Complete Me (Stark Trilogy, #3)(66)

“Not to be crude,” she says. “But you’re sleeping with the best business resource around. Take advantage of it.”

“Oh, I fully intend to,” I say, with just enough of a leer that we both start laughing. Yeah, I think, Lisa and I are going to be friends.

As if to illustrate the point, she tells me that the restaurant two doors down has an amazing happy hour. “Want to check it out next week? You can tell me all about your first few days among the self-employed. Or, hell, drag along your roommate and we’ll talk about men. I’m engaged, but that doesn’t mean I can’t dish.”

I laugh. “It’s a date.”

“Excellent.” She stands and hooks her briefcase over her arm. “I’ve got to go meet a client. You walking back or hanging out?”

“I’m going to finish my coffee and make some notes while all this is fresh on my mind,” I say, indicating the folio. I don’t tell her that I’m seriously considering a second coffee before I head back to the office. After last night—both the good and the bad—I’m operating on very little sleep.

As soon as she leaves, I scoot my chair over a bit so that the walkway between my table and the next isn’t quite so crowded. As I do, I catch the eye of the auburn-haired woman I noticed earlier. Her finger marks a page in her script, and she is looking my way, her brown eyes fixed unabashedly on me. I shift uncomfortably and turn sideways, trying to focus on the folio that is open in front of me.

A moment later I hear the chair across from me scrape the floor and look up to find the woman taking a seat at my table. “I really don’t mean to be a huge pest,” she says in a voice that is crisp and precise, making me think of the Northeast and prep schools. “But it’s driving me crazy. I know you from somewhere and I can’t figure it out.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t think so.” I don’t bother to tell her that I get this a lot. It comes with the whole Golden Girl of the Tabloids thing.

“Are you sure? You look so familiar. I’m Monica, by the way. Monica Karts.” She eyes me hopefully, then frowns. “Doesn’t ring any bells, huh?”

“Sorry,” I say. I start to gather my things, my Polite Nikki smile on my face. My mother may have tormented me through most of my youth, but she also drilled good manners into my head. “I probably just have one of those faces,” I say with a smile. “But it was lovely to talk to you.”

“Oh, hell,” she says. “My agent is always telling me I come on too strong.” She pushes the chair back and moves to her table. “Sorry if I bugged you. You don’t have to leave. I need to get back to this anyway. Audition’s this afternoon.”

“You didn’t run me off,” I lie. “I just need to get back to my office.” Just saying that gives me a little trill of pleasure. My office. Seriously, how cool is that? “Good luck with your audition,” I add as I gather my things, and am surprised to find that I mean it. She has a bubbly personality that reminds me of Jamie. Besides, I’m in a pretty good mood.

Since I’m carting a flower arrangement, I decide to blow off the second coffee. I’m almost to the door when I hear Monica call out, “Jamie Archer.”

I turn. “You know Jamie?”

“Weren’t you at The Rooftop bar about a month ago with her? One of Garreth Todd’s parties?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Well, so was I!” She says it in the kind of excited tone I’d expect if we’d both just pledged the same sorority.

“So you’re a friend of Jamie’s?”

She waves her hand in dismissal. “I barely know her. But I was at an audition with her once, and I remember seeing her there. And you, too. But I think I’m mostly remembering you from the newspapers.”

“Great,” I say dryly.

“That stuff they said about you was shit,” she says earnestly. “Except the part about a reality show. If that’s true you should totally take it and make as much money as you can and tell them all to go to hell.”

I laugh, because as much as I do not want a reality show, telling them all to go to hell sounds like a grand plan.

My phone rings, and I balance the flowers on top of the condiment bar so that I can retrieve it from my purse.

Monica taps a fingertip on her screenplay. “I better get back to this. But I’m so glad I figured it out. Maybe I’ll see you again. I come here all the time.”

“Sure,” I say, as I answer the call.

“Well, Texas? Are you a proud new business owner?”

“Evelyn! Hang on a sec.” I wave goodbye to Monica, then tuck the phone under my chin and pick the flowers back up. I use a hip to push out the door, then start off down the wide sidewalk back toward my office. “Can you believe it?” I ask. “I feel all grown up.”

“I’m proud of you,” she says. “And I mean that in a totally non-patronizing way.”

“In that case, thank you.” I actually preen a bit from her words. I fell in love with Evelyn Dodge the moment I met her. She’s tough and no-nonsense and says what she thinks. I’ve pretty much decided I want to be her when I grow up.

“So tell me about the place.”

I describe it to her in detail, then mention that Giselle is going to come by later to talk art.