Page 28 of Scripted for Love and Poison
What was it about shower sex that turned on something in her body, blocking all her insecurities and just making her want tofeel. She arched her back against the tiled shower wall and moaned—audibly.
It was his satisfied snicker against her breast, his mouth still there, his hand at her center, that pushed her to the edge. She panted with pleasure as the release shook her whole body. He silenced her repeated moans with his lips, kissing her as the two of them shared in the fleeting moment.
“My turn to play,” she’d told him, still breathless, when she came out of the dizzying orgasm.
A sly smile curled at his lips. “Would love to let youplay,” he drawled, his tone thick with implication. “But you’re going to be very late for Julie’s thing.”
“Fuck!” she’d groaned in frustration, getting a towel and leaving the shower and Luke’s body. She hadn’t even allowed herself a last look in his direction. She knew she’d probably decided to stay with him and, indeed, play. And was she regretting not having done it now?
That image of Luke’s naked loneliness inside a green-tiled shower was the reason Sol felt only halfway satisfied as her car dropped her off at the Hancock Park address. Not only had she left her partner naked and dissatisfied inside the shower, she’d lied about the nature of her appointment.
···
Twenty minutes later, Sol was comfortably seated on the ginormous modular sofa she could have sworn she recognized from a Roche Bobois catalog, where it retailed for more than twenty thousand dollars. She was also brightly aware the living room where the not-cheap-sofa residedpertained to a six-bedroom, six-bathroom Colonial Revival mansion-like home that Redfin had told her was estimated to cost only shy of seven million dollars. Did editors really make that much more money than writers? Because, if so, Sol had clearly opted for the wrong profession.
Unless, of course, the house hadn’t been procured with Jason Zit’s money but his wife’s, Emily’s. What was it again that she did for a living? Something incredibly lucrative that still permitted her to be home on a Wednesday at 10:30 a.m., offering perfectly brewed tea and pastries to Sol. Then again, Jason was also there. He’d grumbled about his working-from-home status and having to leave a meeting early even if Sol had been exactly on time, thanks to Luke’s foresight—and his resignation.
“I love your home,” Sol told Emily and Jason in what was probably the most genuine exchange she’d had with them. “It’s so tastefully decorated.”
“Oh, thank you. Nobody ever seems to notice,” quipped Emily, visibly pleased by Sol’s compliment.
“Really?” Sol said incredulously. She allowed her gaze to wander over the perfectly fluffed pillows, artfully designed bouquets of fresh flowers displayed in elegant vases, and the discerningly curated art hanging from the walls. “Is that an actual Banksy?” Sol couldn’t help asking about a print depicting model Kate Moss, imitating the style and colors of Andy Warhol’s infamous Marilyn Monroe portraits.
“It probably is. Emily likes expensive stuff,” Jason Zit said exasperatedly. “So, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit? I was a bit surprised when you contacted me yesterday.”
“Julie asked me to talk to you,” Sol explained.
“Julie?” Jason asked.
“Julie McQueen, she’s an executive editor atRed Carpetand one of Simon Smith’s longtime friends,” Sol said.
“Ah, the obnoxious Brit who won’t leave me alone because she thinks I have something to do with Simon ducking out,” Jason seemed to recall.
“She’s very worried about Simon.”
“Is he still ghosting her?” Jason said, and Sol thought he sounded unnecessarily cruel.
“Honey, please. The man has gone missing.” Emily seemed to echo Sol’s thoughts.
“Has he really?” Jason sounded genuinely surprised.
“The police can’t seem to locate him,” Sol offered.
“Have they checked the bars?” Jason continued, chuckling at his own attempt at humor and apparently finding himself hilarious. “I’m sure he’s just drinking his sorrows away with cheap chardonnay somewhere between the office and his home.”
“Was that something that he did often?” Sol asked, resisting the urge to get her notebook and take notes. She needed this to look like a friendly chat, not an interrogation.
“Let’s just say that he liked to drink,” Jason said.
“Oh please!” Emily protested. “Many journalists like to drink. He was hardly an exception,honey.”
“So you also knew him?” Sol asked Emily.
“I know all of Jason’s colleagues. That’s how I met you as well, remember?”
Sol smiled demurely, because she still couldn’t remember Emily. And she felt a bit bad about it. Emily was a very nice woman, and Sol was well aware that she herself could hardly be described as such.
“And did he look distraught, more reserved, different these past few weeks?” Sol continued.
