plans to take this to another level. He already hated the extent of the lies he’d told.
“Okay. I guess I’ll let you get back to your night.” She sounded sad and he didn’t want to let her go.
“I’m not doing anything exciting,” he told her. “Just waiting for laundry to finish up.”
Apparently, he’d become fairly efficient with the lies.
“Lucky you,” she said. He heard the smile in her voice.
“What are you up to besides unwrapping citronella candles?” he asked. Maybe he could approach this from a different angle. Not that he expected a confession, but maybe she’d confide in him and he could wrap up the case for Sophia and get back to his real life.
“I just had a meeting with Ari,” she said.
“Yeah, you mentioned that.” Did her definition of the word meeting match his? “How’d it go?”
“Oh, you know Ari. He’s like almost every other producer in town. Full of shit.”
That didn’t particularly sound like a woman in love with a man. Not that they had to be in love to fuck. Troy had worked in this town long enough to know that people fucked for all sorts of reasons, the least of which included love.
“Does that mean he told you something you didn’t want to hear?” Troy asked.
“More like he didn’t tell me anything—most especially what I want to hear. I’m sorry. I’m not making sense. He’s just dicking me around because he knows he can. Sorry for my French.”
Troy chuckled. Her French only proved how wholesome she really was. Which chalked up another reason that he didn’t see Julie fucking Ari. He picked up the camera and started scrolling though the pictures, focusing on the actual body language.
“Did Ari—” he wasn’t sure how to phrase it without letting the cat out of the bag, “—do something that made you uncomfortable?” he asked.
“Yes. No.” She sighed. “I don’t know.”
The one thing he hadn’t considered was a lover’s quarrel. Maybe they were lovers, but Ari had pissed Julie off somehow. That would explain her body language and the tone of the conversation. Troy hated that potential road because it meant he was right about Ari and Julie in the first place.
“What did he do?” Might as well go for the whole enchilada.
“He pushes,” she said. “I don’t like when he pushes. It makes me want to push back.” She paused and Troy waited for her to continue. “Do you ever feel like you’re paying too much to do the thing you love to do?”
Troy nodded. Was she reading his mind? Odd that they felt the same way about their lives. Odd and maybe a little sad. “Yeah. I feel like that a lot of the time lately.”
The line beeped. “Oh, I should probably get that. It’s my mom.”
“Go ahead,” he told her.
“You’ll think about my offer?” she asked.
“I will.”
“Great. Okay. Thanks. Talk to you soon. Bye.” She disconnected and Troy stared at her name on the screen until it went to black. What kind of trouble was he about to get himself into?
* * *
Allen couldn’t believe his good luck. It had been more than six weeks since the Sporties shooting and he’d been trying to contact Julie ever since. He’d tried her agency and her publicist but no one ever returned a call. She’d want to thank him for the flowers he’d sent. She was nice that way. Problem was she’d gotten out of the hospital much quicker than he’d anticipated and he hadn’t had a chance to send her another arrangement. He’d thought he’d have more time and hadn’t signed his full name or left any contact number. Stupid. For a technical genius, he had to admit he lacked certain social skills. Sometimes he did things before he thought them out thoroughly. Not with his games, but with people. Especially people he really liked. Or loved.
But he’d seen a promotion yesterday and discovered that Julie had an appearance on an L.A. morning show. He’d woken up super early and driven to the lot. He found a parking place right out in front of the studio gates. He saw her pull in, driving a new Prius, and smiled at her attempt to conserve fuel and help the environment. That was just like her and just another reason for him to love her even more. No fancy cars for his girl. He’d have to splurge on her once they got married. He’d buy her something decadent. Something she could drive on special occasions. He’d have to force her,