“Pretty much.” They’d been jogging along the beach for almost half an hour, and at first the morning air had been invigorating. Now, though, Wyatt was starting to drag. He’d been up all night, and his lack of sleep was slowing him down.
That and the fact that he was worried about the project. Siobhan had called that morning to tell him that Roger Jensen, an arts and leisure columnist with the Pacific Shore Examiner, a glossy magazine that mixed legitimate news with tabloid gossip, was hounding her for an advance image from the show. “I told him no, but you might want to consider it. His column in the Examiner blog goes viral all the time. And the extra publicity would be nice.”
“Forget it,” he’d said. “No advance images. You know my rules.”
“I do. But it’s my job to run these things by you. It’s also my job to check on you,” she added, then asked for an update on his hunt for the perfect girl. Wyatt considered dodging the question, but Siobhan was a friend, and she was in this show as deep as he was.
“Found her,” he admitted. “And then I lost her.”
“Well, that’s not good,” Siobhan said. And when Wyatt agreed with that insightful assessment, she’d suggested that Cass could be the It Girl.
“Cass is stunning,” Wyatt agreed. “But she’s not the girl.”
“Like I said, this close to the show, you can’t be picky about the girl. You just need a girl. Pretty. Sexy. Photogenic. And one who doesn’t bolt.”
“Maybe,” he’d said, knowing that he was running out of options. But also knowing that Cass was his last option. And Kelsey was his first.
And there weren’t any other options in between.
Lyle had been jogging a few feet ahead, but now he slowed until they were pacing each other. “I thought you said this girl needed the money. Why’d she up and leave?”
“There’s a slight possibility it had something to do with me being a complete and total prick.”
“You?” He turned and jogged backwards so he was facing Wyatt. “I’m shocked.”
“Fuck you. And if you trip and fall on your ass, I’m going to take a picture and send that shit to Instagram.”
Lyle flipped him the bird, but turned back around. “If I ask how you were a prick are you going to kick sand in my face?”
“Let’s just say I gave her a rough time. I convinced myself she had an agenda. Or that she was playing some kind of head game with me. Or that she figured the job would earn her some sort of golden key to open the door to Hollywood.”
“Seriously? You thought she was messing with you because of who you are?”
“Don’t act surprised. I know you get that shit, too,” he added. “More than me, I’d think. The non-Hollywood grandson isn’t nearly as interesting as an actual movie star.”
Lyle grimaced. “Yeah, lately I’ve got a wide range of options for female companionship. More than I want, that’s for damn sure.”
“You don’t say.” Wyatt’s voice dripped with irony. After several years on a hit sitcom, Lyle Tarpin’s star had gone supernova when he starred in two movies that turned out to be box office sensations. That’s one of the reasons they were out for a jog—because Lyle had just signed onto an established action franchise, and the director wanted him in prime shape.
“I’m living on kale and hard boiled eggs,” Lyle had complained the other day. “And people think Hollywood is all about the glamour.”
“Anybody special among those options?” Wyatt asked now.
“Not a chance. Besides, we’ve known each other for what? Two years now? You know I don’t date.”
“Not even Rip?” Wyatt asked, referring to Lyle’s former TV co-star.
“Seriously? Come on, man. You of all people should know better than to listen to rumors,” Lyle said. “Besides, I’m not gay. And even if I was, that asshole would be the last guy I’d fuck.”
“Fair enough.” Wyatt remembered the buzz back when the show was hot and the costars were feuding. “Just be careful. All that female attention you’ve been getting? It’s just going to get more intense. You’re on a fast trajectory, my friend.”
Wyatt had no idea why he was advising Lyle. God knew Wyatt had no special insight into women. He wasn’t in the habit of kicking women out of his bed, true, but neither had he dated anyone special in, well, ever. At least not since he’d been an adult. And the one woman who’d piqued his interest was a woman he not only didn’t trust, but one he’d managed to scare off.
Not a stellar record, all things considered.
“I’m fine,” Lyle assured him. “I’m just focusing on work right now.”
That sounded perfectly reasonable, but Wyatt couldn’t shake the feeling his friend was holding something back.
“You still haven’t answered me,” Lyle continued before Wyatt could press the point. “Why did you think this girl—Kelsey, right?—had an agenda?”
“Are you asking me about now, or about twelve years ago? Actually, hang on,” he added, coming to a halt and bending over with his hands on his knees. Lyle didn’t exactly stop, but at least he stayed by Wyatt, jogging in place.
Wyatt had to admire his stamina.
“Let’s start with twelve years ago,” Lyle said, and Wyatt relayed what he’d overheard from Grace. A conversation he could recite in perfect, morbid detail.
“Okay, I get that you were pissed. I would be, too. But she was a kid. Did you seriously think she was doing the same thing now? Not fucking you for points, obviously. But for a job or access or some such bullshit? I mean, how would being in with you or your family even help her? You said she’s, what? A kindergarten teacher?”
“And a dancer,” Wyatt said.
“Even so. You do remember that your family is in the movies, right? It’s not like they own a dance troupe.”
“Funny. But my mom’s working on that film adaptation. You know, the musical that won the Tony last year. Maybe she thought that working with me could get her an in.”
“Sounds dubious to me.”
“Maybe, but struggling actors and dancers will try anything. It’s a fact of this business. My dad sure as hell saw it.” He glanced at Lyle. “You’ll see it, too.”
“I will,” Lyle said. “But that doesn’t mean everybody’s got an angle. And listen, buddy, about your dad—”
“What?” The word came out harder than Wyatt had intended. He’d never told anyone about his father’s death, or the things his dad had said before. No one, that is, until Lyle.
They’d been out drinking one night, and Lyle had told him a few things about his life back in Iowa, before he’d moved to LA at sixteen. Not much, but enough for Wyatt to realize that Lyle’d had a shitty time of it, too. And when he complained that night about how ninety percent of the people he was meeting in town only cared about what his fame could do for them, Wyatt had shared his own sob story.
He’d thought he’d regret it afterwards, but he hadn’t. He had only a handful of close friends, and he was glad to count Lyle among them.
That didn’t, however, mean he wanted to talk about it now. A fact that Lyle obviously realized, since his shoulders drooped a bit.