by Reiss, CD
“No one cares. Come on. I can pay you with a ticket. It’s so much fun, and if you hate it, I won’t be mad if you leave.”
“Maybe?”
“You have to.”
Her desperation seemed disproportionate to the problem, and I must have had suspicion all over my face, because she started explaining without being asked.
“That night?” she said. “At NV? I told Eddie I liked his waistcoat, and I went on and on about the accuracy of the detailing, then asked him if his shirt under it unbuttoned all the way down. Like, that just flew out of my mouth, and it was like he could see me imagining him with his shirt off.
“He said, ‘Is it not supposed to?’” she continued. “And I said, ‘No, but it’s fine. If you come to the Regency ball with me on the twenty-eighth, no one will even say anything.’ Which was basically like asking him out.”
“What did he say?”
She laid her forehead against a rack bar, as if the answer was too much to bear.
“He said he was already going.”
“That’s great!”
She picked her head up. “It was as good as a no. So I ran out. I couldn’t take it.”
“I don’t think it was a no.”
“It wasn’t a yes. And I was so embarrassed. I’m still kind of mortified. I can’t go alone. I’ll do your hair. There’s a twist style that’s perfect for curls.”
My phone buzzed.
“Okay,” I said, checking to find a number I didn’t recognize. “I’m in.”
“Yay!”
I stepped away to answer the call.
“Hello?”
I could hear breathing on the other side, and the background chatter of a restaurant or coffee shop, but no response.
“Hello?” I said again. I was about to hang up when a woman’s voice came through.
“Who is this?” a woman asked.
This crap was on a long list of pet peeves.
“You called me,” I protested.
“And who are you?”
“Who did you call?”
“I don’t owe you—”
I hung up. If someone just couldn’t say, “Sorry, wrong number,” they weren’t worth my time.
The phone buzzed again. Same number. Christmas on a cracker. I picked it up.
“You have the wrong nu—”
“Where is he?”
“Who?”
I knew who she was talking about, but I didn’t owe her rude ass a damn thing.
“You tell him Heidi says thanks for the divorce. I hope he’s happy he and his big dick ruined everything.”
And bang, like that, she hung up.
Heidi had to be Gordon’s wife—whose infidelity with Justin Beckett was one of the half dozen things that caused the breakup of Sunset Boys.
The same guy who worried over his lost friend to the point of distraction was the same one who’d had an affair with another friend’s wife.
That was inconsistent, but plausible.
I’d have to tell him about the call.
I’d have to walk out of the costume trailer with a thousand tasks on my list, take time out of what I was hired for so I could help Justin Beckett manage his drama.
I’d moved to Los Angeles to make my life simpler and somehow gotten roped into someone else’s complexities. It was hard enough to live my own life, now I had to live his?
The only judgment I should be making was whether I wanted to get romantically involved with a man who sucked the life out of me. And the answer was a flat no.
I had work to do, and taking Justin’s messages wasn’t in my job description anymore, so I got to him when it was convenient for me, which was after everything but the last shooting night’s racks was loaded.
Carter was standing in front of the fancy trailer, stoic as ever.
“Is Justin in there?” I asked.
“He’s eating,” he said, not moving an inch.
“I have to talk to him.”
“I’ll let him know.”
His loss. My desire for his body was being steadily eclipsed by my need to protect myself from him.
“Fine,” I said. I got two steps before hearing a rap-rap from the trailer. Justin had seen me and was at the window, trying to get my attention. Carter opened the door for me.
Justin was in street clothes and full scene makeup, sitting at a table before a confetti-colored sushi spread. One of his entourage, a guy with a goatee and prematurely receding hairline, sat across, eating salmon nigiri with a fork and watching a YouTube video on his phone. Justin kicked him under the table.
“Let her sit.”
He got up and slid onto a couch with his plate and his video, barely looking at me.
“Sushi?” Justin said, using his chopsticks to push a plate toward me. “They always make too much.”
“I ate.”
He popped a roll in his mouth and chewed, fixing his gaze on me. The makeup that made him beautiful on camera covered what made him beautiful in person. He seemed less intense, less present. Definitely less intimidating.
“How’s Louise?” I asked.
“Good.” He pointed his chopsticks at the bandage on my hand. “What happened there?”
“Flesh wound.”
“I should see the other guy, right?” he said, shoving a piece of sushi in a puddle of soy sauce.
“I was trying to move something heavy out of my van.”
“Did you drive it in?” He popped the sushi in his mouth and chewed.
“No.”
“Then you’re mine tonight.”
How anyone could say that so casually, without even looking up, was a mystery I couldn’t solve. As was why my insides got warm with anticipation.
“I got a call,” I said, and before I was even done, his hand shot up to stop me from saying another word. He turned to goatee guy.
“Bern, can you get out for a minute?”
Attention on the screen, Bern walked out, leaving his half-eaten lunch behind.
“It wasn’t Chad,” I said before he could ask. “It was Heidi.”
His chopsticks clattered when he dropped them. “Fuck.”
“She says thanks to your ‘big dick’ for the divorce.”
“No.” He jabbed his finger at me. “No, no, no. She doesn’t get to do that.”
“Isn’t she Gordon’s wife?” I hadn’t walked into the trailer intending to litigate his past or make accusations, but I decided that was foolish. I needed to know who I was getting involved with. “She’s the one you—”
“I did not. Okay? I didn’t. And here we go with the whole ‘Justin’s a douchebag so we just assume he does everything douchebags do,’ right?”
“I didn’t say anything like that.”
“But I can see it in your head. You think I’m a garbage human who sleeps with his friend’s wife.”
“I didn’t say I thought that either.”
Having put me on the defensive, he slid down in the seat, stretching his legs to my side.
“So you believe me?”
His focus on what I believed or didn’t was a non sequitur. I wasn’t his doormat or an enemy combatant. I was a woman with a life that he either fit into or didn’t, and if we didn’t fit, my opinion of his excuses was irrelevant.
I wove my fingers together on the table, leaning forward in the opposite posture.
“It doesn’t matter if I believe you.”
“It kinda does.”
“Not to me. Not at all. Because I’m not going to sit here for another minute listening to the life and times of Justin Beckett. You’re a drain on me, and we’re not even dating. I’m not going to expend any more energy figuring out if you are who you think you are or helping you solve your problems. I have my own problems. My future’s up in the air, and the next, like . . . three choices I make are going to affect that future. I have a property tax bill coming, and unlike you, when I say I don’t know if I’m going to be working, that means I don’t know if I can pay it. A
nd also unlike you, the property I’m going to owe the taxes on is the only place I have to live.” I laid my palms flat. “I need to live the one life I have.” Pushing against my hands, I stood up. “I can’t let you take over. I won’t.”
“So what does that even mean?” he asked.
“It means thank you, but I’ll take a cab home.”
I got to the door, but just as I was about to push the lever down, he was in front of me.
“I don’t get what your problem is,” he said.
My fists curled into hard balls. If he touched me anywhere I didn’t want him to, I’d punch him where it hurt.
“The problem is you’re blocking the door.”
“So last night? It was nothing for you?”
“We’ve both made out with people before.”
“Wait a second,” he said. “This isn’t about me being some kind of scumbag?”
“No, Justin. But if you don’t get out of my way, it’s going to be.”
He backed off, as if making the biggest concession of his life.
I stormed out.
I’d won the battle.
CHAPTER 12
JUSTIN
This girl.
Kayla ripped the rug out so hard my shoes came off.
I’d dated a princess—an actual princess—for seven months. Princess Ingrid of Denmark. She didn’t give an inch, and from jump I knew the game she was playing. So I played it, too, because you can’t win if you don’t play. In the end, I said “nah” and Ingrid said “meh.” We came to a draw, more or less, which was the best a guy can do when he’s up against a girl who was born and raised for the game.
But Kayla was either more masterful than Princess Ingrid, or she was being honest. And here was the thing. Besides surprise and irritation, I had feelings. Real feelings. The kind that made me want to be near her, sure. But also the kind that made me want to be the opposite of what made her walk out the trailer door in the first place.
My feelings didn’t lie, so she had to be honest. No woman played me like that.
All I had to do was show her that I wasn’t going to take her life over.
Hard to do without being right in her face.
First thing, make sure she didn’t get any more of my calls. They’d bring her to my trailer door, but she needed to come to me because she wanted to, not because she felt obligated.
Heidi wouldn’t pick up an unknown number, so I had Victor make the call and set up a meeting. He got back to me without asking a single question he shouldn’t have. Bonus points for being the best assistant in town.
Heidi and I hit dinner in the back patio of Pietro’s the next day. It was blocked from the valet by hedges, and I got there first, so there wasn’t much chance we’d wind up on the internet together.
Heidi had been the director of a swank private elementary school. She and Gordon had met at a fundraiser he got dragged to with his sister, and he’d pursued her even after her ex tried to sabotage them. We hadn’t hit it big yet. Not that big. We’d all thought she grounded him. Maybe she did, but maybe not enough.
She strode in with such purpose her dark hair flew away from her face with each step. She sat across from me in black bug-eye sunglasses and put her bag down as if I’d told her not to. Then she set her mouth in a mean little red line and said nothing. That must be the look she gave parents of misbehaving students. I had my back on a planter and my arm on the table, facing sideways so I didn’t have to deal with her full on.
“You’re welcome,” I said when I got bored. She didn’t reply. “You called to thank me and my big dick. You’re welcome.”
“When we got married, I told Gordon that if we ever broke up, it would be because of you.”
That was bullshit. I never even looked at her sideways, and she knew it.
“Hold on there, sister.”
“It was always Justin. All their lives revolved around you. Like you were a deity they had to follow into parties and back out. It was your needs. Your habits. Your pathetic need for validation. So, yes. I was right. If we went wrong, it would be you.”
“And what did he say?”
“He said you were misunderstood.”
The waiter came and dumped a fully scripted list of specials on us. I ordered a burger. Heidi ordered the steamed asparagus as an entrée.
“This is months old already,” I said when the waiter left. “I did what I could. I don’t know why you’re busting my ass now.”
“You said you’d stop him from filing for divorce. You said you’d fix it.”
“I tried.”
“By cutting him off? You can’t convince him if you don’t talk to him.”
“I had no choice. And talking to him made it worse. He doesn’t want to hear it from me.”
“Give me a break, Justin.” She dropped my name like a profanity. I turned in my seat to face the oversize black ovals of her sunglasses. Each lens reflected a tiny me.
“Every time I talked to him, he went to DMZ with what a liar I was.”
“You mean the first week?”
“It was hurting me. Between him and Chad and what I did to Shane? Overland was on my ass. Slashdot was twisting my balls. Is it okay with you if I have a career or nah? I gotta be ruined because Gordon didn’t trust you?”
She flinched.
Too hard, but I’d been bottled up too long to slow myself down.
“It took me months to find a new job because of you,” she said.
“Don’t even . . .” I waved my hands at her as if that would dispel the ugly lie of what she’d just said. “That’s garbage, and you know it.”
“You were always jealous.”
“Bullshit.”
“You climbed from girl to girl, but all you ever wanted was what Gordon and I had. Now you destroyed it.” Her lower lip quivered, and her chin got tight. “I hope you’re happy.”
I’d come to mend fences and wound up building a higher one on top of what was already broken. This was going to turn into a disaster if I didn’t chill.
“I’m not,” I said. “You don’t have to believe me. That’s cool. But that doesn’t make me happy about it either.”
She took her glasses off and dabbed her eyes with a tissue. They were red and swollen. She hadn’t worn any mascara, as if she’d known she’d mess it up.
I felt like garbage.
“Heidi. Listen.”
“Fuck you, Justin. I don’t have to listen. Gordon is my soul mate. He’s the only man who can make me happy. And you three assholes? You’re all important to him, so you’re all important to me. And maybe that’s my fault. Maybe I shouldn’t have ever cared about keeping you together, but dammit, Justin . . . you put us in this situation. I mean . . .” She sniffed. “You came out of the bathroom naked. You stood there with that monster hanging out. You knew how much I cared, and you made a display of not giving a shit.”
“That wasn’t why.”
“Why, then?” she demanded.
“You busted right in like it was your room. Just right in, accusing me of getting high with Chad so I could bring the entire band down so I could go solo. You accused me of not giving a shit about my friends. That I was going to drag Gordy in next, and then you were going to fuck me up. On and on. What was I supposed to do?”
“Put pants on.”
“You should have closed the door behind you.”
“You should have locked it.”
“You should have been minding your own damn business in the first place.”
She put her glasses back on. I should have been satisfied with the fact that she didn’t answer for a long time. It meant I won that round. But in the long pause after, I felt worse. What was the point of winning if you felt like crap about making the enemy cry?
Our food came. She didn’t pick up her fork. My burger looked like indigestion waiting to happen.
“Eat,” I said, dumping a lagoon of ketchup on the side of the plate.
“I’m not hungry.”
> “Come on. You’re too skinny. You look like a model. It’s giving me the heebs.”
She let go of a little laugh.
“Most women would take that as a compliment,” she said.
“Most women aren’t you.” I plucked a french fry out of my pile and held it out. “Open up. No one resists Pietro’s fries and lives.”
She bit the fry in the middle, and I let go so she could chew the whole thing.
“Gordon was really hurt,” she said, sliding her fork toward her and picking it up as if she had to sneak it. “When you cut him off.”
“He thought I was dodging him to fuck you is why.”
“No. Two weeks after it happened, he was packing his stuff and . . . well, this is kind of humiliating.” She rolled an asparagus spear off the pile and stabbed it with her fork. “I was begging him to stay. That if he wouldn’t believe me, he should believe you. And he said, ‘He won’t take my calls.’ The look on his face. He was so hurt, and it made me mad. Just so mad.”
The asparagus hovered halfway between the plate and her mouth.
“You posing for a painting?”
“What?”
“Eat it before it goes bad.”
I smashed the bun against its contents and picked it up. She bit the flower side without letting her lips touch the stem. I ate my burger and watched as she took a second bite.
“I need a favor,” I said.
“No. Forget it.”
“You don’t even know what it is.”
“I’m done with trouble.”
“Me too. This is a done-with-trouble favor.”
She polished off the last of the asparagus stem.
“I need you to stop calling that number,” I said. “I’ll give you the new one, and you can yell at me all you want. Day or night. Call me names right to my face, just ditch those digits.”
“Why?”
“Just because?”
“Who was the girl you gave the phone to?”
“It’s not . . . It doesn’t matter.” I bit the burger so I’d be forced to shut up.
“Hm.” She took a french fry from my plate. “Interesting.”
“It’s not interesting.”
“So, you’re asking me to do something by asking me not to do something?”
“Yeah. So?”
She ate the french fry in one bite.
“I can do that.”