Someone I Used to Know - By Blakney Francis Page 0,82

with Ms. Harris so much in an attempt to make her jealous.

It hadn’t even worked. Adley had been cool, indifferent, almost to the point of boredom. When I’d openly ogled Candace’s rear end as she exited, Adley had gone as far as to suggest I ask her out, as long as I wasn’t going to select her for the position. After all, she’d pointed out helpfully, it was in bad taste to mix business and pleasure.

I’d never wanted to make a girl jealous before. Usually, it just happened naturally. Envy was an ugly color on most women. It was around the time that they started turning green that I reached for the door.

Judging by the reaction I’d gotten from Adley, my feeble attempts could use some fine tuning. If the situation had been different I could have asked her for a few tips, because she was doing a pretty damn good job of turning me green.

I used to like Cam. Post-Adley, all I wanted was for him to stay wherever the hell it was he’d run off to.

I wasn’t even all that jealous of the relationship they’d shared in the past. What I really yearned for was the honesty, the trust, the explicit truth that resided between them, almost as potent as a living, breathing thing. He got an all-access pass into the fortress while I was left standing outside, begging for scraps.

A coarse, foul laugh choked my lungs. I needed another distraction.

I made a move to put my phone away when it vibrated in my hand. I dismissed the errant thought of ignoring the unknown caller. One less voicemail was one less call I had to return.

“Mr. Declan Davies?” A female voice responded to my greeting.

“What can I do for you?” I slipped in a nice dose of charm in reaction to her business-like tone.

She cleared her throat. “Do you have any comment of SoCal Weekly’s upcoming story on Adley Adair?”

“Who is this?”

“Barbara Swan Beat writer.SoCal Weekly,” she rattled off briskly over the line.

“You’re a journo?”

“I’m a reporter, Mr. Davies.”

Fucking Americans.

“I’ll be answering all questions about The Girl in the Yellow Dress at the movie’s press junket later this year.” My line was straight out of the studio’s publicist’s mouth. It was what I was supposed to say to any request concerning the movie.

“Our article pertains to the actual woman Adley Adair, who C.A. Peterson’s bestselling book is based on,” she continued on her merry way as ice gushed through my veins.

It was impossible. Before Adley had even arrived in California, we’d all been asked to sign confidentiality agreements about everything from her presence on set, to her very existence. Surely, no one would have risked the studio’s wrath to leak such a benign story. She went almost completely unnoticed on set, mostly being lumped in as just another one of Madeline’s offsiders.

“Do you have any comment on the allegations that the two of you are dating, Mr. Davies?” My silence invited more bad news, and the journo wasn’t done yet. “The pictures of you and Ms. Adair together are quite tasteful. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

Well…I certainly hadn’t been expecting that shocking little turn of events.

“No comment,” I mumbled, snapping the phone shut, unsure if she’d even heard.

There was no time to process.

“You’re needed on set immediately, Mr. Davies.” I barely took note of the crew member who came to fetch me.

I couldn’t tell Adley. She would lose it. Totally and completely, one hundred percent, lose her shit. She’d panic. Maybe even leave.

No, she’d definitely leave.

It really left me with no choice. I couldn’t tell her.

I wouldn’t.

I soothed the questionable decision with the knowledge that the article would come out whether she knew about it or not. The risk of telling her just wasn’t one I was willing to take. She couldn’t leave.

I wasn’t ready for this to be over.

I wasn’t ready to be without her.

I couldn’t let her go…not yet.

Chapter Fourteen

Adley

“I can’t believe this happened.” I sat shell-shocked. It was crazy. Insane. “What the hell?”

Madeline flipped the page of her glossy magazine. She was elegantly draped across the sofa in her trailer. I turned away from her disinterest, but Fran didn’t appear to have heard me. Her attention was stretched between the three cellphones, a laptop, and the multiple legal documents surrounding her where she sat in the small kitchenette that was currently acting as her temporary emergency workspace.

Three heavy knocks rattled the door. I screamed.

“Don’t open it!”

Madeline’s upper lip trembled upwards, disgusted with my outburst. Fran