L.A. Confidential

by Julie Kenner

  IT COULDN’T HAVE BEEN HER. Absolutely not. No way.

  He’d been repeating the mantra for more than ten hours, ever since he’d noticed the woman rising in the elevator. The woman with the slim figure and the chin-length blond hair. The woman he imagined was Lisa.

  Not possible. And not worth obsessing about.

  He needed to quit obsessing and to focus on his work. He’d left the hotel right after breakfast to run the gaunt-let between his clubs and restaurants in Orange County, Ventura and Palm Springs. He’d crawled back to Oxygen at midnight and the restaurant was now hopping with late-night energy. Though the dinner crowd had left, the place was by no means empty. A few late diners dotted the tables, along with folks who’d come in for dessert and coffee. In the lounge area, a small crowd had already gathered on the dance floor as the jazz band cranked out favorites from the thirties and forties.

  Ken eased his way from the main dining area to the lounge, trying to focus his thoughts. They focused all right—directly on the woman in the elevator. There’d been something about the way she’d looked at him, something about the way she’d held herself. And he’d been unable to rip his eyes away.

  Frustrated, he took a seat at the bar, then tugged at his tie, loosening the blasted thing.

  “Something on your mind, boss?” Chris put down a napkin, then topped it with a tall glass of sparkling water.

  “Just thinking about old times.”

  “Not surprised. Coming up on five years. That’s a hell of an accomplishment.”

  True enough, but what Ken was thinking about wasn’t his restaurant; it was his ex-girlfriend. Still, he didn’t intend to clue his bartender in on this particular neurosis, and he lifted the glass in a toast. “To five more years.”

  Chris nodded. “I’ll drink to that.”

  “Not on the job you won’t,” he said in a jokingly stern tone.

  “Whatever you say, boss,” he said, grinning as he turned to help one of the guests.

  Ken swiveled on his stool, surveying the restaurant he’d started on a shoestring five years ago. No wonder he’d had such a visceral reaction to the woman in the elevator. Five years ago Lisa had walked out. In one week he’d face the anniversary of both her departure and his grand opening. Who wouldn’t be a little raw? And it was certainly no surprise that he was seeing ghosts in the elevators.

  But that’s all she was—a ghost. Ken needed to forget Lisa and to move on with his life. Not that he was interested in jumping back into the dating game. What he’d told Tim was true. If the right woman came along, great. But he had no intention of searching her out. Considering he had to hire someone to run his clothes to the dry cleaner’s and pick up his groceries, he had no time to waste looking for a date.

  Once upon a time he might have been craving the domestic life, but no more. He’d made a success of himself, and he had everything he could possibly want. Everything. He didn’t need to go hunting up trouble.

  He was practicing not thinking about Lisa, or the woman in the elevator, or women in general, when the maître d’, Charles, caught his eye, signaling for him to come over. A woman was standing next to Charles, her face obscured by the ornate columns near the entrance. Since Charles tended to be protective of Ken’s time, if he thought it was important for Ken to meet her, chances were she was a celebrity, a restaurant critic or some other mover and shaker in the Hollywood scene.

  His professional demeanor in place, he moved toward the front of the restaurant. As he drew near, he realized who the woman was, but by then it was too late to turn back gracefully. Instead, he steeled himself and headed forward.

  Alicia Duncan turned as he approached, her television-ready smile gleaming. “Ken!” She held out a hand for him to take. “Kiss, kiss! It’s so wonderful to see you again.”

  “Alicia.” He took a fortifying breath. As usual, she looked so picture-perfect it was scary. In the two years he’d known her, Ken didn’t think he’d ever seen her without every hair in place and her makeup just so—even during some of their more intimate moments.

  He clasped her hand in his, and let go as quickly as etiquette allowed. “What a nice surprise.” He was in no mood to hear Alicia’s pitch again, and he said a silent prayer that maybe she really had come only for a late dinner.

  “I was hoping to catch you.” She leaned in closer and he could smell bourbon on her breath. A lot of bourbon. “I need to talk to you. A favor.”

  “Alicia—”

  She held up a hand. “Dammit, Kenny. Just five minutes? Can’t you spare me five minutes of your precious time?”

  He cringed at the nickname, but nodded. “Five minutes.”

  Not worrying about being polite, he grasped her elbow, led her to the kitchen, then parked them just inside the swinging doors. His back was to the dining room, but he’d stepped far enough in to be out of the staff’s traffic. Tim looked up for a moment, clearly curious but too preoccupied to pay much attention. The rest of the staff was too busy even to take notice.

  “What?” he said without preamble.

  She jumped slightly, her mouth set in a little pout. “Kenny, I’m surprised. I just want to talk and you’re being so…” Her hand twirled as she searched for a word. “So short.”

  “I’m not being short,” he said, knowing he was. “I just don’t see the point in repeating what Marty already told you. I don’t want to do a talk show. It’s not my style, and you know it.”

  Was it his imagination, or did her smile seem menacing? “I just want you to reconsider.”

  “It’s nothing personal, Alicia.” He tried to keep his voice pleasant.

  She moved closer, her smile shifting from cold to seductive, and he fought a chill. “It’s always personal,” she purred as she closed the distance between them.

  “Don’t.” He took a deep breath. “Look, Alicia, you know talk shows aren’t my style.”

  “Then do it for me,” she whispered as one thin arm snaked up around his neck. She looked him in the eyes. “You dumped me, remember?” she whispered. “Don’t you think you owe me?”

  He felt his features automatically freeze into place. At one time he’d felt some attraction for this woman—enough to go out with her, anyway—but not anymore, and now it just pissed him off that she was trying to play the sex kitten to get what she wanted. Especially when he’d already said no.

  “Alicia…” He tried to pull away, but she only moved closer.

  “For old times’ sake,” she said, even as she pressed her body against his. In one practiced movement she was up on her toes, her lips pressed to his. She was a beautiful woman, not half bad in bed, and he felt absolutely nothing—not a twinge, not a spark, not anything—nothing except some vague semblance of pity that she’d stoop to throwing herself at him.

  Gently, he pushed her away even as a little voice in the back of his mind urged him to just do the damn show. After all, it wouldn’t kill him, and she must really be in a bind if she was that desperate. But he didn’t intend to compromise his principles. Not for Alicia, not for anybody.

  “Go home, Alicia.”

  She clung to him, the bourbon clearly getting the better of her, as he maneuvered them toward the swinging doors. He almost tripped over her feet, but finally managed to get her steady.

  When he looked up, he almost dropped her again.

  There, standing right in front of him, was the love of his life. The woman he’d wanted to marry. The woman who’d walked out on him. The woman who made his blood boil.

  The woman he needed to forget.

  A tiny smile graced her beautiful mouth. “Hi, Ken,” Lisa said. “I was hoping you’d have a minute to talk.”

  LISA WATCHED as a flurry of emotions passed over his face. More tersely than she would have anticipated, he said goodbye to the woman named Alicia. Then he turned to her, his face devoid of emotion, and steered her toward a secluded table. The pressure of his fingers on the small of her back sent a once-familiar chill racing down her spine as
they moved through the near-deserted restaurant.

  Oxygen had changed very little in the past five years. It still had that air of quiet elegance that Ken had worked so hard for, and she let her gaze drift over the few remaining guests as Ken led her through the room.

  Although a part of her dreaded having to explain why she needed help, for the most part, Lisa was proud of the way she’d kept her voice steady despite the shock of seeing Ken with another woman surgically attached to his lips.

  She’d known it would be hard seeing him face-to-face after so much time, but what she hadn’t expected were the stabbing needles of jealousy she’d felt when a waiter had pushed open the swinging doors and she’d caught a glimpse of their embrace. And that jealousy made her more than a little uncomfortable. She was here for a job, not to strike up a relationship. It had been five years. Whatever had once been between them was long over. He could kiss whomever he wanted whenever he wanted. It really wasn’t any of her business.

  Still, she had to admit to feeling a small sense of satisfaction when his eyes had widened and his mouth had opened. She’d never forgotten him, not one detail, but she’d always feared that somehow he’d managed to put her out of his head, that he wouldn’t recognize her if he saw her again.

  He’d recognized her, all right. And there was no hiding the white-hot anger mixed with desire that clouded his eyes. She’d seen it, plain as day, and her stomach had clenched from the knowledge that she’d hurt him so badly the pain was still raw.

  That look was gone now. He’d erased it in an instant before sending the woman he’d kissed on her way. And now, as they arrived at a table by a window overlooking Sunset Boulevard, he was nothing more than coldly professional.

  “Have a seat.” Ice dripped from his voice. He pulled out her chair, then sat opposite her across the table, the hard angles of his face seeming more stern and foreboding in the flickering candlelight.

  She licked her lips, trying to cure a severe case of cotton mouth. She saw him focus on the movement, a hint of desire flashing in the deep blue irises, and she relaxed a tiny bit. Maybe he wasn’t as good at turning off his emotions as he liked to pretend.

  Almost as if realizing he’d revealed something of himself, he ripped his gaze away, then roughly pulled back his sleeve to reveal his watch. “I’ve got fifteen minutes before I say good-night to the last guests.” He paused, his eyes meeting hers, and this time they reflected only annoyance. “Why are you here, Lisa?”

  She flinched at the harshness in his voice, but didn’t let him rattle her. Of course he was going to be upset. But she needed his help, and that meant she had to stay calm and reasonable.

  “Lisa?” he repeated as she counted to ten. “What do you want?”

  What did she want? Well, that was the question of the hour. Fame, fortune, to right past mistakes, to rebuild burned bridges. But there was no easy way to say all of that, and in the end she simply said, “Help. I need your help.”

  “My help?” His forehead creased as he leaned back in his chair, regarding her, an unfamiliar coldness in his eyes. “All this time, and you walk back through the door and announce you need my help?”

  She nodded, her eyes burning with the effort to hold back tears. Part of her wanted to throw her arms around him and tell him she was sorry for the hurt, sorry for being so focused on her career, and to beg him to tell her all was forgiven.

  But that was a selfish dream. For one thing, while she’d never meant to hurt him, the truth was that she’d done what she needed to do, and she’d do it all over if she had to. She had to get her career off the ground. She had to. Five years ago, that meant leaving him. Today, it meant begging him for help.

  “Why, Lisa?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion. “Why should I help you?”

  She couldn’t stop the single tear that escaped, tracing a path down her cheek. “Because once, a long time ago, you told me you loved me.”

  4

  “I DID LOVE YOU.” He struggled to not let his voice betray him, because if he was honest with himself he probably loved her still. Loved her, hated her, and everything in between.

  Every emotion had gathered into a tight knot in his gut, and it was all he could do to keep his voice steady, to hold on to the control he worked so hard to maintain.

  Lord knows, no other woman had ever affected him as much, had ever gotten under his skin the way she had. Passion, lust…love? He didn’t know. All he knew was that she’d poisoned him, infected his blood, shaken his self-control—and that was what had really thrown him for a loop.

  She seemed to shrink away, probably in part from the dry, emotionless tone of his voice. But that was the only option—either no emotion, or let loose with every emotion that was raging within him. He’d opened himself once to Lisa Neal. He wasn’t the kind of man who made the same mistake twice.

  “Will you help me?” Her voice was small, pleading, and he had to wonder what was so important that she would come to him after so many years.

  If he were a stronger man, he’d tell her to go away. He’d tell her that five years ago he would have done anything for her, but that now he had no interest in helping her, no reason to help her.

  But, dammit, he wasn’t that strong. And he was curious to know what twist of fate had brought her back to him after so much time. After caring so little that she could simply walk away, what now spurred her to gather her pride and come knocking at his door?

  He signaled for Chris to bring them a bottle of wine, then leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. “What is it you want me to do?”

  Relief flashed in her eyes, but she was smart enough to know she wasn’t home free yet. She pressed her lips together, then folded her hands primly on the tabletop. Chris slipped over, dropping off an uncorked bottle of a Napa cabernet and two glasses before drifting back into the shadows. Lisa eyed the bottle, so Ken poured her a glass, sliding it to her side of the table.

  She gulped it, downing half the glass in one swallow, then took a deep breath before meeting his eyes again. “Things didn’t work out in New York,” she said.

  The fury he’d been containing bubbled to the surface, his head filling with noise as blood pounded in his ears. “So, since things didn’t work out with Tyrell, you’re rushing back to me?” He spat out the words, not even trying for civility.

  For a moment she looked shocked, then she reached down to pick up her purse. “I’m sorry.” She stood. “I shouldn’t have come. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  For just an instant he considered letting her walk away, letting her leave his life again—and maybe this time she’d leave his heart, too. But he couldn’t do it. He caught her arm as she moved past him.

  “Let go.”

  “Lisa,” he whispered, and damned if his voice didn’t hitch. “I’m sorry.” He nodded toward the table. “Please. Sit down.”

  She hesitated only a second before slipping back into her chair. This time she didn’t look at him, and instead concentrated on her wineglass. “Like I said, my plans in New York didn’t work out.”

  “But I saw the trades. I even watched a few movies that you’d worked on with…him.” He couldn’t bring himself to say Tyrell’s name.

  She looked up, her eyes misty. “You watched my movies?”

  His heart twisted, but he tamped down the tug of emotion, needing to stay clearheaded.

  She didn’t wait for him to answer. “You must not have followed my career after that.”

  That much was true. He’d been so infuriated that she and Tyrell had become a couple, that he’d quit paying attention, deciding that he’d simply been torturing himself by paying any attention at all.

  “Let’s just say I wasn’t able to parlay my work on those movies into anything else after Tyrell’s production company bottomed out.” Despite the flat tone, she couldn’t hide the sadness in her voice.

  An intense urge to take her hand, to soothe, caught him by surprise, and he fought to keep some dista
nce. She’d hurt him, and it would take more than conciliatory words to make amends. “So what have you been doing?”

  “This and that. Nothing like what I’d planned, that’s for sure.” Her mouth curved up into an ironic smile. “Lately, I’ve been doing temp work.” She took a breath. “Until now, anyway. Now I’ve got a real shot again. A decent break.”

  “And you need my help.” His words were sharp, his tone cutting.

  She nodded, just one curt movement of her head.

  “Even if I wanted to help you, I’m not exactly involved in the film scene. What could I possibly do?”

  “Winston Miller is shooting a sequel to The Velvet Bed in Los Angeles. I’m his location scout. It’s my job to find a dozen or so super-sexy locations around Los Angeles to film at.” She shrugged. “Not the greatest job, but if I nail it, Miller’s offered me a producer credit.”

  “Which is exactly what you always wanted to do.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Right. Except I wanted to work at a studio. But any producer credit now will get my foot in the door. And it’ll get me back to Los Angeles. Back to the heart of the industry.”

  “So what do you need me for?”

  She licked her lips. “The restaurant. Oxygen. Miller wants to film here.”

  He balked. Not so much at the request, but at his almost immediate, unexpected reaction to open the doors for her. He’d never allowed a film crew on site. Never. And just moments ago he’d turned Alica down flat when she’d made essentially the same request.

  “I know it’s asking a lot…” She trailed off, the tip of her finger tracing a pattern on the wineglass.

  “It is.” Disconcerted, he stood, ran a hand through his hair. “I have to go get ready for closing. Meet me tomorrow. Breakfast. Hugo’s at nine.”

  He hadn’t meant to meet her eyes, but he couldn’t help it, and when he did, he saw that they were wide and full of hope—hope he’d put there. And damned if he didn’t like the feeling.

  “You’ll help me?”