At a red light, Maggie came alongside, waving. “Where are we off to?” she shouted.
He lowered his window. “The restraining order still applies, Maggie.”
“Suit yourself, but I’ll follow you anyway. It’s a free country.”
“Except when there’s a restraining order against you.”
“Whichyoubroke. Where’s Lana?”
“Who?”
“That girl you were with. The pretty little one.”
“The background actor? She went home, I guess.”
The lights turned green. Maggie stayed on his tail all the way to the studio Natasha had tracked Julian Vega to.
Griffin vaguely recognized the guard in the security booth. “Hello there, Stanley,” he said, reading his nametag. “Working the weekend?”
“Mr. Hart?” he said icily. “I don’t have you on my list.”
“I got a meeting with Elmore.”
“You’re not on the list, you don’t go through. Doesn’t matter who you are.”
“Screw it then. Beautiful day like this? I got better things to do. You’ll explain to Elmore what became of the meeting? Tell him I’m out of town filming for the next month.” Griffin started reversing out.
“Wait, just go through. Whatever.” The barrier arm lifted.
“Thanks, Stanley.”
Griffin watched in his mirrors as Stanley stopped Maggie. He turned a corner, putting the admin building between them. “Safe to emerge, Lana.”
“That guard didn’t seem to like you much,” she said, getting up.
“He just doesn’t know me yet.”
“How many people do know you?”
“Including you? Maybe eight? Unless you count all the people who think they know me. I mean, you only had like a week’s worth of preconceptions about me when we met, and you expected a jerk.”
“Who said I?—?”
“Everyone does. Don’t lie.”
“As if I could get away with that.”
He glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.
“Okay, yes, I was expecting a jerk. A hot jerk. But a jerk.”
“So you saw evidence to back that up, even subconsciously.”
“Confirmation bias, I know the theory—you see what you want to see. It didn’t last long.”
“Vanity Faironce wrote—back when I was stupid enough to read what was written about me—that I was ‘unapologetically’ myself. I felt like calling the writer and asking him who the hell that was.”
“Have you figured it out yet?”
