Page 22 of Behind the Scenes
“You’re a spoiled actor who almost blew up my career,” I hissed, finally letting the anger show in my voice. But it didn’t faze her. Not one bit.
“I have faith you wouldn’t let it happen,” she said with a shrug. “So, what do you say? Can I get you on my team?”
I threw back the rest of the wine and gave her a hard look.
“Fuck no,” I spat. “I cleaned this up for you. I expect a check of at least a hundred thousand dollars for my services on my counter before you leave. And that’s being fucking generous. You can see yourself out.”
Without another word, I stood up and walked to my bedroom, locking the door behind me.
I woke up to the sound and smell of bacon sizzling, bringing me out of my dreams way before my alarm did.
I had been so tired the night before that I hadn’t fully thought this through.
There’s a murderer in my house.
After her “love letter,” it was a bit delusional of me to believe that she would, in fact, see herself out.
With an annoyed sigh, I pushed the covers off me and marched out of the room. The coldness of the floor made me realize I’d left my slippers by the bed, but that fell to the wayside as soon as I walked into the kitchen.
Harley was there, in clothes that I’d been storing in the guest room since my closet ran out of space. Her curly hair was down and slightly damp.
A murderer slept here, took a shower, and is wearing my clothes.
She turned to me with a smile, frying pan in her hand.
“I thought I might have to wake you,” she said with a smile. “You have an eight thirty with Justin?—”
“You were supposed to leave.” I took a few steps toward the counter, my eyes falling to the piece of paper on the marble surface.
A check. Three hundred thousand dollars.
The murderer is oddly generous.
She placed the bacon on two plates, which I then realized were already piled with the most delicious-looking blueberrypancakes. My mouth watered, and my stomach twisted with hunger pains.
I hadn’t even eaten after last night’s ordeal.
“You can consider that a sort of down payment,” she said as she placed the pan back on the stove. A black coffee was in her hands in seconds and she was handing it to me.
Without thinking, I reached for it.
“I said I didn’t want to work with you. Especially not after the trouble you caused me last night.”
She paused, holding her own coffee now. “Does it scare you, darling?”
I raised a brow at her. Maybe it did, but I would rather die before admitting that to her.
“No.”
“DoIscare you then?”
I took a sip of the coffee. There were hints of caramel and pecan in it, something that hadn’t come from my cupboard. Damn, it was good.
“A bit offensive to think the likes of you could scareme.”
She let out a light laugh before taking another sip of her coffee.
“Eat.” She pushed a plate toward me. “You don’t have much time.”
