Obviously, she’d have to embellish a little bit.
She didn’t think there was any possibility she’d actually spend the night here—she’d have to figure out a way to leave by the time dinner was over—but she had to at least check out this room, for the sake of the future stories she’d tell. She hoped that Beau would carry her suitcase back down all those stairs on her way out.
Priya would die when she heard about this.
“Oh wow.” Izzy walked toward the huge window at the far end of the room. It faced west, so she could see the sun, already making its way toward the horizon, the green downhill slope just beneath the house, the rest of the city below, and the ocean, off in the distance. She felt like she could look out this window forever. She wouldn’t mind having to deal with Beau Towers if she got to have this view for a little while longer. He was a lot easier to deal with than most people in publishing; overt aggression almost felt refreshing after this past year. At least she knew where she stood with him.
Speaking of. She had to get this email to Marta over with.
She dropped down onto the bed and pulled her phone out of her bag.
To: Marta Wallace
From: Isabelle Marlowe
Re: Beau Towers
Hi, Marta—
I talked with Beau Towers a little while ago. He’s still pretty resistant to discussing his memoir, but we’re going to have dinner tonight here at his house and hopefully talk about it a bit more. I’m not sure if I’ll make that flight tonight, so I’ll have the travel agent change it to tomorrow, if that works?
Isabelle
Izzy bit her lip and pressed send. Marta emailed her back almost immediately.
To: Isabelle Marlowe
From: Marta Wallace
Re: Beau Towers
I knew you were the right person to deal with him. Keep me posted.
For Marta, the message was almost effusive. Izzy shook her head and got up to check out the bathroom. She pushed open the door, and her mouth dropped open. This was the bathroom of her dreams.
The floor was blue tile, the walls were pale blue, and coupled with the big window over the bathtub that looked out over the world, it almost felt like she was outside, part of the sky and the water.
And that bathtub. Izzy stepped closer to it. It was a huge, deep, claw-foot tub, with little gold flecks on the feet. Had they originally been all gold? The window was just above the bathtub, so you could enjoy the view while you were in the bath. She couldn’t wait until later that night, after dinner, when she sank into a hot bath with her book and…
Izzy tore herself away from her daydream. She’d forgotten. She wasn’t going to be here after dinner. Part of her wanted to take a bath right now, just so she’d get to experience this incredible bathtub, but it felt weird to just take a bath in the middle of the afternoon in Beau Towers’s house. Plus, she didn’t want to unpack her tightly packed suitcase to dig out her toiletries and shower cap and everything else.
She finally peed, washed her hands, admired the excellent lighting (due to that big window) in the mirror, checked out the shower—which was perfectly nice, but nothing in comparison to that bathtub—and went back into the bedroom. Before this dinner, she had to text Priya.
Omg, Priya. I met Beau Towers. He’s terrible. But. I’m currently in his house???? And I’m supposed to have dinner with him, here, tonight??? And give him a “pep talk”???
Don’t ask me how I got myself into this, I have no idea. Actually, no, I THINK I sort of dared him. I don’t know what’s gotten into me?!? Marta is delighted (for her, obvs). Will keep you posted.
Priya’s response was more satisfying than Marta’s had been.
OMG what!!!
I can’t wait to hear EVERYTHING!!!!
A few hours later, Izzy walked down the big staircase on her way to dinner. She let her hand trail along the banister and sighed. She should have changed into that maxi dress that was in her suitcase. How many opportunities would she have to sweep down a staircase in a long dress? This was the first one in her lifetime, as a matter of fact. She should have taken advantage of it!
She laughed at herself as she walked down the hall toward the kitchen. She stopped in the doorway and saw Michaela taking plates out of a cabinet.
“Hi, Isabelle,” she said. “Dinner is next door, in the dining room.”
Izzy would rather stay here in the kitchen, with Michaela, than go into the dining room, with Beau.
“Okay, but can I take those plates from you? Shouldn’t you be resting your ankle?”
Michaela waved her away. “Don’t worry about me. I iced it for a while; Beau found me an ACE bandage; I’m feeling a lot better. Go sit down. Can I bring you some wine?”
Wine. That was exactly what Izzy needed after this incredibly strange day.
“I can see from your face that the answer is yes,” Michaela said.
Izzy laughed. “Okay, yes, the answer is yes. Thank you very much.”
She followed Michaela into the dining room and sat down. Michaela set the plates down on the table and then disappeared back into the kitchen.
Izzy was relieved she’d gotten down here before Beau. She’d thought about coming down late, just because he’d told her not to, but that felt childish. And yes, fine, she was a little apprehensive about this dinner—okay, very apprehensive about it—but she might as well be professional. Hopefully, she’d get to sip some wine and take a deep breath before she had to give Beau Towers some sort of pep talk. Part of her wanted to give him a snarky speech about perseverance, since the guy had blown off a two-million-dollar book deal, but she’d probably doled out enough snark for the day.
Michaela walked back in with two bottles of wine in her hands. “Red or white? There’s also beer, if you want, and I can probably throw you together a margarita, if you’d like?”
Beau Towers just…lived like this, all the time. With someone offering to throw him together a margarita at 5:55 every evening. Incredible.
“White wine is great, thank you.” Izzy sniffed. “Oh my goodness, what smells so good?”
Michaela grinned at her. “I thought that since I cheated you out of your tacos today, I’d make them for dinner.” She poured Izzy a very full glass of wine. “Fish tacos, since that’s what we had the ingredients for. I hope that’s okay?”
Izzy suddenly realized that she hadn’t eaten since that granola bar on the drive from LA. God, she was starving.
“More than okay, thank you so much.”
Izzy took a sip of wine when Michaela went back to the kitchen. Either it was because she was in desperate need of wine or this wine was of far better quality than she usually got, but it tasted incredible.
“Tortillas, fish, slaw, rice, salsa,” Michaela said as she set two big platters on the table. “I’ll be in the kitchen for the next few minutes if you need anything, but I have to take off soon to go pick up my son.”
Was Michaela really going to leave her here, alone in the house with Beau Towers? She’d kind of forgotten that Michaela didn’t live here. Why did she suddenly want to cling to this woman she’d only met a few hours ago? She picked up her glass of wine and took another big sip.
“Um, thank you for dinner,” Izzy said. “The food looks great.”
Michaela smiled at her. “I hope you enjoy it. See you tomorrow, Isabelle.”
Mmm, Izzy doubted that.
While she waited for Beau, Izzy sipped her wine and looked out the window. The sun had set, but now she could see the lights from the city, shining all the way down the hill, and the darkness of the ocean in the distance. She was suddenly glad she’d volunteered for this ridiculous thing and that she’d antagonized Beau Towers, if only to see this house, and this amazing view. And to drink this amazing wine.
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
Izzy barely managed not to jump at the sound of Beau Towers’s voice. Why didn’t he make any noise as he walked through this house? Some warning would have been nice.
She turned to look at him standing by the door, scowling at her. Of course. “I was waiting for you,” she said. “I didn’t want to be rude.”
Beau let out a huff at that and gestured to the food as he sat down across from her. “Be my guest.”
Izzy supposed he meant that as an invitation to serve herself, so she did. She even poured herself some more wine. Why not? She took a bite of a taco and almost let out a moan. These might be the best tacos she’d ever had. Had Michaela made all this, just spontaneously? And with a sprained ankle? She tried the slaw and opened her eyes wide. Wow, rich people really did have great lives. She’d only given herself two tacos, but she was already looking forward to her third. Maybe even her fourth. She might as well take advantage of this while she could.