“You don’t say.”
“Yeah.” Randall takes another swallow of beer, face closing up, sitting back in his chair again.
I tipped him off. Couldn’t keep hold of myself. I’m fucking sloppy.
Where’s the old Cole when you need him?
I take a long, steady breath. Deliberately slowing my heart rate. Shelving all thoughts of Mara sleeping peacefully back at the hotel. Crushing my fury, and the sickening sense of disgust that threatens to overwhelm me every time I look at Randall’s smug face.
I clear my mind of everything but the goal.
When I do, the old Cole is right there waiting for me.
Hello, old friend.
The room sharpens. The babble around me separates into distinct conversations. I smell the hops in Randall’s beer, and note a pine sap stain on his left sleeve—evidence that he’s been out in the woods sometime recently.
I can practically hear his heart beating.
I lean forward again, taking off my cap and running a hand through my hair.
“You might be right,” I say in a conspiratorial tone. “I know one fucked-up thing about her. My boss won’t let me print it, which is a fuckin’ shame.”
Randall can’t resist this. He leans forward on his knees, too, piggy eyes glittering.
Everybody loves a secret.
“What is it?”
I look around as if making sure nobody can hear us. I already made damn sure this booth in the corner was out of sight, but it gives the proper effect.
“Guess Mara needed some cash a while back. She filmed a porn.”
“She did?”
Randall’s trying to play it cool, but I hear his breath catch. I see the way his thick hand clenches around his beer bottle.
“Yeah. Some nasty, dirty shit. She bought it back from the studio, doesn’t want anybody getting their hands on it, but you know the internet never forgets.”
“You found it?”
I grin, molars grinding in the back. “You’re damn right I did.”
Now I sit back, triumphant, sipping my own drink. Waiting for what I know is certain to follow.
Another long silence from Randall. Then the low, urgent mutter, “You think you could send that to me?”
“I’ve got it on a flash drive back at the hotel.” I take another drink of my beer, letting him squirm. Watching the flush rise up his neck. Then I put out the real lure: the one he can’t possibly resist. “Some crazy shit in some kinda schoolgirl outfit …”
He needs it now. He has to have it.
“You can send me a copy, can’t you?”
“It sounds like we’re negotiating.” I give him a smile with just enough sleaziness to seem genuine. “You got something for me? What about Mara’s dad—you know where he lives?”
“I don’t even know his name,” Randall grunts. “Tori never said shit about him.”
Damn it.
“Well, I need pictures for the article. Any old photographs, yearbooks, letters …”
“I didn’t keep any a that shit,” Randal scoffs.
“Too bad.” I pretend to give up on the idea.
Randall can’t let go of the prize. He’s licking his lips, clenching that beer like a grenade. Then he thinks of something.
“I got a picture of her mom fuckin’ some Nazi.”
I grin. “That sounds like a trade. Bring it to my hotel room.”
“Nah.” Randall shakes his head. “I can’t drive that far. I got a cabin fifteen minutes from here. You can follow me up.”
“Even better.”
15
Mara
Cole wakes me up nice and early, already looking bright-eyed and freshly showered. He doesn’t seem tired at all, but invigorated.
“Get up, sleepyhead,” he says. “Time for your TV debut.”
He’s already got blueberry scones and a latte waiting for me, both warm and fresh.
“What time did you wake up?” I say, stumbling out of bed.
I’m still a little groggy from the Ambien, though my body feels warm and relaxed.
“I didn’t sleep at all,” Cole says.
“What? Why not?”
“No point when we had to get up this early. I’ll catch a nap later if I feel like it.”
I guess that makes sense. Cole rarely goes to sleep before midnight, so it would only have been a few hours’ rest at most.
I wouldn’t be that chipper on zero sleep, but good for him.
I climb into the shower, luxuriating in the hot, pounding spray, which feels particularly sensual after my hibernation.
“What do you think I should wear?” I crack the glass door to call out to Cole.
“What did you bring?”
“The blue dress and the velvet jumpsuit.”
“Wear the jumpsuit. It’s sexier.”
“Do I want to be sexy, though?”
I’m shampooing my hair, eyes closed, trying to picture both outfits. I do love the jumpsuit, but I don’t want to give the wrong impression. The world is so much harder on women than on men when it comes to our looks and our clothing. Especially when you’re competing in a male-dominated field.
Cole comes into the bathroom, leaning up against the doorframe so he can watch me.
“Which one do you like wearing? Which feels the most yourself?”
I consider, standing still under the spray.
“The jumpsuit.”
“There you go.”
I’m not used to someone agreeing with me, supporting my decisions. I don’t feel like a fuck-up with Cole. And I don’t agonize over the little choices so much. It feels like it doesn’t really matter what I wear—everything will work out just fine.
“I’m kind of looking forward to this,” I admit as I step out of the shower, vigorously toweling my hair.
“Of course you are. It’s exciting.”
Cole is in the most energized mood I’ve ever seen. His dark eyes roam everywhere at once, and he can’t hold back his grin as he thrusts a scone into my hand.
“Eat it while it’s hot—it’s fucking delicious.”
I laugh. “Since when do you eat scones?”
“I eat everything now.” He winks at me. “Remember last night?”
It all comes back to me in a rush. I shriek with laughter and outrage.
“Don’t talk about that!”