how much closer we had been sitting, that the entire club was basically watching us whether they made it known or not. I briefly glanced around. A group of girls was beginning to gather near the table. They weren't blatantly surrounding us, and they grew uncomfortably close. Zack noticed the shift in my energy.
“Would you like to escape the inevitable carnage that is about to ensue if we continue sitting here, enjoying each other's company?”
I paused and then responded, “Uh. Yeah, sure.”
We rose from our seats to be met by a ferocious crowd who tried piling around Zack in an attempt to get his attention. I felt like an anchovy being shoved around until I felt Zack tug my arm in a different direction. We dodged between dancing drunk bodies and found our