Hollywood Dirt (Hollywood Dirt, #1)(10)
“Gargantuanly bad.”
I broke open a boiled peanut and popped the nut in my mouth. Thank God my check had already cleared. I mean, not all of it. The studio still owed Ben a quarter of his paycheck, so Ben still owed me five grand, but I was sitting on a fatter bank account than I’d ever seen so if The Fortune Bottle went up in flames, it didn’t make too much difference to me. I tossed the shell into a Solo cup and watched Ben, a man who seemed awfully stressed considering he had also received the bulk of his monies. “Why do you care if The Fortune Bottle crashes?”
He looked up. “The Fortune Bottle isn’t crashing. Movies don’t fall apart over this.” He waved his hands to encompass whatever this was.
Another peanut followed the first into my mouth, the resulting chew squirting in beautiful salty goodness. “Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is Codia. Cole and Nadia are the glue that holds our picture perfect world together. The glittery ideal that we all strive to become. They are at the center of our world and the forefront of the public’s eye. They buy each other extravagant gifts, have ridiculously hot sex, and vacation on yachts in St. Barths. Codia can’t fall apart, they can’t get divorced, they can’t even squabble over dinner reservations! And they certainly can’t have Cole attempt murder on Nadia’s lover!” His voice squeaked, and I saw, for the first time in four-and-a-half months, a break in the perfect landscape that was his forehead.
I pointed a finger in wonder. “I think you have a wrinkle.”
“What?”
“On your forehead. When you were just yammering on about Cadia. Your forehead actually moved.”
“Codia. Not Cadia. Codia.” His chair shot away from the table, my internet performance forgotten, his smooth-soled shoes heading to the bathroom in search of a mirror.
“Whateveria,” I mumbled, stepping to the fridge to grab the sweet tea. I refilled my own and then poured him a glass, setting it down with purpose next to his energy drink. I didn’t care if it happened the last day of his visit. The man would, eventually, drink my sweet tea and love it. Ben stepped from the bathroom, his hand on his forehead, his face irritated. I waited until he sat down before I spoke.
“I got a call from the sheriff.”
Aww… the cute little wrinkle reappeared. “About?” he asked anxiously.
“Cole Masten. Jeff’s worried he’s violent. Doesn’t want him in our town. He’s gotten some calls from voters.”
“Voters?” The wrinkle deepened, and I fought back a smile.
“It’s an elected position. Being sheriff, I mean. Votes are everything, especially in an election year.”
“Which, I assume, this is.”
“Yep.”
“Of course it is.” He groaned. “Of all the things I worried about, Cole Masten’s risk to townsfolk was never one of them.”
“The sheriff’s not as worried about our townsfolk’s safety as…” I shifted against the counter and found a new position.
“As what?” His hand closed around the tea glass, and I mentally urged him on.
“Well.” I shrugged. “This is a carry state. We value our personal safety. I think he’s a little concerned your Californian Golden Boy is going to get himself shot.”
The glass of tea froze halfway to his lips. He coughed out a laugh, then smiled cautiously. “You’re kidding.”
“I am definitely not kidding.”
“You can’t shoot Cole Masten. No one is shooting Cole Masten.” He stood as if he was going to defend Cole himself, the base of the tea glass hitting the table, a splash of it coming out. Well damn.
“Well, sure. As long as he isn’t running around hurting people. But you might want to have a chat with him. Let him know these country bumpkins are armed.”
“Nobody just ‘has a chat’ with Cole. He has layers of people to go through for that.”
“Well, then.” I waved my hand. “Tell all those people.”
Ben stared at me for a long moment, a twitch in his jaw jumping.
“You want dinner?” I finally asked. “I’m making fried catfish.”
“Yes.” The word was out of his lips before I even named the meal. I turned back to the fridge, the furious tempo of his fingers against keys resuming. The poor man. I swore, at the way he scrambled for food, I didn’t think, prior to Quincy, he’d ever been properly fed.
CHAPTER 14
When you spend half a decade of your life with someone, the ending should occur in a personal fashion. Face to face, hand in hand. Words spoken out of lips kissed, tears shed on seen cheeks. It shouldn’t be easy; it should be painful and honest; it should take hours instead of minutes; it should involve yells and cries and discussions, but it should be substantial. A moment thought over and worked out. Not the casual and simple act of a stranger handing over a legal envelope.
Cole was in the downstairs gym when it came, on his back, his arms straining upward, his third set almost done when the door opened. He stared at the ceiling, and worked through the remaining reps, his breath huffing out on each upward press, his mind thinking through what he would say, and how he would say it. The apology, that was what he was stuck on. Was an apology required when he injured someone who she was f*cking? It wasn’t just the f*cking that was the problem. Fucking wasn’t allowed, but it was understandable, the animalistic need of one body to couple with another, a million years of survival instincts pushing through veins eager to procreate. The issue was that this hadn’t been just f*cking. This had been a relationship, an affair. Cole had heard her tell that prick that she loved him. That was the problem. And a hundred sets weren’t fixing the problem. He racked the barbell and sat up. Looked right, his bare chest heaving, he was surprised to see a man in the doorway. Not Nadia after all. All that deliberation over what to say, for nothing.