Page 84 of Dirty Rich Cinderella Story

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Cole

The internet on the plane is down, which means I can’t look forward to what awaits us in LA until we actually land. That occurs at five in the morning and while we taxi, my phone pings with messages, while Lori scans the news on hers for any updates we might need.

The first message on my phone is from our Hollywood starlet: My father wants you to call him and my home is a nightmare. I snuck out to the Bel-Air hotel. I’m registered as June Miller. Ask for me there. Your assistant booked your room here as well.

The next message is from Ashley: Starlet at Bel-Air hotel. Now you are too. Warning. There is a Hollywood charity event/party there tonight with your diva movie star hosting.

She’s included the address.

“It’s hard to be thorough on my phone,” Lori says, “but I don’t see much new on the internet related to this case. There are just a lot of tributes from stars and fans for the life lost. The police are being tight-lipped.”

“Of course they are,” I say. “Easier to manipulate us during questioning if we don’t know the facts.”

“Did you ask that security company to look into a suicide history for the deceased?”

“I did not,” I say, “but I am now,” I add, texting Royce: Suicide history of deceased. Him or relations.

He replies immediately, obviously not in bed asleep, with a simple: On it.

The plane pulls to a halt in the hangar and Lori and I unbuckle. The minute we’re both on our feet, I pull Lori to me and kiss her, in her own words, thoroughly, right up until she moans softly, and I know if I don’t stop, I won’t. “What was that for?” she asks, repeating my earlier question.

“Because I can’t do that once we’re on duty.”

She gives me one of her beautiful smiles that really, truly just makes me want to take her to the back of the plane and fuck her. I settle for another kiss before we gather our things and head for the door. Once we’re in the backseat of a hired car, I show her the messages from Ashley and our starlet. “A party?” she asks. “Talk about bad timing, and the diva reference. Is she a diva?”

“She was well behaved with me, but her father was always present and I can tell you that he’s a man of rules, ethics and manners.”

She opens her mouth and shuts it. “I have comments. I have questions.”

I nod, understanding and respecting that my flight attendant story has stayed with her. There will be no conversation in public and right here, in this city, under these circumstances, caution is paramount, or I’d already have my hand on her knee. “Have you ever been to LA?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Never,” she says. “My three flights included Hawaii, when I was too young to remember, and Texas twice when I considered UT for law school.”

“You know my home state then.”

“I was going to ask you about that,” she says. “You called New York home last night. You let go of Houston quickly.”

“I love New York City. I was only in Houston because of the firm.”

“And your father.”

“My father was the firm,” I say. “He was rooted in Houston. I wanted growth. Now we’re growing.”

“You have no siblings?”

“Not that I know of,” I say, “and you already know he had a strong opinion on birth control.”

Her cell phone rings and she scrambles for her phone, and I sense the panic in her, the fear that she left her mother, and her mother is now sick again. She glances at the number on the phone and her hand actually shakes. “Mom? Is everything okay?” She listens a moment, and breathes out in relief that I swear I feel with her. I’ve never felt anything with a woman before outside of momentary lust. But I feel it, right in my gut and my heart.

“We just landed,” Lori says. “We’re good. All is well.” There’s a pause. “His sister. Oh, well, aren’t you glad you asked now?”

I listen to the short exchange that ends with, “I love you, Mom.”

I love you, mom.

Fuck.

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