I’m driving to the studio where Joel keeps his production office when Dallas calls to tell me that all did not go well with our father. And though I can’t help but be disappointed, I am not surprised. Rescinding the adoption would be the perfect solution for us, but for Eli Sykes, it would be admitting he’d made a bad decision.
And while my father is more than willing to change course when it comes to business, he’s not so swift to own up to mistakes where his personal life is concerned.
I tell Dallas as much, and he reluctantly agrees, though there’s no denying the disappointment that colors his voice.
I’m disappointed, too, of course, but I think I’m less surprised. I know Dallas believed that faced with the choice of being selfish or helping his children, Eli would come out on our side. But it’s only been a day since I walked into my birth father’s cell. A man who did the most heinous thing possible to his child, and for purely selfish reasons. So nothing much shocks me anymore.
“Do you want me to cancel my meeting? I can go back home and we can do whatever it takes to make you feel better. Whatever it takes,” I repeat, purposefully injecting a lascivious tone into my voice.
As I’d hoped, he laughs. “That sounds wonderful, but you need to see Joel. Besides, one of us needs to have a meeting today that doesn’t go south.”
“Does that mean things with Damien went badly, too?”
“No, no. Everything is fine on that front. In fact we’re thinking about flying out to Riverside to look at the actual production facility. They have a working prototype that I’m anxious to see. But that will put me home late. I hate to miss our dinner.”
“Don’t be silly.” He’d suggested we go out tonight, but it’s not as though the LA restaurants are going away any time soon. “We can have the champagne and caviar on the back patio, then maybe watch a romantic movie, and then who knows where the night will lead…”
“I like that plan,” he says. “I’ll call when I’m getting close. Your day is going okay?”
“So far, it’s perfect. Don’t jinx me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says. “I love you,” he says, and I’m amazed at how much depth and emotion can fill three little words.
I’m still smiling when I hand the security guard my ID and he lifts the gate to let me onto the lot. Joel’s office is in the back, behind a section of false-front houses that represent a neighborhood I’ve seen on some television sitcom, but damned if I can remember which one.
I park, square my shoulders, and head inside.
Despite Dallas’s prediction that my meeting will go better than his, I’m not holding my breath. On the contrary, I’m prepared for Joel to be overly conciliatory and Lyle to be full of excuses. I don’t expect either one of them to actually call me a pariah, but I’m certain that’s what they’ll both be thinking. And I’ll have to smile and nod and pretend like I’m doing just great despite the fact that this amazing career opportunity is crashing down around my ears because the press has decided to get all up in my personal life.
That’s what I anticipate, and I’m even ready for it, so I march into Joel’s office with my back straight and my loins girded, whatever the hell that means. Bottom line, I’m ready to take the punches and roll with them.
But the blows never come. On the contrary, we really do talk about the script, just like Joel had promised. Both men are friendly and businesslike. I take notes, we discuss changes, argue about character motivation, and ponder combining or cutting a few scenes to make the overall story flow better.
In other words, there’s nothing personal or unprofessional at all—and I get no indication that Lyle is pulling out of the project.
I’m relieved, and also a little baffled. So baffled, in fact, that when Joel checks his watch and says that we have to wrap because he has a dinner meeting in Santa Monica, I blurt out, “But what about—”
I cut myself off, realizing that perhaps it’s not the best strategy to remind Lyle he was supposedly pulling out.
For a moment, Joel actually looks blank. Then his eyes dart quickly to Lyle before he shakes his head and says, “Sweetheart, it’s all good. You just go write. We got this shit covered.”
“Oh.” I’m surprised, but pleased. Mostly, I’m hoping this means that my stock on social media has fallen.
Lyle walks me out to my car. “I’m guessing Joel told you I might pull out of the picture?”
I glance sideways at him. “He might have mentioned something along those lines.”
Lyle laughs. “Yeah, well, I just want you to know it wasn’t me. My publicist got all in my face about it, but I told her to drop it. I love the script, and I think this project has a lot of potential. I’m in it for the long haul.”
“Wow,” I say. “Thank you for telling me. That really does make me feel better.”
He shrugs, and for a moment I see the quiet Iowa boy the papers all say he was before his family moved to Hollywood when he was sixteen. “I thought you should know. Especially since Joel apparently would rather pretend none of the controversy even exists,” he adds with a wry smile. “And I also want to say that I’m sorry your personal life is being plastered everywhere. I know how hard that can be. I chose to live in the spotlight but you didn’t, and it sucks that you have to deal with it.”
“I really appreciate that,” I say, meaning every word. “It’s been hard, but we’re getting through it.”
We chat politely for a few more minutes, and by the time I get to my car, I’m actually smiling. I have yet to be accosted by rabid reporters, my colleagues are understanding, and I’m still glowing from last night under the stars with Dallas. Our dad may not be on board with our plan, but that’s okay. Today, I’m swimming in optimism.
I decide to hit the gym before grabbing the food, and not only is my trainer actually free, but we get in a kick-ass workout that leaves me feeling completely recharged. I may not be able to deflect Tasers like the one that took me down in New York, but just knowing that I’ve got a seriously mean kick makes me that much more self-confident.
We still have caviar and champagne in the house, but I pop into Whole Foods to get some brie, and although a few people do a double take when they see me, I’m hardly big news today. Apparently Garreth Todd, Hollywood A-lister and a fan favorite, was spotted in the produce section. The girl who checks me out tries to act like this is old hat, but I can’t help but notice the way she keeps twisting around, as if hoping to catch a glimpse as he moves through the aisles.
Even my house is paparazzi free, and I can only guess that’s because no one knows I’m in town. My neighbors are far enough away that they may not have noticed when the taxi dropped us off yesterday, and since I keep my car in the garage and the lights are on a timer, from the outside the house looks the same whether I’m living in it or not.
And, of course, even if the neighbors do know I’m here, it’s not like they’re going to call TMZ. All that would do is clog their street and front yards, too.
Which means Dallas and I may actually have privacy for a few more days.
I like to think this means the universe is rooting for us.
Dallas texts me that he’s about to board Stark’s helicopter to return from Riverside to downtown LA. He has a rental car at Stark Tower, so he promises to text me again once he’s about ten minutes away.
No problem, I text back. But I’ll be starving. Guess that means you miss out on my pre-champagne sexy dance.
If I beg?
Try it, I tell him. I do love it when you’re on your knees.
Since I’m alone, I open a bottle of wine, then kick back and watch two episodes of reality TV—the kind of stuff Dallas knows I watch, but I absolutely won’t admit to. I also shower and wash my hair, change into a short skirt and sheer blouse, and take extra care with my makeup. When I’m dressed and feeling girly and sexy, I head to the kitchen to pull out my best dishes and crystal.
I’ve just put the champagne in a bucket of ice when Dallas calls. “I’m at the bottom of the hill. I should be there in ten minutes. If you’re naked, I can think of some very intriguing ways to enjoy caviar.”
I laugh. “I’ll take it under advisement. And I should warn you—I’ve already had a glass of wine. Sort of an appetizer for the champagne,” I say, and he laughs.
“Apparently, I have some catching up to do.”
“Definitely.”
I refill my glass and then pour one for him. Then take them both out with me to the front porch. And then, when I see his headlights at the far end of the street, I leave his glass on the railing and step off the porch to meet him.
At first, I don’t even notice the dark lump in the middle of my driveway. When I do, my first reaction is irritation that one of my neighbors left their trash so unsecured that a trash bag blew over onto my property.
But then Dallas turns into the driveway.
His headlights illuminate the lump.
I see tangled flesh.
I see blood.
And then, of course, I scream.
