Page 9 of Behind the Scenes

“No, she hasn’t called me yet,” Alexis said as she threw herself down onto the chair. “I’m not even sure I want that part.”

She waited for him to rush over and talk her down from that claim, but instead he sat down and quietly said, “I think I found someone who can solve your letter writer problem.”

God, did he ever say anything straightforward? Always double-talk from him.

“You mean my stalker, Paul. At least call him by the proper term. He’s a stalker, not some pen pal from some far off land who has great handwriting.”

Scowling at her insistence that he speak plainly, he rolled his eyes. “Fine. Your stalker problem. I called a friend who has experience handling this type of thing and she’s sending someone today.”

Alexis felt her chest tighten at the thought of someone new coming into her world, someone she’d never spoken to or seen before. “How well do you know this person? I’m supposed to trust some stranger I’ve never even met? They could be the person stalking me.”

Now Paul hurried over to her side and patted her arm, like she was some frightened child or some confused elderly woman who’d lost her way. “It’s okay. I promise. I’ve never met the person she’s sending, but I trust Persephone completely. She’s good people. Her father is Marshall Gilmore, the media mogul, and she’s using her wealth to help people who need precisely the kind of assistance you need now.”

His explanation sounded like more double-talk. Narrowing her eyes in suspicion that he’d done something she wouldn’t like, she asked, “What do you mean precisely the kind of assistance I need?”

“She runs a company that specializes in protecting women. Her guys are former military, police, and even FBI. I trust her, Lexi. I know whoever she’s sending will get to the bottom of who’s doing this to you.”

Alexis pulled her arm away from his continued patting and began to pace again. “You make it sound like I’m some damsel in distress, Paul.”

He shook his head. “No. You’re a good person who can use some help. That’s all.”

Still not convinced this new person could do anything more than the police had for months, she asked, “How much is this help costing me? I already pay all those guys I have to guard me.”

Paul shook his head again and smiled. “Not a dime. Persephone’s organization takes nothing in return for what they do. If her guy helps out and you want to give her something and pay it forward so she can help someone else, then so be it. But she’s not in it for money.”

None of this sounded even remotely believable. Who in this world didn’t work for money? “Sounds like something out of a film script, Paul. How come I’ve never heard of this group of hers before? What’s the name of this organization?”

“Project Artemis, and she’s one of the wealthiest women in the world. She doesn’t need money.”

“Nobody works for free,” she grumbled as she paced past him.

“This reminds me of Mr. Thompson from when we were kids. Remember how he used to give free cab rides to anyone who got too drunk at the bar?” Lauren said, reminding Alexis of that sweet man from back home in Biwabik.

Thinking of their childhood in Minnesota made her smile. “He was a nice man. He used to say he did it because it was worth losing a few bucks to save a family from losing a father or mother.”

Lauren nodded. “I know many nights he brought my father home from the bar. Who knows what would have happened if he had gotten into his car drunk.”

As Alexis reminisced about the old days and how kind everyone was back home, Paul tried to steer the conversation back to what he wanted to discuss. “See? So it’s settled. The guy will be here this afternoon and he’ll join your security team.”

Nothing about this seemed settled to her, but if someone could find this person who’d been terrorizing her, then she’d give him a chance because if he couldn’t, at least she wouldn’t be any worse off.

And that fact alone showed how bad things had gotten.

After pacing untilher legs felt like they’d give out, Alexis closed the door behind her and settled into the most comfortable spot in the house—her new office chair. Plush and comfy, it practically swallowed her up in its softness, just what she needed to feel safe again. She still felt trapped in her own home, but at least in that dark blue chair, she could pretend that her life hadn’t become a series of tiny rooms connected by dark hallways.

She began reading a script her agent Melanie had told her about weeks ago and had finally been delivered to her the day before she left LA. Titled Haunted By Love, it told the story of a woman who was being haunted by her dead husband, who everyone believed she killed. Alexis had only gotten a third of the way into the story, but she already hated it with a white hot passion.

All the parts she got offered were the same. All the characters felt delicate and frail, like at any moment in the film someone could come up behind them and say boo and they’d crumble into a thousand terrified pieces.

She wanted to play strong women. Kickass women. Characters who could stand on their own and brave whatever the big, bad world threw at them. Instead, the woman she sat reading sounded far too much like herself lately.

Terrorized and afraid to leave her house.

Pitching the script onto the floor, she brought her knees up to her chest and closed her eyes. This was how she’d spend the rest of the day. Curled up in a ball and pretending the world outside didn’t exist.

A knock on her office door ruined that plan not five minutes later, though. Why couldn’t they just leave her alone?

She leaned back on the arm of the chair and yelled in the direction of the door, “I’m busy. Whatever it is, talk to Lauren!”

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