Page 93 of Off Script

Shaking his head, Doug stepped back outside and gave Tristan a sad, parting look. “You really won’t be happy until you burn it all to the ground, will you?”

“Good night, Doug,” Tristan said, his throat tight as Doug’s words hit him square in the gut.

After Doug got in his car and drove off, Tristan felt so unsettled he decided to take a walk after all. The ritzy neighborhood was safe enough to stroll through at night with most of his other rich and famous neighbors cozied up behind their estates’ security gates. As Tristan walked in the cold evening air, he did see Cory Fuego’s place buzzing with activity. The rock star was the most hated resident on the block after turning his house into a lime-green monstrosity. Whenever he was home from touring, people came in and out at all hours, and there had been multiple noise complaints filed against him.

Tonight, dear Fuego was back in town and in the middle of another rager. Approaching the house brought the heady scent of weed wafting Tristan’s way. Outside, there were a few partygoers loitering in the driveway and tossing beer bottles into the air for God only knows what reason. Wincing at the noise as the bottles shattered against the pavement, Tristan planned to duck his head and hurry on by. But when he saw a woman hunched over on the sidewalk, that strategy evaporated.

In the darkness, he could have been mistaken, but the young woman with her head in her hands bore a resemblance to Angela. Honestly, after the shit she’d pulled in New York, Tristan had no desire to talk to her, especially if her slumping stature was due to another drinking binge. However, the fact that itmightbe, coupled with Angela’s previous comment about going to AA, swayed him in the end. When he stepped forward to tap her on the shoulder and say her name, Angela stared up at him with haunted eyes. Yep, she was definitely on a bad trip. And knowing how Cory rolled, Angela was probably on something heavier than her usual chosen poisons.

“Tristan? What are you doing here?” At least she’d recognized him. That was a start.

“Angela, this is my neighborhood. You’ve been here before.”

Angela squinted at their dark surroundings. “I don’t remember.

All I remember is coming here and . . . I fucked up, Tristan.”

As tears streamed down her face, Tristan pulled Angela to her feet. “Come on, let’s go back to my house. We’ll get you some water and—”

“No, I have to tell you something.” Angela pulled away from him.

“And it’s something you can’t tell me inside?”

Angela crossed her arms, shivering. “Fine. It is kind of cold out here.”

Since they weren’t that far up the street, it was a short walk back to Tristan’s place. Depositing Angela on the couch, Tristan went to grab her water like he promised, only to find her eyeing the scotch he’d left on the coffee table earlier. He handed her the water and hastily got rid of the scotch. When he returned, Angela’s shaking had calmed and, surprisingly, she opened up without more prying on Tristan’s part.

“I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me after what I did.”

No kidding, Tristan thought. But now wasn’t the time to lash out at her, and even if it had been, he didn’t have the energy. Still, he couldn’t resist asking the question that had been bothering him.

“Why did you come to the premiere, Angela? It took the whole bitter-ex angle way too far.”

Ashamed, Angela shifted her gaze, choosing to stare down at her water glass. “I was already in New York, visiting friends. My dad and Daniel’s mom have been trying to get us to do a movie together. So when my dad found out Daniel was also in the city, he demanded we hang out. I kind of . . .”

“Decided you two should crash the party and terrorize Jada,” Tristan finished.

“Okay, yes! That was part of it.” Angela’s confession came out in a rush. “But it wasn’t the only reason I came. Before any of that, Tegan called me the night of the Legends opening. He told me about how you confronted them at Madame Tussauds. We met up later to rag on you some more, and he told me who the real leak is. I was going to tell you at the premiere, but then Jada pissed me off, and I stuck with the vindictive route.”

Too bad Tristan had found out the hard way who the real leak was. But then again, Jada had said she’d only released the first video. Which meant the true A. C. of the later incidents was still out there. Against his better instincts, Tristan pressed on.

“So, who is it?”

“Andrew Chaudhry.”

“Andrew?” Tristan balked.

Kind, hardworking Andrew had been the one badmouthing them? He’d been so steadfast on the job and courteous to Tristan. It was hard to imagine him as aGossip Girlesque vigilante.

“He’s friends with Erica, apparently. Even though my dadgenerouslyoffered her another job, neither of them was happy about how it all went down.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

Placing himself in Andrew’s shoes, Tristan could see how this type of revenge would appeal to the guy. It was still a shitty thing to do, but so was pushing out Erica. And since so much else had happened and no permanent damage had been done (compared to Jada’s bombshell), Tristan no longer felt the need to go track the perpetrator down.

“Is that everything?” Tristan asked Angela.

When she nodded, Tristan sank down on the couch next to her. The past few days, not to mention the past hour or so, had been draining as hell. For a moment, he just sat there in silence, processing. For her part, Angela was not in a hurry to leave yet either. She continued to sip her water, then changed the TV from ESPN toEntertainment Tonight.

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