Page 17 of Fool's Gold

Those silent tears of hers, the ones she thought I couldn’t hear last night, have got me fucked up. Rather than listening to any more of them, rather than pretending I don’t see her hiding her face in a pillow to muffle the strangled sobs, I take off.

It’s a good thing she’s taking a stress nap. I adjust my hands on the steering wheel. Neither one of us caught any winks last night. Sleep was impossible when sharing the same bed with the beautiful woman you’ve vowed not to fuck. She’s hot and delicate and smells like a wet dream. Even when she snores. Damn it, even her snores are adorable, and it took every ounce of willpower not to draw her into my arms and snuggle.

Every time she turned over, I jolted, and those snores might have been cute, but they were a constant reminder of my worry.

Hiding out at the hotel is only a temporary fix, and no real fix at all. More of a pause while we both struggle to adjust, figure out the next step, and move forward.

There’s no way I’m going to do anything else to jeopardize Empire. I’ve already done too much. Which means it’s time to reroute and get her on the same page.

I get that she’s upset.

Anyone would be in her position.

I squandered hours yesterday searching for Empire when I needed to prepare myself to grab the reins of this picture.

Any more wasted time and Stanic would be up my ass, ready to eat me from the inside. We’ve already delayed the production schedule with Parker’s death and my picking up the pieces.

Parker needed to die.

That much was obvious. A creep and a lech were among the most congenial of his defects, and putting a bullet in him had been my personal pleasure.

But what his murder means for the rest of the cast and crew and the timeline of the movie, I’m about to find out.

The coffee in the hotel lobby has a burned toast quality, but a third cup is a long time coming. The good coffee at my office is too far for me to wait for, and by the time I pull into my parking space and slam the door shut, I’m as bitter as the dregs.

Another beautiful day in Los Angeles, and the sun beats down on me, sweat already pooling along my spine. I palm my keys and head for the elevator, for the top floor.

Normally, I’d at least give a little pause to stare down at the hellhole of Hollywood, the sick and twisted streets that have captured my heart.

There’s nothing intoxicating about the glare of sunlight off glass and steel.

My bad days keep piling up, and my view overlooking the busy streets won’t do fuck all to solve them.

The elevator doors slide open, but instead of Sherry’s familiar face, a strange woman waits for me in the small sitting area.

When my footsteps sound on the floor, she stands and turns, a neutral smile lifting her lips higher and pulling the skin around her eyes tight. Somewhere in her midthirties, the stranger is impeccably dressed.

“May I help you?” The question is strained, but it sure beats me blurting out Who the fuck are you?

She’s got the sort of smirk I always despised about Parker Heath—may he rest in fucking purgatory. With my back automatically straightening and my walls in place, my sluggish mind puts the pieces together.

The same sneak attack, the surprise waiting for me when I got to work with no forewarning, the smirk… She’s one of Stanic’s people. I’d bet my black soul.

And where the hell is Sherry? I glance around covertly before holding out a hand to shake the one the woman holds out to me.

“I made myself at home.” Her syllables are cool and calculated, her hand dry and her grip loose. And I notice she’s purposely not answering me. “I’m Celeste. I work for Stanic.”

At least she knows better than to lie to me. She must be his insurance policy.

“I’m here to offer you any assistance you may need,” Celeste adds.

Her smile is toxic and falls out of place the moment our skin touches.

I force myself to stay in place when it feels like I’ve just pissed on an electric fence.

I drop her hand faster than a man avoiding a snake bite and stalk past her toward the main doors to my office. “Thank you, but I’m not in need of assistance or babysitting. Feel free to leave.”

“Mr. Maxim believes otherwise.” Celeste trails me.

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