Unforgettable: Book Three (A Hollywood Love Story #3)(32)

Brandon


Why won’t she pick up her phone? I call again and again. And each time, it goes straight to her voice mail. Dammit, Zoey. Pick up your phone. I had to bribe her boss to give me the number as well as her address. The skinny bitch cost me ten thousand dollars. All that for nothing. I bet Zoey’s turned her cell off.

Frustration mounting, I pace my house. I know, just know, she watched the episode. And without commercials, it ran about ninety minutes so she must be done with it. I speed-dial her one more time. Again, the call goes straight to voicemail. I can’t bear to hear her voice again, so I text her, begging her to call me. Tossing my phone on the couch, I take long angry steps toward the bar and pour myself a Scotch. As I’m about to put the tumbler to my lips, the sound of my front door opening and slamming shut distracts me. Heavy footsteps get closer. Setting the tumbler on the bar, I spin around and face him. It’s Scott, my manager. Crap. He’s come by to drive me to the wedding rehearsal that’s taking place in a half hour at The Four Seasons. He’s going to be my best man. He makes a beeline for the bar and pours himself a whiskey.

My eyes drink him in. His bottle-brown hair is greased back and he’s dressed in a slick, navy three-piece suit that’s a little too shiny. Dangling an unlit cigarette from his mouth, he looks on edge. He downs the whiskey and gives me the once over.

“You look like shit. What happened to your face?”

While I’m no longer wearing a Band-Aid, the scab on my face is pretty nasty, and the truth is I feel sick to my stomach about the whole wedding, let alone Zoey. I tell Scott that I got into a car accident, without getting into details, and that I haven’t been feeling well since it happened. I may even have the flu.

“Shit, man. Accident or not, why the hell aren’t you ready? The rehearsal starts in thirty minutes, and with the Friday night traffic on Sunset, we’ll be lucky if we get there in an hour.”

Barefoot, I’m wearing sweats and a hoodie. I haven’t even showered or shaved. “I don’t have an assistant to help me.” A lame excuse but true.

“What happened to the one I talked to yesterday?”

“I fired her.”

“Come on, Brandon. This is the fifth assistant you’ve fired this month. What was wrong with her?”

“I couldn’t stand her squeaky voice and she was totally incompetent. Couldn’t even bring me the right size Starbucks in the morning.”

Scott rolls his eyes. “Jesus, Brandon. You’re f*cking impossible.”

He refills his tumbler while I take a sip of my Scotch. “Do you have a minute?


“What for?”

“I need to talk to you.” I haven’t had a heart to heart conversation with him since I got back from Cannes. In fact, I’ve hardly seen him as he’s been mysteriously out of town. I have no clue if he knows what went down between Katrina and me. And I’ve avoided talking to him about it because I don’t know if I can trust him. He’s a liar who could be connected to my hit and run and, to a degree, a thief as he never paid back the two grand I lent him. But what bugs me most is that he went along with Katrina and forced Zoey and Bella, the two most important and cherished people in my life, to stay away from me when I was in my coma. I’ve thought long and hard about firing him, but Lieutenant Mancuso, who’s now working my case, has advised against that as it might arouse suspicion. Everything’s so f*cking complicated and I barely have the energy to deal. If only I could talk to Zoey, things might be simpler.

My manager glances down at his flashy gold watch. His eye ticks. “Okay, but make it fast. We need to get to The Four Seasons.”

I head to the couch and sit while he follows me and takes his normal seat in the chair closest to me. He sets the tumbler on the coffee table and then twirls his cigarette. “Can I light up? I could really use a smoke. I’ve had a rough day.”

So have I. I was on pins and needles, waiting for Zoey’s package to arrive. When I checked the tracking number online, I knew it had and had a moment of reprieve. But she won’t talk to me and I’m facing the biggest day of my life. A life-changer. Scott’s nasal voice cuts into my anxious thoughts.

“So, I guess that’s a yes,” he says, already lighting up.

As much as I hate him smoking in my house, I don’t have the wherewithal to fight him. I have bigger things on my mind.

Returning his gold lighter to his breast pocket, he puts the cigarette to his mouth. He takes a drag and blows out a cloud of smoke. “Shoot.”

“I’m having second thoughts about marrying Katrina.”

He practically chokes on the next puff of his cigarette. “Are you f*cking out of your mind?”

In answer to his question, I may be, but I don’t tell him that. “I’m still not feeling it with her.”

Scott’s voice rises with anger. “What the f*ck do you mean?”

I’m not sure what he knows, so I play it safe. “We still have no connection, physically or emotionally.”

Another puff and he flicks his ashes in the ashtray. “You had a major head injury. You suffered amnesia. Your doctors said it would take a while for your memory to return.”

“Scott, it’s been five months. I remember a lot of things.”

“Like what?” he asks nervously, his brows shooting up.