“But that’s not what this was. You didn’t use money as leverage to get her into your bed or otherwise.”
“It would kill me if she thought I’d use the money to buy her. That’s my father’s playbook.”
No truer thing had ever been said. My father had expected everyone to fall at his feet and do whatever he wanted because he had power and money. Somehow his success had given him the nerve to take whatever he wished, with or without permission. He saw what he wanted and he snatched it, whether it be a deal, a career, or a woman. It didn’t matter if they said no. It didn’t matter if they tried to get away. He decided he knew what was best and he took it. A man who didn’t understand the wordno.
When I was eight years old, my father belonged to a private club in West Hollywood. He took me there sometimes on Saturday afternoons when my mother was busy. I was supposed to stay quiet while he took meetings at his table in the corner. A lot of the servers were young and pretty, most of them aspiring actresses. My father knew all their names.
One afternoon, a slender blonde with a gap between her front teeth brought him the wrong drink. When he pointed it out, she was immediately flustered and apologetic. My father leaned back in his chair and smiled. That big, warm Sean Hale smile that made everyone in a room feel like they were the only person in it.
“Don’t worry about it, Alice. Happens to everyone.” Then he tilted his head, studying her. “You’re an actress, right? I’ve seen you in here. Have to say, you’ve got something. Why don’t you come by my office next week? We’ll chat about your career.”
Her whole face lit up. She thanked him three times. I remember thinking my dad was the nicest man in the world. Except to his wife and children, of course.
“But we’ll have to do something about your teeth,” my father had said.
“That’ll cost money I don’t have,” Alice had said.
“We can work something out.”
It was during the trial that the memory had resurfaced. I’d been sitting in my apartment, reading the third victim’s statement. Alice Jones had described a private club in West Hollywood where she’d worked as a server. A powerful Hollywood producer had told her she had something special and invited her to his office. She described his smile. She described feeling like the luckiest girl in the world. Then she described what he did to her when she arrived at his office.
I’d barely made it to the bathroom before I was sick.
Now, feeling that same queasiness in my stomach, I picked up my beer, then set it down.
“Is that why you’re here in Willet Cove?” Hunter asked. “You wanted to escape your old life?”
“That’s right.” I cocked my head to the side, studying him. “You too?”
“Pretty darn close.”
The front door opened, and Vance Prescott walked in and scanned the room, spotted us, and came straight to the bar without breaking stride. He sat down on the stool next to mine.
“Hey,” Vance said, nudging my shoulder. “You okay?”
“Not really,” I said.
“I figured as much. I think we need to open a bottle of wine and talk,” Vance said. “If you’d like to.”
“Yeah, sure,” I said. “I just told Hunter my sad story.”
“You have any decent reds open?” Vance asked Hunter.
“No, but I can open something. In fact, I’ll join you. I’m off in a few minutes.”
“Great,” Vance said. “Should we grab a booth? Grady, you in?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said.
“I’ll open our bottle and be with you in a minute,” Hunter said.
Vance and I settled into a booth, each taking a side. He splayed his hands on the tabletop. “So, how’s it going? Anything you want to talk about?”
I had to laugh. “I’m sure you already know everything.”
“I do. And I’m here for you, if you need me.”
“Did you come looking for me?” I asked.
