Page 99 of The Publicity Stunt
“I can spare a few hours.”
“Parker, you really don’t have to. I’ll be fine.”
Then he says, “But I want to. Plus, I’m not letting you drive alone in those shoes on the freeways of Los Angeles.”
“My shoes?” I look down at them. “What’s wrong with my shoes?”
“Nothing is wrong with them,” he says. “But the last time I witnessed your driving on these roads, my soul nearly exited my body.”
If that was supposed to be a joke, it doesn’t sit well with me.
“Look for a car and I’ll be down in ten.” He turns right back around without waiting for my response, and enters the elevator.
I resume my scrolling.
* * *
“I refuse to believe there was nothing else available.” Parker puts on his seat belt and I get into the passenger seat.
“Are you calling me a liar?” I cast a sideways glance at him.
“No, I’m calling you abigliar. All that scrolling and this is what you found? A fucking Porsche?”
“It’s efficient.” I lie and open Google Maps, propping up my phone against the windshield. I might not be able to afford owning a Porsche, but I can afford renting one.
For two hours.
Parker places his hand on my knee and, with his eyes on the road, gives my leg a light squeeze. We drive out the hotel driveway and onto Sunset Boulevard.
“So what’s the plan again? We check out every bar in the vicinity to see if anyone’s seen Tony around?” His hand is still on my knee. Warm and oddly reassuring.
“Yup,” I say.
“That’s a lot of bars, Chere.” We stop at a red light.
“Mm-hm.” Deep breaths.
His thumb rubs against the side of my knee and I turn to look at him. “Big fan of the dress, by the way. Very distracting.”
Smiling, I swat his hand away and he threads his fingers through mine. My shoulders deflate. “We’re going to find him, Chere. I promise you.”
My skin warms. “Thank you for the coffee this morning.”
“Of course. That’s what friends are for.”
“Coffee runs and stressful road trips?”
“Precisely,” he says.
Ten minutes and around three red lights later, we arrive at the first destination: The Little Bar. It is pretty little, if that’s what they were going for. The place is dimly lit and there’s not much going on with the decor either other than a few wall hangings and a pool table in the middle of the room. Parker and I walk toward the bar. His hand wrapped around my fingers the entire time.
There’s a single bartender. Parker waves him over with a meek smile.
“What can I get y’all?”
Parker lets go of my hand and I open my phone to show him a picture of Tony. “Have you seen this man anywhere?”
He squints his eyes and comes closer to the screen, leaning his weight against the bar. “Eh, that’s Tony Martin. I’ve seen his movies.”
