Hollywood Dirt (Hollywood Dirt, #1)(20)

“Uh, nobody’s called us,” the man said slowly, glancing toward the dimly lit building. Us. So maybe there’d been more than just him guiding their giant death trap safely to the ground. Reassuring.

“Has my car arrived?” A question he knew the answer to, even as it fell from his lips. Behind the man was a large gravel lot holding only two vehicles. Neither one looked capable of air conditioning, much less a private driver. Where was security? Justin had had hours of flight time to prepare. This shouldn’t have been difficult, and he should have, at the very least, texted Cole an update. So many mistakes, from an assistant who didn’t make mistakes, and Cole felt the first flick of worry uncoil in his stomach. He dialed Justin’s number and held the phone to his ear, DeLuca’s phone sounded, the man turning away.

It rang eleven times. After four, he was irritated. After seven, he grew worried. When the man’s voicemail finally picked up, he was panicked. He didn’t leave a voicemail, just hung up the phone and locked it. From behind him, DeLuca rejoined them, his big hand falling heavily on Cole’s shoulder. “Bad news,” the attorney said. “Your assistant has been in an accident. TMZ posted the news an hour ago. He’s alive, but pretty beat up.”

Another crack in a sinking ship. And Justin… Justin was his glue, the constant, the only friend who Cole could name with ease. He’s alive… but pretty beat up. Cole took a deep breath and ran his hands over his face. “Okay. Let’s head back.”

“No.” The order in the man’s voice caught him by surprise.

“I need to see him—in the hospital; he’s been with me for years,” Cole protested. Thirteen years, to be precise. Two more than the dead ringtones in his ear. A long time. Before Nadia, before the trio of Oscars, before his fame hit ridiculous heights. He needed to go to him. He should leave this dust-filled sauna and return to his city of clean hands, cool air and luxury. What kind of city had an airport like this?

Not city. He corrected himself. Town. That had been the draw of it all. A sleepy town, filled to the brim with millionaires. Come to think of it, they probably didn’t even have a spa. The tightness in his back grew worse.

“You’re not going anywhere. The LA hospital is going to be a zoo filled with paps waiting to see that pretty face of yours. You’ll turn the whole thing into a circus, and he’s not awake right now anyway, isn’t going to be able to talk to you for a while.”

“What happened?”

“He was the side effect of a car accident. Was on foot and got pinned between two cars.” DeLuca’s voice softened.

Cole looked away, his eyes running into the airport handler, who still stood there, his head tilted, catching every word. He let out a loud breath. DeLuca was right. Going to the hospital would be a disaster. He’d send flowers, maybe a strippergram, would have Justi—his brain hiccupped on the realization that his right hand was suddenly gone, the man who did everything, greased all joints, made all arrangements. Gone. In a hospital three thousand miles away with his focus on his own life, no longer on Cole’s. He staggered a little in place, DeLuca’s hand reaching out and gripping his shoulder, holding him up.

Ten minutes later, they were in a borrowed truck, rattling away from the airport.

Cole held up a hand against the sun, which blared in at an uncomfortable angle. The window was open, the dirty, hot air sweeping in and over him, and he reached to raise it, chuckling a little at the foreign feel of an actual window crank in his hand.

DeLuca held the phone away from his mouth. “I’m tracking down the local Envision contact now.” They rounded a tight turn, and Cole gripped the handle firmly, looking around for a seatbelt. Nothing.

“Bennington Payne?” DeLuca barked into the phone. “Where are you right now?”





CHAPTER 24


When Ben answered the phone, I relaxed my arms, lying fully back in the kiddie pool, my head propped up against the edge, a folded towel acting as a pillow.

Ben’s linen pants wandered my way, his cell against his ear, the other hand pressed against his free ear, as if he were in a rock concert and not the middle of nowhere. He was probably getting poor reception. I closed one eye and half-squinted his way, the nosy half of me eavesdropping.

“Ummm… Quincy?” He said the city as if it was a question.

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

I opened both eyes when he did the frantic snapping waving thing at me. I sat up and raised my eyebrows, waiting for more.

“Yes sir. But… now? I thought that—okay. Yes sir.” I wondered how many ‘yes sirs’ this conversation was going to involve. Wondered how I was supposed to piece any of this together when all I had were half sentences full of Ben stammering.

“What’s your address?” That question was aimed at me, a loud whisper further soundproofed by his hand atop the receiver.

I told him, this change in the conversation certainly taking a turn toward Interesting. Ben repeated it into the phone, then—with a final ‘yes sir’—ended the call.

I didn’t think a man could be paler than my sweet vampire, but oh… oh… one can. I watched his face lose all color, the push of his cell into his pants pocket a fumbling, awkward movement.

“What’s happening?” I demanded, making the effort to stand, my bathing suit leaking thin streams down my legs.