All We Were (Ex-Factor Duet Book 1)

by Elisabeth Grace

  “Awesome. We’re just about to eat, so why don’t you guys come join us on the patio?”

  “We’ll be right there,” I say as Scott heads off to corral another group for dinner.

  “I’m really looking forward to working with you,” Adelaide says. There’s a hint of something in her words, but it isn’t like the usual way the leeches in this town say it.

  “Me too.” And it’s the truth. She seems easy-going, and she’s nice to talk to.

  Adelaide and I chat as we make our way across the lawn to the patio. She’s single, and this is her first big role. It turns out she’s from Kentucky and grew up in the sticks too.

  I’ve been so stressed out, worrying about Lilah while having the weight of my first big-budget movie riding on my shoulders. Adelaide’s easy conversation makes me forget those facts for a moment, and it’s a welcome surprise.

  Chapter Eight

  Lilah

  I drag my ass off the elevator of my condo at a slug’s pace. Last night was… well, I don’t remember much about last night, truth be told. I headed over to a friend of a friend’s place to party—some up-and-coming photographer, I think. The drinks were flowing, as were the lines of powder. I must’ve mixed too much because the night goes black halfway through the party.

  I stumble down the hallway toward my apartment at the very end. My key is already in the lock when I notice a red piece of paper taped to the door.

  What the hell? My mind, still half dead from the abuse I subjected my brain to in the past twenty-four hours, can’t put all the letters together to form a word. I blink a few times.

  EVICTION NOTICE

  What. The. Fuck.

  I rip the letter off my door and spin on my heels, storming down the hall to the elevators. The ride down to the main floor lasts forever. I stomp directly to Mr. Owens’s office, and without a knock, I enter, nearly ripping the door off the hinges.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I scream, holding up the red paper.

  The little shithead superintendent is seated at his desk, not surprised by my reaction, judging by the smug look on his face. He leans back in his chair. “I think the notice is pretty self-explanatory.”

  “This is bullshit, Chris.”

  “Actually, it’s not. You’re three months behind on your rent.”

  “Says who?” I step forward, my bag dropping to the floor beside me.

  “Says me and my accounting software. I’ve left you voice messages, slipped notices under your door, reminded you when I see you coming in.” He crosses his pudgy little arms above his strained stomach.

  He’s wrong. He told me once and I paid him.

  Didn’t I?

  “Whatever. I’m not some loser who can’t pay her rent.”

  “Whether you have the money or not doesn’t matter. You’re behind on your rent and I’m within my rights to send you packing.” He uncrosses his arms, tilting the chair back down onto all fours. “The fact is, I’m tired of your shit. I have to chase you for your rent, deal with your neighbors complaining about your all-night parties… I know what goes on in your place. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

  “Whatever you’re thinking, that’s not the case.”

  “I beg to differ.” His eyes focus on a piece of paper on his desk, dismissing me.

  “So that’s it then? I’m just out on the street?”

  “I’m sure you have friends to help you out,” he mumbles and scribbles something on the piece of paper he finds so important.

  “What about all my stuff?” I ask.

  “I’m not a complete asshole. I’ll give you a week to make arrangements. Hire movers, con your friends into helping you. I don’t give a shit. But if it’s still there this time next week, it’s in the trash.”

  I stand in front of his desk, with his half-eaten cheeseburger next to him, stunned for a moment. I can’t believe he’s kicking me out. I can’t believe I’m three months behind on my rent.

  What can I do? What can I do?

  Changing my expression to a sultry smile, I slowly sway my hips as I round the side of his desk and touch his collar. “There must be some kind of compromise. Something I can do for you to give me another chance.”

  His eyes widen and dip to my breasts for a second. He slides out his desk chair and I eye his open legs, looking for a spot to kneel in front of him.

  “You need to leave.” He points at the door.

  “Come on, Chris.” I place my hand on his knee and lower my body. “Please. I’ll do anything.”

  He stares me in the eyes, his hand wrapped around my upper arm, stopping me. “Go.”

  I stand. “Fine. But you and I both know that you’ll never get a better offer than this.” I slide my hands down my body, straightening my dress.

  I whisk my purse up off the floor and stomp out of his office, then I push open the heavy glass doors of the lobby with rage. I’m not in dire straits. I have some money in the bank, but not enough for first and last month plus the security deposit for a new place.

  Stepping over cigarette butts, I sit on the concrete wall of the small garden in front of the building and open my purse to grab my phone. The small baggie of oxy pills I scored last night lies next to it. I glance around to be sure I’m alone and slide out a pill. Clasping it in my palm, I search the area once more before I toss the pill to the back of my throat and swallow.

  I grab my phone. In about twenty minutes, all the hurting, jagged edges of my current predicament will blur, becoming less potent and less real.

  After calling a couple of my model friends, none of whom pick up, I relent and call Jimmy. The fact that he’s the last person I call when he’d be the first person to help says a lot about what I want, not what I need.

  It’s been a few days since I raced out of his house after he put pressure on me to open up about why I won’t be with him in any real way.

  He picks up on the second ring. “Hey.”

  “Hey, Jimmy.”

  The echo of his tires rumbling along the highway says he’s driving.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I thought I’d done a pretty good job of schooling my voice, but I shouldn’t be surprised. I know when something is wrong with him too. “I was wondering if I can crash at your place for a few days.”

  “Of course. What’s wrong with your place?”

  I pause, wondering if I should make up a story about a rodent problem or extermination. He’ll probably find out anyway. “I’ve been evicted.”

  He’s quiet.

  Should have gone with extermination. Something that isn’t under my control.

  “I’m just heading over to the studio to do a table read, but I’ll be back this evening. Use your key.” There’s elation in his tone. Elation that I’ll squash.

  “Thanks,” I croak over the lump in my throat.

  “You’ll be there when I get home, right?” He doesn’t phrase the request like an order, knowing I would purposely not be there if he did.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Right there is the real reason I tried to find somewhere else to stay. Living with him means Jimmy will know all the ins and outs of my daily life, and he won’t want me to be a permanent fixture in his future once he finds out.

  At seven thirty, the front door of Jimmy’s place opens and shuts. I’ve spent the day lounging around, dipping into his liquor cabinet and calming my frayed nerves with another dose of oxy. Right now, I’m floating on a cloud of contentment, where the shame and anxiety about the position I’m in are like the cloud itself—not tangible enough to really grab a hold of.

  I mute the rerun of The Bachelor that I was watching and lock gazes with Jimmy when he enters the room.

  “Hey, how’d the table read go?” I ask.

  “Good.” He tosses his keys on the coffee table and sits beside me.

  He looks like my Jimmy today. A snug T-shirt shows off his broad shoulders. A pair of shorts and flip-flops. The only thing new is the concerned g
lint in his dark eyes. A new expression of his in the last few years.

  “So, why were you evicted?”

  Jimmy always cuts right to the heart of things. No need for small talk.

  A sigh escapes me. “I was behind on my rent. That’s usually why they evict you, isn’t it?” I shouldn’t snap. There’s no reason to, especially when he’s helping me out by giving me a place to stay. But he consistently acts so holier-than-thou now, which raises my hackles and makes me come out swinging.

  “Do you need money?”

  “I’ve got money.”

  “Why didn’t you pay your rent then?”

  I stand from the couch, unable to be near him. “I guess I lost track of when the rent was due, I don’t know.” I stumble over my feet but grip the edge of the couch, hopefully before Jimmy notices. Shit, I might have overdone it today.

  “Well, didn’t they give you notice or something, so you can make good on it?”

  I shrug. “You know how it is. I must have lost track when I was working in Europe.” I head to the kitchen, sensing his eyes following me. “I have a week to get my stuff before Chris throws it on the street.”

  “Chris is your landlord?” Jimmy asks.

  I nod, opening the freezer. My hand shifts to the bottle of vodka. Maybe I can sneak a sip without him seeing.

  “Move in with me?”

  His words stun me. The freezer door shuts on its own and I spin back to see if he’s joking. There’s an earnest expression on his face. He’s completely serious.

  “I can’t do that.”

  He stands, and his long legs eat up the distance between us in a few short strides. “It can be like when we first moved to LA.”

  Back when we arrived in California, we shared a small studio apartment until we were both making enough money to afford our own places. I think he wanted to continue living together, but I pressed the issue, using the excuse that I’d never been on my own and I needed to know I could do it.

  I’d lied because I was sick of sneaking around behind his back. Having my own place meant I could come and go as I wished and do what I wanted without the guilt that I was doing something wrong.

  “I’m a terrible roommate, you know that.”

  “You’re not so bad.” He strokes his thumb along my cheek, making me feel delicate and special in the way only he can.

  My eyes drift closed as I enjoy his intimate and loving gesture.

  “Please. Just stay for a little while. I’m worried about you.” He tucks my hair behind my ears and kisses the tip of my nose.

  I open my eyes and stare into the depths of his chocolate-colored ones. I wish I could be the person he wants me to be. Maybe I could be? If I’d try for anyone, it’d be him. “I don’t know…”

  The hopeful look on his face bolts over the walls I’ve built around my heart and hits its mark.

  “Fine. I’ll move in for a bit. But only until I find a decent place of my own.”

  The smile that transforms his face relieves the lingering doubt inside me. It’s rare lately that I get granted a Jimmy smile, and I forgot how special they are.

  “Thank you.” He pulls me in for a hug,

  I snuggle into his chest, purposely turning my face away from his so he doesn’t smell the alcohol on my breath. “I should be the one thanking you.”

  His heartbeat is music. His smell is home. His warmth is safety.

  “You know I’d do anything for you, Lilah.”

  His words spread joy throughout my veins, before the shame overtakes my elation.

  “So what do you want to do with the rest of our night, roomie?” I ask with a smile, changing the subject.

  His hands dip to my hips, and he hoists me onto the counter. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starved. Since the extent of your cooking skills is opening the door and paying for takeout, why don’t you sit here while I whip us something up?”

  I slide down to a stool at the large island, my hands under my chin and a smile on my lips as I watch him pull vegetables and meat from the fridge. When he’s finished cutting the vegetables, he pulls out some metal skewers for shish kabobs.

  Sometimes I wonder how he’s so well-adjusted when we both came from the same poverty-stricken upbringing and screwed-up childhoods where we suffered abuse of one kind or another. We were both there that fateful day more than a decade ago…

  “You okay?” Jimmy gives me a strange look.

  I force a smile. “Of course.”

  I push that memory away. That day revisits me enough in my dreams. I don’t need to let it haunt my waking hours too.

  Chapter Nine

  Jimmy

  After a long day on the set of The Regulator, I return home, wanting nothing more than a hot shower, a cold beer, and my bed.

  Being the lead actor means I’m on set almost daily and working out between my scenes to keep in peak physical condition. Not that I’m complaining. My costars are easy to get along with—there’re no big egos and everyone’s really positive.

  Blowing out a breath, I exit my car as pounding music greets me from inside my house. God knows what’s going on inside. I love Lilah, but if she’s having a party, we’re gonna have to talk. My call time tomorrow is five in the morning, and since this is a physical role, damn if I’ll be entertaining any time soon.

  I open the door, shocked my place isn’t crawling with leeches, a.k.a. Lilah’s friends. After dropping my keys on the front table, I walk farther inside the house. Discarded beer bottles and glasses litter the coffee and end tables. I glance at the kitchen from the living room and find half-drunk bottles of booze that weren’t there when I left.

  She’s probably passed out already.

  I’m about to head for the bedrooms when movement on the patio catches my eye.

  Lilah pulls herself out of the pool, wearing a skimpy bikini—the black one from the shoot she did in Laguna Beach for a swimwear designer. Just as it did when I saw that ad, my blood heats as she stands with droplets of water running down her lithe body.

  She’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen, back on the mountainside and in Los Angeles. Lilah is the perfect mix of innocence and debauchery. Her entire being is a juxtaposition in and of itself.

  She doesn’t notice me as she wrings the water out of her long blonde hair before sitting on a nearby lounger.

  I quietly slide the patio doors open and wait to speak until I’m standing behind her. “Deep in thought?”

  She startles and looks over her shoulder with a sad smile. “Something like that. How was your day?”

  “Good.” I walk around the lounger and sit on the one next to her. “Scott seemed happy with the dailies.”

  “That’s great.” She returns her gaze to the sky above us, rather than the dark ocean reflecting the moonlight past the deck. Her demeanor screams she’s used tonight—alcohol maybe, but probably drugs. She thinks I’m stupid.

  We sit in silence for a few minutes, which is fine by me. I’m happy to shut my eyes.

  “Do you remember how many stars we used to be able to see back on the mountain?” she asks in a quiet voice.

  That she’s bringing up our childhood, a topic she’s quick to change most days, shocks me from answering right away. She turns her head in my direction, looking for my response.

  “We used to think we could see every star there ever was,” I answer.

  “Remember that book about the constellations that the library had? And you pretended that you lost it, so you wouldn’t have to return it, because I loved it so much?”

  I link our hands together, squeezing. “I couldn’t bear to give it back. You loved finding the constellations and hearing the stories behind them. I wasn’t going to return it until we found them all.”

  She squeezes my hand back and gazes at the stars above us. Neither of us mentions the fact that my dad was one steel-toed-boot kick away from hospitalizing me after he received notice of the fine because I’d “lost” the book.

  Mi
nutes pass in silence before her voice pulls me from the edge of sleep.

  “Do you think a person can ever really change who they are?” she asks.

  I turn my head toward her. “Of course I do. Everything is a choice. Someone can be whoever they want to be…”

  “But then are they just pretending to be something they’re not? Making choices that don’t come naturally to them? Maybe at a certain point, we just are who we are.” She looks my way.

  She’s gorgeous in moonlight. Always has been.

  “That’s not how I see it.” I shake my head. “Look at us. We’re no longer a pair of poor, half starving kids hiding from our parents. We’re adults with goals. We’ve already changed who we are.”

  A sad smile tilts her lips. “You had the dreams. I was just along for the ride.”

  “That’s not true.” Irritation colors my voice. We both had the dream to come to Los Angeles. To free ourselves from that shitty place with no future. If she’d believe in herself, she’d be the “it” model.

  Lilah huffs a sigh. “Do you ever think about that night?”

  My irritation turns to anger. Why does she have to bring that up? We agreed to never talk about it. She’s so insistent tonight on poking at the carcass of our past to see what undesirable things might fall out.

  “We’re not discussing it.” I push a hand through my hair and meet her gaze. “We agreed.”

  “I know.” She stares at her hands in her lap for a minute before she raises herself off the chair.

  “Where are you going?” I ask, disappointed that what was a relaxing night has soured.

  “To get a drink,” she says over her shoulder, and she steps inside the house.

  How stupid of me to ask a question when I already knew the answer.

  Chapter Ten

  Lilah

  The sunshine heats my skin, and the alcohol I’ve drunk weighs me down on a sun lounger on the patio. Life is pretty good today.