“I’m sorry.”
“Come on,” I say in a squeaky voice and big smile. “I’m not going to bother him. I’m just going to leave the bags by his door. I promise I’m not a stalker. Here let me show you.”
I pull out my phone and show him a picture of me and Casey.
“That doesn’t prove anything, ma’am. There’s no note.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake. This isn’t the FBI building. It’s not like I have a bomb or anything.”
The security guard’s eyes widen, and I immediately recognize my error. He reaches for the telephone, and I lunge across hisdesk to stop him. “No, no. I didn’t mean anything by that. I’m sorry. I just want to see Casey—”
“Sage?” a man’s voice calls from behind me. “Sage Summers?”
With my feet off the ground and my stomach on the desk, I turn toward the voice. A man wearing a grey suit and silver glasses is staring at me, but I don’t recognize him.
“Do I know you?” I ask slowly, but I don’t remove my hand from the security guard’s forearm in case he decides to call the police while I’m distracted.
“I don’t think so, but Casey mentioned you and hearing his name… and the way you look… I took a guess.”
The way I look? I purchased this yellow linen dress at an expensive thrift store in New York while I was visiting Charlotte. It was one of my best. I let go of the security guard’s arm but give him a stern warning with my eyes that I’m watching him.
“Are you here to see Casey?” he asks and nods to the security guard, who puts down the phone.
I stand and smooth out the wrinkles from my dress. “Yes. I’m sorry, who are you?”
“The name is Brett Campbell. I’m Casey’s agent.” Then he turns to the guard. “She’s fine, Sergei. She’s a friend of Casey’s. You can let her up.”
“I tried telling him that—”
“Casey has had many ‘friends’ loitering outside of his building.” He looks at me and smirks. “Although you don’t quite look like any of them, he was just being cautious.”
“Why do you keep mentioning that?”
“Mentioning what?”
I sigh, controlling my frustration. “The way I look.”
“Sorry. This is L.A. Sometimes I forget it’s not polite to do so. In showbusiness, people get used to being judged by whatthey’re wearing and how they look. They’re more thick-skinned, I guess.”
“I don’t think it’s thin-skinned to not want someone remarking on my body or choice of clothing.”
He shrugs. “That’s because you’re from New York. You take everything personally.”
“That’s rude,” I say, affronted.
He laughs. “See?”
I narrow my eyes. Not sure that he quite proved his point, but I leave it alone since he’s gotten me past security and we’re finally going up to Casey’s room.
“I brought him breakfast,” I say when he knocks on the white door. The walls are also painted white with black carpet on the floor.
He looks down at my brown bag. “Well, let’s hope that will induce him to open the door this time.” He knocks loudly and steps back.
“You mean, you haven’t seen Casey either?”
He shakes his head.
Shit. This is worse than I thought. He’s not just ignoring his family. He’s ignoring his business partners, too.
