Hollywood Dirt (Hollywood Dirt, #1)(19)

DeLuca got on the phone, and Cole reclined back in his seat, closing his eyes and trying to push the thought of Nadia from his mind. She’d looked beautiful, standing in the hotel. Beautiful and unaffected. He hadn’t expected that. It hurt, even more than the papers, even more than what he’d seen in their bathroom. It made it all worse than just an affair or a fight or cheating. It meant that Nadia could walk away from their years together without hesitation. He’d looked through the divorce paperwork. It was too detailed, too tight, to be thrown together in the last week. She had been planning this. That was what made his chest tight. And what made his head hurt was how oblivious he’d been to the entire thing. How disconnected had they been that he hadn’t seen any signs? That he’d thought they were great when they’d been on the brink of disaster?

And then for Nadia to bring up The Fortune Bottle. In the moment when they should have been discussing their love, their relationship, their lives—his movie was what she brought up, what she cared about, fought for. He suddenly remembered scattered comments from Nadia about the movie, her request to be an executive producer, her transfer of funds last month “just moving stuff around.” He groaned and leaned forward, holding his head in his hands.

“Hey.” DeLuca looked up from his phone. “Stop stressing.”

“I’m thinking back on the last few months… I think she’s been setting me up for this.”

“It’s my job to worry now. It’s your job to stay in Quincy, follow my rules, and make a movie that kicks ass.”

“Okay.” Cole leaned back and huffed out a breath.

He could do that. Sitting back and letting others take care of things, have them worry about things, those were things he was used to. He could lick his wounds in Quincy, avoid temptation, and make a movie.

Easy.





CHAPTER 22


The moment that all hell broke loose, I was in my bathing suit, my butt resting in four inches of cold water, my feet propped up on the edge of the bright blue kiddie pool.

“You’re going to burn.” Ben made the comment from underneath three layers of sunblock, one cowboy hat, and linen pants.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” he said with the grave sincerity of a eulogy. “I watched you. You didn’t put on any sunscreen.”

“I never wear sunscreen.” I scooped up some water and drizzled it over my thighs.

“You do realize that the sun is literally aging you right before my eyes.”

“You do realize that this is Georgia and not the Wild West and that you look absolutely ridiculous in a cowboy hat, right?” I flicked my hand at him and water sprayed, his pale body squirming away, his metal folding chair tipping sideways on the grass. I laughed, dipping both hands in the water and taking advantage of his struggle to stand, getting him as wet as possible from my position in the pool.

“Stop!” he shrieked, his bare feet finally gripping onto the grass and standing.

I laughed. “Fine, pretty boy. No more splashing.” I held up my hands in peace and smirked as he picked up the overturned chair and moved it to a safer place.

We were in the front yard of my house, in the shade of the big live oak; yet, even submerged in water, it was still hot. The Holdens had a pool, a big giant thing behind their house. With them in Tennessee, we could have swum there, but that just didn’t feel right. I had done it once or twice in the last six years but had looked over my shoulder the entire time, worried that the Holdens would magically transport two thousand miles and catch me. The kiddie pool worked just fine for me, and it didn’t come with a side of trepidation.

From the back porch, we heard Ben’s phone ring, loud and shrill in the quiet afternoon. He craned his neck back at it and sighed heavily.

“Just let it go,” I urged. “It’s Saturday. No emergencies to deal with.”

Like I knew he would, he hefted out of the chair and ran toward it.

Thank God he had.





CHAPTER 23


The first oddity, when the jet touched down on the dusty runway, was that there was no one there. Well, there was someone there. One lone airport employee who stood on the tarmac and gawked, his hands tucked in his front pocket, his mouth doing everything but offering to help with their bags. Granted, they didn’t have any bags. But this man didn’t know that. DeLuca stepped off the plane, shook the man’s hand, and introduced himself. Cole followed suit, the man’s eyes widening underneath a decade of dirt and sun. “You’re that movie star,” he said in surprise.

Cole nodded and flashed a smile. He couldn’t help it; it had become, since entering this business, so ingrained, so automatic, that it was as if he had no control of it. But there were no cameras here, no screaming crowds of fans, no need to display a megawatt smile to this country bumpkin. DeLuca looked at him strangely.

“So… ah… what are you guys doing in Quincy? Got engine trouble?” The man glanced at the gleaming aircraft, one that had barely had the runway clearance to land on their strip.

“No. Has my assistant not called?” Cole dug in his pocket for his phone. No texts from Justin. Strange. Normally, after this link of time, he’d have an itinerary, hotel confirmations, the name of his driver. He held up the phone. Two bars of service. Pressed the power button and hit restart. Damn Verizon.