I swing open the car door, then sigh deeply, breathing in the floral, powdery scent, letting it fill my lungs, before I shift into business mode. Peering around, I scan the expansive property for points of vulnerability.
I’ve researched this place online since it’ll be the site for a handful of movie scenes, so already I know it’s a six-acre flower farm, focusing on lavender of course. The land houses bees, too, for noncommercial honey production, so I’m guessing those wooden boxes stacked behind the cottage are where the honey-makers hang out. The white clapboard cottage at the top of the hill is a studio, while the farmhouse itself is large enough for a big family and can be used for renting out as an Airbnb. It has six bedrooms, a spacious kitchen, a living room, a den, an attic, and an attached garage. There’s a garden-level suite too. The property also has an alarm system; Tabitha checked on that and sent me the info, so that’s good. Between the two structures sits a shed, likely for tools andfertilizer. Finally, there’s the little shop with a wide-open door and one small room, plus windows everywhere.
The entire farm is fenced in, but it’s a white picket fence, so that won’t keep out anyone who’s truly determined to penetrate the place. But that’s where our security team will come into play. We’ll have round-the-clock guards on the property when the shoot is underway. We’ll also add some temporary exterior lights along the fence. Never underestimate the benefit of floodlights in keeping intruders away and giving our team a heads-up about potential photographers milling around. I’ll have to make sure Ripley and everyone else here is debriefed on best practices.
I walk past the open gates, cruising by the wooden sandwich board sign advertising the hours. I head straight for the gift shop. Behind the counter, a woman with curly black hair and bronze skin is bent over her phone, nibbling on what looks and smells like banana bread. My footsteps catch her attention, and when I enter the open-air shop, she scrambles to put it away and sets down the bread.
“Hi there! Welcome to Lavender Bliss Farms. How can I help you?”
“This place is beautiful, Ramona,” I say, reading her name tag. “And I’d love your help. I’m looking for Ripley.”
“She’s—”
A harrumph of defeat comes from behind me, then Ripley’s voice. “Right here.”
I turn around. Ripley sighs again, but it sayswell played. “Fine. You found me. Let’s do this.”
BythisI presume she means negotiate the terms of our detente, so I follow her inside the farmhouse. A sturdy black-and-white mutt trots alongside us. He drops a tennis ball at my feet, then nudges it with his snout in a hopeful canine demand.
“Hudson, don’t be a traitor,” she says to the dog.
“It’s okay. Dogs like me,” I say.
“Well, you are a guard?—”
But she must think better of calling me her guard dog. Clearly, she likes dogs, so that isn’t quite the insult she once intended.
Inside the farmhouse kitchen, she tells the dog to lie down. Once he obeys, I commandeer the convo because I owe her a proper explanation. “Look, here’s what happened that night?—”
“There’s no need,” she says, shaking her head.
But there is a need. We’re working together, and I want her to trust me. That starts with helping her to understand that I was trying to do the right thing that evening. “I’m Banks Kendrick. I live in Los Angeles. My friend Dean and I started Apex Solutions a year or so ago. Last month, I flew up to San Francisco for a meeting with a referral agency about a possible job. They didn’t tell us who the job was for. I honestly didn’t know who Haven was till that night. When I met you at the bar, I definitely didn’t know a damn thing about the movie or that I’d be working on it,” I say, and her expression is stoic, but at least she’s listening.
Ripley gives a small nod, the gesture sayinggo on. That’s promising, her being willing to listen.
“And then when you went to your room, that’s when I got a call from the agency I’d met with, telling me my partner and I hadlanded the job with Ruby Horizons. A few minutes later, they sent me Haven’s pic, and since I didn’t know she was a twin, I had no way of knowing shewasn’tyou. I thought I was about to sleep with a client,” I say, a little imploring now. She’s got to understand the bind I was in.
Ripley side-eyes me, her gaze dubious, but terribly intrigued. Like she hates how intrigued she is. “You thought I was my sister that night? Even though I told you my name?”
“But you emphasized your name so many times that it felt deliberate. Like an actress giving a bar name. And you were in the hotel at the same time as I was. The hotel is where I’d had the meeting about the job. Ergo…”
She blows out a breath, long and full of frustration, but chased with amusement perhaps. There’s a smile at the end of it. Like she’s realized it was all a silly mistake and we’ll just move on.
A man can hope. A man can fucking dream.
“So you really thought I was your new client?” she confirms, like she’s keeping track of the details I just shared.
Relieved, I nod, hoping we’re finally getting somewhere. “I did.”
“And you figured it’d be wise not to get involved with someone you’re working with?”
“Yes,” I say, though really, that’s a big yes. Reputation is everything. I can’t risk it by sleeping with a client. I know what happens when a man’s word is dirt. Like my father’s.
She’s quiet for a beat, as if she’s absorbing all the details. “Everything about that makes a lot of sense.”
A weight I’ve been carrying for twenty-six days starts to slide off my shoulders. No, it doesn’t slide. It crumbles, and good riddance.
“Except,” she adds slowly, like the word has ten syllables, and I groan inside, “your solutionwasn’tto knock on my door and explain all that like a guy who felt really bad? It was to send the desk clerk with a three-sentence apology letter that sure seemed like its own form of ghosting? Polite ghosting, but ghosting nonetheless.” She clears her throat, then adopts a masculine voice.“Maybe in another world tonight would have ended differently, and I’ll explain what I mean when I see you again. I’m trying desperately to do the gentlemanly thing. Also, please don’t kick me in the balls when you see me.”
