Julie Kenner – L.A. Confidential (страница 7)

“I want my career back, Mr. Miller.” Her voice shook, and she dropped her eyes, sure he was about to tell her to get the hell out of his office.

Leather creaked as he shifted in his chair, and she looked up to see him looking at her quizzically. “Tyrell screwed a lot of people, Ms. Neal. But there were a lot of folks in bed with him who deserved to be screwed. If I do this for you, I’m taking a hell of a risk.”

“I wasn’t one of the ones who deserved it. I worked my tail off for Tyrell and don’t have a damn thing to show for it.”

He tapped his thumb against his chin, his mouth turning down into a frown. After a moment he stopped and looked at her, his expression stern. “Ms. Neal?”

She fought a cringe. “Yes?”

“It looks like we have a deal. Don’t disappoint me.”

“I CAN’T BELIEVE I’m really doing this. I must be a total idiot. It’s never going to work. What was I thinking?” Lisa stopped tossing clothes into her suitcase long enough to glare at Greg. “For that matter, what were you thinking?”

Nonplussed, he leaned back against the doorjamb and popped the top on a Dr. Brown’s cream soda. “I was thinking you needed the work.” He pointed toward her bed and the pile of clothes. “They’ll travel better if you fold them.”

She was in no mood for packing lessons, and purposefully crumpled her favorite dress and shoved it into her luggage.

“It’s your laundry bill.”

“I’m not worried about my clothes. I’m worried about this job.” She sat on the bed and then flopped backward to stare at the ceiling. “This is a nightmare.” Rolling over, she propped herself up on an elbow to look at him. “I’m the last person Ken’s going to want to help.”

“The man’s going to jump through hoops to help you. You were the love of his life.”

She cringed, knowing all too well how much she’d hurt him. “‘Were’ being the operative word.” Her eyes welled, and she flashed a weak smile at Greg. “I’m thirsty,” she lied. “Would you get me a soda?”

He nodded, probably knowing she needed privacy more than she needed a drink, and slipped out toward the kitchen.

With a sigh, she rolled over, dragging her pillow across her face. She’d made a huge mistake hitching her star to Drake Tyrell, and made an even bigger mistake leaving Los Angeles in the first place.

She’d been so naive. Working for Drake had been the biggest thrill of her life, and she’d actually seen two movies come out with her name as associate producer…before her world had come crashing down.

At the time she’d smelled success, so she’d thrown herself even more into the work, giving it every ounce of energy she had, knowing there’d be nothing left for a personal life, especially not a personal life an entire continent away. She’d had her eye on the prize, so she’d sucked up her courage and told Ken she wanted some time apart and unattached.

She didn’t regret the decision. Not then, not now. But she’d always regretted the consequences of that decision. She’d hurt Ken, and she’d never really told him how sorry she was.

After the breakup, Tyrell had told her that her sacrifices were worth it because she was going to be a real player someday. Lousy, lying bastard.

He hadn’t meant a word of it—he’d just wanted Lisa in his bed and, by the end of a year, that’s exactly where she was. Ken found out, of course, since the affair was plastered all over the tabloids. Even though they’d already broken up, Lisa’s sleeping with Tyrell had hurt Ken—badly—and she hated herself for it.

When the studio shut them down and Tyrell fled for his native Britain, Lisa was out on her own—and her production credits didn’t mean a thing. She had a scarlet T on her forehead, and it was all she could do to find work on even the lowest-budget flicks.

Greg came back in, jarring her from her thoughts, and she sat up in time to see him flip the desk chair around to straddle. He crossed his arms over the backrest and nodded toward the diet Coke can on her nightstand. “Feeling better?”

“You’re just too damn perceptive.”

“I know. It’s a gift.”

“I feel fine.” She took a sip, letting the fizzy drink work its magic. “I’m not going to be royally humiliated until later when I’m in Los Angeles.”

“If you don’t think you have a chance, why’d you take the job?”

“Because I’m an idiot.” She scooted backward and slipped off the bed to start packing again, this time taking more care to fold each item. After a second she sighed and looked him in the eye. “Okay. You win. I took it because it’s the best shot I’ve had in a long time.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You just want me in L.A. so you can have the bedroom.”

“True enough.”

He laughed, but she knew he was only half joking. They shared the one-bedroom apartment with two others, a flight attendant and another actor/waiter. Each month, one of them got dibs on the bedroom and the others shared the living room with its three foam chairs that pulled out into tiny beds. So much for pop culture’s perception about life in the big city. Monica and Rachel might have their own bedrooms and a humongous apartment, but Friends was a far cry from Lisa’s reality.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded, realizing she was biting her lower lip. “Yeah. Just nervous. If I can pull off the locations, I’ll get a producer credit.” She looked him in the eye. “And if the film does well, that means my career will be back on track. I’ve got a lot riding on this job, and for all I know Ken’s just going to slam the door in my face.”

“Then you won’t be any worse off than you are now.” He moved to sit on the bed. “But I think you’re going to do great.”

Her smile felt watery. “Thanks. I appreciate you going out on a limb for me. Really.”

“What can I say? I’m a heck of a guy.”

“You?” she teased. “I hadn’t noticed.”

His grin widened. “No? You should pay more attention.”

At that, she laughed outright then her smile faded to a frown again. “I’m just afraid Ken’s going to laugh in my face. And I wouldn’t blame him one bit. I was a bitch. Self-centered and stupid.”

“Ah, but now you’re a reformed bitch. Or at least you’re a charter member of Bitches Anonymous and firmly on the wagon.”

She managed a smile, wondering if it was true. If it came down to it, would she do the same thing all over again?

“Seriously,” he continued, “there’s no crime in wanting to focus on your career.”

“I know. But I’m sure he thinks I left him for Tyrell, not for Tyrell’s job offer.” She sighed. “Besides, fat lot of good it did me. I came out here expecting to return to L.A. in triumph, and look at me. I’m going back now with less in my checking account than when I was fresh out of school.”

“I don’t think Ken’s going to care about your checkbook.”

“Except to feel some smug satisfaction that I blew it.”

Greg’s smile was patient. Clearly he knew she was in one of her moods. “The way you’ve described him, I don’t think he’s the holier-than-thou type.”

She wasn’t ready to concede. “Maybe not five years ago, but he’s Mr. Big Shot now.”

“And a damn good-looking Mr. Big Shot, too,” Greg said.

“He’s not your type.” She smiled, but her heart wasn’t in it.

“Too bad.”

“Do you know I went to the opening of Oxygen? That was the night he was going to ask me to marry him. Of course, I found that out later, after I told him I was moving back to New York. Not a very happy memory, and now I’m supposed to go back and ask to film there? Do you have any idea how many old wounds this is going to open?”

“So don’t take the job.”

“Ha, ha.” Taking a fortifying breath, she latched her suitcase and tugged it off the bed. “Wish me luck. I’m off to beg a favor from my ex-boyfriend.”

“Good luck.”

She paused in the doorway. “Thanks. I’m going to need it.”

3

“THANKS FOR CHOOSING the Bellisimo, Ms. Neal. Enjoy your stay.”

Through a haze of exhaustion, Lisa thanked the clerk as she clutched her room key, still not quite believing that Avenue F was footing the bill for her to stay in a hotel as lush as the Bellisimo. She hadn’t slept at all the night before, and now she was having trouble remembering her name, much less what she did with her luggage. She looked down toward her ankles, trying to find the matched set of suitcases her mother had given her years ago and fought a wave of panic until she remembered the bellhop had taken them.

Stifling a yawn, she surveyed the lobby, trying to find the bellman and her bags. The hotel was just as she’d remembered it. Polished marble columns, polished hardwood floor, everything shiny and gleaming and not the least bit understated. The place practically smelled of money, and it attracted the type of clientele who were drawn to that particular scent.

Exactly the kind of atmosphere Ken had wanted for his very first restaurant—a prestigious address with a crowd made up of climbers and those already at the top. As Lisa glanced around, she knew he had to be pleased. Not some small part of his success was tied to his skill in choosing the right location.

Some sort of convention was going on, and the lobby was filled to overflowing with men and women in suits sporting little plastic name tags. When the crowd finally parted a bit, Lisa caught a glimpse of the bellhop near the bank of elevators. With a wave, she signaled that she was on her way.