Page 42 of My Beautiful Sin

“Oh. I didn’t realize—he’s where?”

“Sorry. I just assumed you knew. Anna mentioned you guys are dating. And, honestly, I’ve seen the pictures,” she adds, and I cringe. “I only put it together after you came by the Inn.”

“So where is he?”

“Oh, he had to fly to Vegas this morning,” she tells me. “Did he know you were coming by?”

I shake my head. “I’m heading to LA today. He must have figured I was already on my way.”

“He’ll probably be back before you are. For Devlin, popping over to Vegas is nothing.”

I nod, my spidey-sense tingling. She still looks so damn familiar, and I can’t figure out why.

I only realize that I’m frowning when she says, “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, no, sorry!” My cheeks burn with mortification. “It’s just that ever since we met I’ve been trying to place where I’ve seen you before. Or someone who looks like you.”

The corners of her mouth turn down as she shakes her head. “No idea.”

“Were you on Pacific Avenue last night?”

I’m watching her face, and though it’s subtle, I’m certain her eyes widen with surprise. “I was, actually. But that can’t be why I look familiar. You saw me at the Inn before that.”

“I guess I’m just always surprised when I see a familiar face,” I lie. “After so many years in Manhattan I forget what a small town this is.”

She nods and smiles, and silence hangs awkwardly between us. Then she says, “Well, I should probably get back across the street. I’ve got two management trainees and no one with any experience on staff.” She makes a face. “My right hand took a job in LA. But what can you do?”

With that, she offers me a finger-wiggle kind of wave, then heads across the lobby, her heels—Manolos, this fall’s newest style—clicking on the floor. Apparently hotel ownership has a lucrative side. Even with my shoe-groupie ways, I rarely own a designer shoe when it’s hot off the runway.

I consider following her out. After all, I only came to see Devlin. But I’m already here, and I really should apologize to Christopher for shooing him away last night. Since he’s most likely in the Research Room, I get on the elevator and head to the third floor.

I push through the swinging double doors, then cringe when I hear whispers in this usually silent space. Apparently Christopher’s not the only one using the facilities these days.

“Well, I don’t know,” a woman says in a hushed tone. “Some sort of accident, I’d think.”

“Right, right,” Christopher says. “But what? Traffic? Swimming? A fire?”

“Christ, how am I supposed to decide?” I recognize Anna’s voice now. “That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

I consider staying where I am and eavesdropping. After all, I’ve never listened in on someone talking through the plot of a thriller novel. But that seems rude and invasive, so I clear my throat and make my way around the corner with an apologetic wave. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Christopher nods, looking exactly like I’d imagine a frustrated writer. But Anna jumps about a mile. Her back is to me, and though I assumed that she’d heard me coming, clearly I was wrong.

“Plotting?” I ask as Anna twists to face me. Christopher’s working on his second thriller novel, and since the story deals with organized crime and trafficking, the DSF resources are a huge boon. Or so he told me when we first met.

“I needed someone to bounce a plot point off,” Christopher says. “And since Anna was here…”

She smirks. “I came in to get a file so I could polish a press release and got roped into doing his work.”

“Better her than Brandy,” Christopher says. “And if I don’t work this out before seeing her tonight, she’ll listen to me gripe about story points when we could be—”

“Ah, ah,” I say, holding up a hand and trying not to laugh. “That’s my best friend you’re talking about.”

“And my girlfriend,” he says, looking very pleased with himself.

“I thought you two were only having drinks,” I tease. “But if you’re planning to come back to the house instead of going home to write, I can always make myself scarce. I figure I owe you. Sorry about last night. It’s just that it was only supposed to be the three of us. Devlin crashed, too.”

He nods. “Brandy told me. All the boyfriends got the boot.”