Page 21 of Fool Me

“Well, you know Julia,” he said with a theatrical sigh. “When she gets a notion in that regal head of hers, it’s the Eleventh Commandment for the rest of humanity. Nope, no-can-do on a fourth, not even for my latest, up-and-coming client.”

Grant almost let out a disappointed groan but caught himself. Things were complicated enough. He didn’t need his new, high-powered dream agent, who was also Julia’s agent, suspecting how he felt about Sadie. “Well, if not that, can you get me a little more heads-up about the last one? I keep showing up over-dressed and underprepared.”

“The pictures certainly don’t look like it’s bothering you.”

“Oh, I had fun eventually with the first one, but a fish out of water would have been more at ease. I’d never been to an Indian Festival or anyplace else like that before, and I’m a strictly meat and potatoes kind of eater. The second date could have been a total disaster, especially considering how I was dressed, except I did some mud wrestling as a kid, and the bar had a spare set of clothes to use.”

“I see,” Ronny said thoughtfully, clearly evaluating this new information. “I’ll do what I can, but little miss Fake Julia will only ever tell me the bare minimum.”

Grant sighed. “Apparently, she likes surprises.”

“Like I said, whatever’s happening on these dates, keep it happening. But, as your agent, can I give you some personal advice?”

“Of course.”

“Stay away from controlling women.”

14

Late in the afternoon on Thursday, an exhausted Sadie dragged herself up the stairs to her apartment and let herself in. She’d been tapped to run the catering for someone filming a scene at sunrise and had ended up with a double shift. Who knew one hundred people could drink that much coffee? Though, no doubt they’d needed it to wash down the mountains of donuts and breakfast sandwiches they’d also demolished.

Tossing her keys onto the kitchen counter, she sniffed at her hair and recoiled. Egg sandwich.

After her shower, she would resume the task that had consumed her thoughts since the previous Sunday—deciding what Grant’s final torture would be. Ronny needed to know the location within the next few hours in order to get the photographers lined up. But despite spending all her free time that week scouring event calendars, she was stumped.

He didn’t smoke, so she’d considered a Hookah bar, but she didn’t smoke either and didn’t want photos of herself all over social media with a pipe in her mouth. “Accidentally” getting him hopelessly lost and alone while going for a hike in the mountains had excited her for a whole day, until it dawned on her that there’d be no paparazzi to document his predicament. Scratch that. She knew from their theater days he had a nice voice, so karaoke was out. With her luck, video of him crooning out some fake love song to her before a drunken, spellbound crowd would earn him an impromptu Oscar.

Why was this man so hard to torture?

The guy exuded rainbows and happy, happy unicorns, and the universe responded in kind, that’s why.

Should she let this revenge scheme go? His past bad behaviors stank, but did they warrant all this energy on her part? She’d met worse people in her life, and all this devious plotting certainly madeherfeel worse.

As she stepped into the bathroom for her shower, someone rapped sharply on her front door.

Her shoulders slumped as if a cinderblock sat atop each one. She was way too tired for visitors. “What now?” she said aloud as she moved toward the door. “Whatever you’re selling, I’ve already got six.”

She reached for the knob, then remembered Monique’s constant lecturing about how single woman living alone couldn’t be too careful. She lifted up on her toes, intending to peer through the peephole, when the knock came again, louder this time.

“I know you’re in there. Let me in,” said a commanding voice.

Once again, Sadie would know that voice anywhere. She whipped open the door to see Julia dressed in a long, tan raincoat and oversized sunglasses. A pink scarf wrapped around her hair captured most, but not all, of her trademark curls. Even in disguise, she radiated glamour.

“Julia?” Sadie spluttered. Her world tilted, her eyes blinking faster than hummingbird’s wing beats. Upon her humble doorstep stood her lifelong idol.

“No, it's the Easter Bunny,” Julia said.

Everything Sadie had ever learned about hospitality fled her memory. She might as well have been raised by wolves for how long she stood there, staring.

Julia pursed her lips. “Well? Are you going to invite me in? It’s hot out here.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Sadie said. She stepped to the side, and Julia strode straight into Sadie’s one-bedroom apartment.

Julia stopped in front of her coffee table. “Shut that door. I don’t want to be seen.”

Sadie closed the door and turned around to see Julia removing her scarf and shoving it into her coat pocket. The Hollywood icon stared around at Sadie’s tiny living room. Most of Sadie’s furniture and accessories were either hand-me-downs or found at charity shops. Up till this moment, Sadie had liked the look—eclectic, colorful, shabby chic. But with Julia Menlo standing there in her designer everything, the embodiment of celebrity money and taste, Sadie couldn’t help but see her apartment through Julia’s perfectly eyelinered eyes—heavy on shabby, light on chic.

“My place isn’t much,” Sadie said.

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