Unforgettable: Book Two (A Hollywood Love Story #2)(18)

“Hey, I meant to tell you I got a call from your manager. He says you’re doing Letterman next Thursday.”

Damn. I forgot to call Scott to cancel the appearance. For the first time all day, Katrina enters my mind. I haven’t missed her one iota. My mother used to tell my father when he went on his annual weekend fishing trips that absence makes the heart grow fonder. It always did for the two of them. They couldn’t be wait to be back in each other’s arms, big smelly fish and all. I feel nothing for Katrina except relief that she’s three thousand miles away.

“That’s a problem, right?” Fingers crossed he says yes because the last thing I want to do is fly to New York and freeze my ass off. Or play the Bratrina game with my fiancée and the wisecracking king of late night television. What’s more, I want to stay close to Zoey and her father’s investigation.

“Not at all. I spoke to the network brass, and they want you to do it. It’s great publicity for you and the show. We’ve changed the production schedule around so you’re free and clear.”

Fuck.




When I get home, it’s way after midnight. To my surprise, Zoey, clad in flannel pajamas, is curled up on my couch with Gucci sound asleep on her lap. The TV is on.

“What are you doing up so late?” I ask, striding toward her. I’m actually happy to see her. And even the little canine monster. They look adorable together.

“I was watching Letterman. Your publicist asked me to come up with some interview questions for him to ask you and Katrina.”

I plop down on the couch next to her. Close enough that her cross-legged body brushes against mine. She caresses the sleeping dog’s head.

“I came up with some and emailed them to her. She’s going to edit them and likely add a few of her own. She’ll send you the final questions. You’ll know in advance what Dave’s going to ask you so you won’t be caught off guard.”

“Great, thanks.”

“Your publicist said a couple of them are going to be about the Golden Globes.”

Of course, he’s going to ask how I could forget to acknowledge Katrina in my acceptance speech. The press release with my apology hasn’t quenched the public’s curiosity or doomsday speculations.

“You’ve done Letterman before and have always had a great time.”

Not this time. “Zo, I don’t want to go, but the network wants me to.”

She sighs with resignation that mirrors my own. “It’ll likely be your last chance to be on his show. He’s retiring in the Spring. He announced it last year.”

Yet another thing I don’t remember. So far only scattered memories have come back. But at least I had a breakthrough at the scene of my accident.

To my relief, my assistant changes the subject. “How did your shoot go?”

I grin. It’s so refreshing to have someone ask me about my day. Katrina never does. It’s all about hers. The truth is I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone in my adult life who’s given a shit.

“It was awesome. I did a really intense scene with Kellie, and she was amazing.

Zoey’s big brown eyes light up. “The one where she shares the loss of her boyfriend to cancer with Kurt?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“I can’t wait to see the dailies.”

“Ditto. And tonight, we shot an action scene downtown. A car chase. I had to fire a gun.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! Major cliffhanger ending. The writers re-worked it.”

“Tell me!”

“When Kurt fires his gun at The Locust and says, “Get it! Got it? Good!” a big motherf*cker truck heads straight into him.” Not wanting to upset her, I deliberately don’t mention that my rage toward Donatelli fueled my performance.

“Oh my God!”

She says the words so loudly she wakes up Gucci. His eyes pop open, and upon seeing us, he wags his tail.

Zoey immediately shifts her attention to the little dog. “Hi, cutie pie.”

The little dog looks up at her with love in his big brown eyes. I gaze at her with my own puppy-eyes. Our eyes connect.

“Zo, it’s late. Let’s call it a night.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” She puts Gucci on my lap. “He’s all yours.”

Is she kidding? My cock’s going to be dog food! I freeze. To my great surprise, the dog doesn’t growl or nip at me. He simply curls up. But I still don’t trust him. I think he may be bi-polar. And bi-sexual.


“Zoey…”

“What?”

“If I have to sleep with Gucci tonight, I want you to sleep with me. I’m afraid he still hates my guts and will bite my nuts.”

She giggles. “Brandon—”

I cut her off. “I mean purely platonically. You wear your PJs, and I’ll wear some sweats and a T-shirt.” I pause. “And a pair of sneakers in case the beast goes for my toes.” I should probably also wear a ball cup for extra protection, I add silently.

She pets the little monster, strumming her exquisite fingers on his head. Gucci’s in seventh heaven.

“Well, Zoey?”

She squirms. “I don’t know.”

I flick the tip of her nose. “Well, I do. I’m your boss, and if you want to keep your job, I’d be marching to my bedroom.”