First Comes Like (Modern Love #3) - Alisha Rai Page 0,22
she couldn’t visualize a clear target for it. “Oh.” She should have known she wasn’t talking to the real Dev. In the span of a few minutes, he’d already mentioned his niece. Fake Dev had never talked about her.
You should have thought that was weird then. You knew his brother and grandfather had passed away. Of course he would talk about his family.
“The date on this . . . it’s over a year ago.”
“We chatted for a while then, but it fizzled out. We reconnected a couple months ago.”
“May I see the more recent texts as well?”
Jia was a little more hesitant to send those over. They felt vaguely personal, on her part, at least. She had been sick, and tired, and vulnerable.
When she didn’t respond, he filled the silence. “I only want to see if I can recognize anything in the language that would explain who did this.”
Didn’t she want to know? “I can send you a few screenshots.” She cherry-picked a couple that felt the least vulnerable and sent them over. Unable to think of him reading the beautiful words Fake Dev had sent her, she stared out the window, the sight of the city calming her. She’d shot footage up on the rooftop here more than once.
She didn’t know how long he quietly read, but she knew it was a while. That made sense. Dev—or whoever—really had sent her mininovels.
Dev drew in a deep breath, and she shifted. “So?”
“If you don’t mind, I need to speak with some people.” His voice was hoarse. “I’m being called right now, I’m sorry, I have to go. I’m on set. Do you think we could have dinner tonight, Jia?”
Something warm exploded in her belly. To counteract the good feeling, she dug her nails into her palm. No. They could not have dinner. They could settle this formally, without ever having to see each other again.
Closure. Don’t you want it? “We can have drinks,” she found herself saying. Drinks was an acceptable compromise. Dinner was too intimate for what was essentially a . . . well, she didn’t even know what this was.
“Very well. You can pick the place. I’m happy to travel anywhere.”
As far as offers went, that was princely behavior in L.A., actually. He’s not your prince. Of course he wasn’t. She barely knew who he was.
Another fresh wave of grief went through her. “I’ll text you a spot.”
“Excellent, you can use this number.” Another voice came from behind him, more urgent, and he said something muffled, then came back to her. “I look forward to seeing you, Jia.”
A burst of warmth shot through her. She was so startled, she slapped her hand over her lower belly and hung up without saying goodbye.
It was her name that was the culprit. He’d switched from using a Ms. without warning. She repeated her name in her head, in his voice, as she stood and moved to her camera gear in a daze.
Yup, there was that heat. It was such a simple, utilitarian name, easy for her viewers to remember. Jia. Two syllables. How did he twist those two syllables into something so damn sexy with that accent?
Doesn’t matter. Get over it. Tonight’s about solving a mystery, not a romance.
Chapter Six
DEV HAD never liked suspense or betrayal arcs, but he liked them less when he was living them.
He was always a careful driver when he had to sit on the wrong side of the car—it would always be the wrong side, foolish to have a steering wheel on the left—but this time he was extra careful as he drove his rental back to his family’s flat from the studio lot. He allowed others ample time to merge and he triple-checked every traffic signal before he hit the accelerator, didn’t even make a face when someone cut him off.
When I hear your laugh, it’s like a thousand angels. I can’t wait to hear it in person.
My life has been nothing but a cycle of despair and joy, but no joy quite like the moment I saw your face.
I cannot wait to be in your arms. I’m dying to hold your hand and living to see you.
Dev slammed his hand on the steering wheel. Bloody fucking bastard.
He’d gone into his phone conversation with Jia vaguely optimistic that he’d misread the signs of her upset last night. A tiny part of his brain, the part that held his softest feelings, had even fantasized of her being happy to hear from him.