Any time I wanted to know something, Freddy was my go-to guy. He liked the challenges I set, he said. I assumed he also liked the payouts I gave him for good intel.Iliked the fact that he could keep his mouth zipped. We both kept any extra-curricular activities quiet from Legs.
Freddy brightened up at my words as he motioned me over to a corner so we could talk more privately. “Don Castellani’s finally wising up? That’s good news.”
“Let’s hope so. You can help me out by digging up whatever you can on Anaïs Beaumont.”
He pulled an amused face, until he saw I wasn’t joking. “AnaïsBeaumont?As in the actress? What the—”
“Just have a look around for anything interesting. And keep it under your hat.”
“Speaking of which, where’s yours?”
I flashed back to the guy from last night again. Christ. Ihadto get him out of my head, one way or another. “Long story,” I told Freddy. “Not one I have time for right now.”
No—right then I needed to get over to the Hollywood Hills to speak to my first lead. I put aside all thoughts of last night, of that kiss that my mouth kept tingling over when I remembered it, and set out to talk to Miller Beaumont.
CHAPTER7
MILLER
The sun was beginningto melt on the horizon into my favorite shades of red and orange, my nose was filling with delicious scents from the cookout going on at the other end of the pool, and the too-blue-to-be-true water lapping at my chest was cool against the still-hot day.
Perfect conditions.
Perfect life.
So why did I feel so empty?
The only thing that had made me feel better today was thinking about last night, about the dark-haired stranger with a low-brimmed fedora hat and striking eyes. I’d stared a long time into those eyes while we talked, trying to figure out what paints I’d mix to match their color exactly. They were blue, butnotblue—like the edges of the California sky, a blue so pale it was heading into white.
I wanted to see him again. I had his hat, after all. I had to return it, right?
But that way he’d kissed me had felt like a permanent goodbye. And after all that time I’d spent getting to know the guy, too.
Getting tolikehim.
As for that creepy guy hanging around in the streets, I shivered every time I thought of him, so I’d decided to blank the memory out. High and horny, probably, while he waited for his dealer, amusing himself by spewing gibberish at random passers-by.
I took a pull of the beer someone had handed me ten minutes ago, snapped the brim of the stranger’s hat down over my eyes, and watched my feet float up in front of me. My pool parties were at almost-legendary status now; among my friends and friends-of-friends, I had the richest father with the biggest house. More importantly, he was almost always out of town and he didn’t give a shit what I did even when hewashere.
A whole bunch of someone’s fuckboy friends had turned up again like clockwork, but at least they were making themselves useful at the barbecue. The house staff liked my pool parties as well, because they never had to worry about feeding the attendees. They just piled up steaks, sausages and burgers by the barbecue and people cooked their own. I was militant about partiers recycling bottles and putting trashinthe trash cans, so the grounds crew didn’t grumble too much, either. Plus I always made sure to help them clean up the morning after.
Nate Efkarpidis, my best friend, always laughed about that—or bitched if he stayed overnight and I made him help, too. “They getpaidto do this,” he’d complain.
But I hated the idea that anyone might notlikeme. Besides, just because someone got paid to do a job, I didn’t see a reason to make it harder on them todothat job.
“Milly!” someone hollered, and I jerked to attention at the sound of my name. It was Nate, grinning wildly. He waved at me before taking a run-up and bombing right into the middle of the pool, annoying everyone in and out of the water. The women who attended these parties were the kind who had an aversion to getting unexpectedly wet, and a lot of the guys were the same. Image was everything in Hollywood, and only a veryspecifickind of wet look was acceptable.
Ignoring the screams, swearing and threats, Nate swam over to me. “Who pissed in your cornflakes, man?”
“Huh?”
“Sitting around looking like someone told you you had an hour to live. Dick last night not to your tastes?”
I gave the expected scoff of laughter, but I didn’t reply. Nate liked to tease me that I was too horny, that I hit it and quit it, that I acted like my ass was religion and I had to share it around. He wasn’t wrong, but I couldn’t see why he always laughed about it, given thathisboyfriend was a fucking porn producer.
“What’s with the hat?” Nate tried again. “You trying out for a boy band or something?”
There had been a period in my life when Ihadtried out for a boy band, although my then-manager was the only one who knew. Who wouldeverknow.
