Page 30 of Cohen's Control

After nightmare nights, I get to the gym extra early, and after I get to Crave early, too. I’m used to finding things to do around the set, so when I key in the security code and stuff my things into my office, I get to work.

Seven approaches, and Lance and Aug wander in, holding matching stainless coffee tumblers. They head to their office, or Aug’s office—I’ve never been quite clear on who it belongs to—and close the door. Around eight, actors start to filter in, starting with Maya and Chanel, who come to work together because they’re neighbors. I check the time around half past eight because she’s usually here by now.

Next, I check my phone and there are no replies to my message. Anxiety builds, so I head over to the wall of monitors hosting the security camera feeds. I scan the first monitor which faces the side parking lot. My car is there, and another which I recognize as one that belongs to Uma.

On the next set of monitors I see the front of Crave, a steady stream of morning commuters filling the street.

My heart plummets into my belly when my eyes lock to the next monitor, the grainy black and white clear as fucking day to me.

Otis is laughing, his head back as if he’s just heard the funniest joke. Next to him, talking away wearing a shit-eating grin, isPete. My hands ball into angry, tight fists and I’m temporarily rendered useless by my overwhelming rage. Why the fuck is Pete here? And where is Scarlett?

Pete claps a hand onto Otis’s shoulder, and turns, walking away, out of the gate. I flip through all the security screens until I get the shot of the sidewalk off the gate. I watch Pete until he’s gone, and stomp toward the door, catching Otis the moment he walks in.

“Why was Pete here and why are you talking to him?” I bark, speaking more words to Otis than I ever have in the last four years. He shirks back a little, eyes wide with surprise.

“Who?” Confusion takes over his surprise, and my anger only grows.

I tip my head toward the closed door. “Pete Bryson. The man you were just speaking with. Why was he here and why were you speaking with him?”

Otis looks no less confused. “Who the fuck now?” He scratches his jaw and the noise needles into my brain. “That was my friend, Brian Peterson.”

Aug, likely attracted to the situation from the sheer fact that there is a situation involving me, strolls up, eyebrows to his hairline, waiting for answers.

“Pete was here, talking to Otis. Otis says it’s his friend, Brian,” I tell Aug, who immediately recognizes the situation for what it is. With a tone much calmer than mine, Aug faces Otis.

“How do you knowBrian?”

Otis’s eyes morph into a panic mode, and bounce between us like a child caught red-handed. I realize, though, that Otis has in fact been played.

“I, uh, I met him at Rise & Grind. He ordered the same thing as me.” Otis shrugs, still looking confused. “Who’s Pete?”

“How long have you known Brian?” Aug asks as my chest fills with anger, palpable, seething, raging anger.

“A couple of months I guess.” He looks between Aug and I one more time before asking, “what’s going on?”

“That’s Pete Bryson, he’s the director and head of production at Jizzabelle,” Aug says, and Otis’s eyes widen.

“You think he’s trying to poach me?” he asks incredulously, but Aug shakes his head before Otis can get too carried away.

“No. He’s been using you to find out information about Scarlett.”

“Scarlett?” Otis looks genuinely confused and knowing that he doesn’t know Lucy’s real name alleviates some of the pain in my chest, some of the rage boiling inside me.

“Lucy Lovegood,” Aug sighs, frustrated with the situation. He waves Lance over. I scan the monitors one more time, looking for her car. I’ve never wanted to see a granular black and white feed with her car more than now. I face Lance.

“She’s not here.” An idea overwhelms me and my body tenses. I turn to Otis. “Do you know where her new apartment is?”

“We helped her move. Lance, myself, Aug, Maxi… a few others. Why?”

“Fuck,” Aug grumbles. “Tell me that you didn’t tell him where she lives?”

“Yeah,” Otis says slowly. “I mean, I didn’t say Lucy Lovegood’s address is. He asked me last week if I knew of any good apartments in the area for rent. Any places I’ve seen recently that looked nice. And I remembered Lucy’s complex had some for rent. So I told him we just moved my friend Lucy in and he should check it out.”

Otis looks between the three of us, his face finally growing concerned. “Why can’t he know where she lives, anyway?”

“Because he’s her abusive ex-boyfriend who’s been harassing her for months. And let me tell you, the harassment doesn’t hold a candle to the way he treated her at Jizz,” Aug says, anger throttling his tone.

I don’t like hearing that he treated her like shit at Jizzabelle, though I could’ve assumed. I swallow, around a lump of discomfort in my throat.

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