In a bombshell Backlot exclusive, we revealed that author Layla Warren is the mystery woman who Trip Wiley escorted to the Oscars last month. But Backlot has just received insider information that the bookish beauty has since taken up residence at the playboy’s compound. The Backlot exclusively revealed photos last week of the wily actor leaving the St. James Hotel with his ex-fiancée, model Jenna Barnes, and one can only wonder at Miss Warren’s reaction to the Academy Award-winning actor’s secret trysts with the leggy lingerie looker. Well, wonder no more. The Backlot nabbed the insider scoop that the fiction-writing femme fatale is fuming about the fornicating film star stepping out with his ex-fiancée. “She’s going bonkers over those photos, but come on. Everyone knows Trip Wiley is no saint,” said a source. “Everyone knows he can’t stay faithful.” The source went on to reveal that Warren is not only Wiley’s current girlfriend, but that the twosome has known each other—and dated on and off—for years. “Oh, yeah. He was cheating on Jenna with her the whole time they were engaged. Guess it’s Jenna’s chance for payback.”
Enough was enough with this frigging magazine. I flipped to the inside front cover and checked out the stats; know thy enemy and all that garbage.
Only, it turned out that I actually knew my enemy.
Right there in the editorial credits, a very familiar name popped out at me.
Thine enemy’s name was Devin Fields.
Okay, God. Now I know you’re just fucking with me.
*
I had a ton of packing to tackle and I sure as heck wanted to be able to spend my last hours with Trip before having to get on a plane the following day. But I had one last stop to make before I could go back to the house. I knew Trip had an entire legal department at his disposal, but this was a situation I wanted to handle personally. It was too important to simply let slide. I wanted to make things right before I left.
I pulled the Jeep into the lot of Starz Publications, a large, glass structure located in the heart of Century City.
I made my way into the lobby and waved cheerily to the security guard at the desk. “Good afternoon,” I said as passively as possible. It wouldn’t help my case any if I came storming into the building like the furious wrath-monster I actually was.
I cruised into the elevator as if I knew exactly where I was headed, as if I belonged there, so as not to provoke suspicion. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to press the button for the top floor. Devin wouldn’t be stationed anywhere else.
I channeled my old reporter skills and made my way to the receptionist’s desk. “Good afternoon! I do not have an appointment,” I said jovially, shaking my head at my oversight. “But I’d like to see Mr. Fields. Is he in?”
The receptionist picked up the phone and called his office. I didn’t even know if she really dialed an extension, but I was positive that if she was speaking with someone, it wasn’t Devin. “A young lady is here to see Mr. Fields? Okay, thank you. I’ll tell her.”
The receptionist hung up the phone and gave me the standard runaround. “Mr. Fields will be tied up with meetings all day. I can make an appointment for you to see him next week, if you’d like.”
No, bitch! I need to wring his neck now, and I’m not going to wait a week to do it!
I smiled pleasantly and asked her to call again. “And this time, please have his secretary ask him personally. Just let him know Layla Warren is here. He’ll see me.”
The receptionist didn’t look pleased, but she could tell I wasn’t going anywhere until she carried out my request. This time, she hung up after the call and looked at me in curiosity. “You can go right in. Through the glass doors, all the way down the hall.”
I thanked her, then headed down the hallway, trying to steady my breathing and get my rage under control.
Devin’s secretary buzzed me into his office, a huge, windowed expanse with an enormous oriental carpet along the floor and rich, mahogany paneling along the walls. And there was Devin, standing in front of his massive desk, two black leather club chairs framing his commanding pose.
Some things never change.
“Hello, Devin.”
“Warren! I was wondering when you’d come to pay me a visit. Welcome to the West Coast!”
He spread his arms out in a sweeping gesture, and I didn’t know if it was to exaggerate his statement or to invite me in for a hug.
Aside from the extra gray around his temples, he looked almost exactly the same as the last time I’d seen him. The day he fired me.