I navigate to my Instagram and go through the comments on my latest post—a picture of Archie next to the pool. Happy to be home after an awesome month promoting The Tempest around the world! I quickly delete all the crazy comments. People are sick.
Checking my email, I find a message from Mary that came in at 2:00 a.m. Call me as soon as you wake up. I have exciting news!
"About time," I grumble to myself. Getting back to work is important. With the success of this movie, I should be beating back the offers. I email Mary a quick response—I'm awake. Call me when you are—then climb out of bed to make some coffee. Archie is still passed out so I let him sleep, making my way into the kitchen, stretching my arms over my head as I go.
I want to hit the gym today. The doctor said that I could start working out again. My shoulder doesn't even really hurt anymore.
I get the coffee maker going and grab half and half out of the fridge, my one indulgence. I'll be having egg whites and spinach for breakfast, but I can't live without my half and half. A girl has to get her fat somewhere.
My phone pings, and I settle at my kitchen table, listening to the coffee machine gurgle as I open the message from Mary. "Come into the office today."
"Okay, let's do it earlier though. I've got plans this afternoon." Practicing with my new gun. For The Tempest I had a lot of training—hand to hand and weapons. But the class I'm taking today is all about live combat. We went over that in my previous training, but action movies are not actually high stress—I knew what each person was going to do, didn't have to improvise at all.
Not like with Red.
The coffee machine beeps that it's done, and I pour myself a cup, adding my half and half…just a splash. Then a sprinkle of cinnamon. Since shooting and training ended, I've worked to stay in shape while on the road, but it's hard without my trainer, Synthia, on my case every freaking day.
I sink into my couch, coffee cup in hand, and shoot her a quick message to let her know I’m back and to set up a time to get together this week.
Flicking on the TV, I navigate to the local news. I love the chipper morning news team. There are fires outside of town raging out of control. Ugh. Again.
That's one of the problems with LA.
A knock at my door sends my blood pressure soaring. Who is showing up at my house at 6:00 a.m.?
I put my coffee mug on the table and flee into my bedroom, grabbing my gun off the side table. Just holding it makes me feel better. I step back into the living room to see the door opening. Retreating into the shadow of the hall, my heart in my throat, breath paused, gun clenched, I watch a large shoulder emerge.
Temperance's head pops in. "Angela," he calls softly as he moves into the room. His eyes catch on the coffee cup, and he closes the door behind himself. "Sorry to barge in." He waits by the door.
I let out my breath and lower the gun before stepping out of the hall. His eyes find mine, and he smiles as his gaze tracks down my body. I'm wearing a thin white T-shirt and a pair of panties. His Adam's apple bobs as he pulls his eyes back to mine.
I raise one brow and give him a smile. He likes what he sees. Most men do.
"Sorry," he says again, his voice a little scratchy. Oh, it feels good to affect Mr. Statue Man. "May I come in?”
“You’re already in,” I point out. “Give me a minute to put something on, and I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”
He nods, stepping toward the couch. Back in my bedroom, I put the gun on my side table and slip on a pair of jeans and a bra before letting Archie, who is now awake, out of his cage. I carry him to the balcony door and open it up, stepping into the warm morning.
Smoke from the wildfires tinges the air, and my nose wrinkles at the acrid odor. Putting Archie down on the wee-wee pad, I wait for him to do his business before grabbing one of the treats I keep out here for him. "Good boy," I coo, crouching down to offer the treat and scoop him up again.
Shutting the door behind me, I head back to the living room.
Temperance is sitting on the couch. He's muted the TV and is at the edge of the seat--looking ready for anything. “Can I get you that coffee?” I ask. He shakes his head. I shrug and drop into the arm chair, reaching for my own cup. "So this isn't a social call," I tease.
He gives me a wry smile. "No. I have another assignment for you."
I swallow the sip of coffee in my mouth and purse my lips. "I'm still recovering from the last one," I say. "And I haven’t been able to find out what happened to Vladimir." He doesn't react, just stays very still. "I've asked Mary several times, and you know that woman can find out almost anything, but the status of Petrov is being kept pretty damn secret."
"You don't need to know."
Anger swells in my gut. "You don’t think I have a right to know what happened to him?” I lower my voice. "To know if I killed him?"
"You did well. What you were supposed to. That's all you need to know."
I huff out a breath and sit back into the seat, pulling my knees up in front of me. "I don’t agree." A small twitch in Temperance's jaw is the only sign that he heard me. "And," I continue, my anger flaring, "I don't like you showing up here and letting yourself into my apartment. You're lucky I didn't shoot you."
One brow goes up and he clasps his hands. "That's something else I wanted to talk to you about."
"What?"
"The gun you bought."
"I'm learning how to use it. Already have some experience," I say, getting defensive.
"I understand but—"
"I need to be able to protect myself," I cut him off.
His eyes narrow. "If you want a gun, I'll get it for you. A gun registered to you is a bad idea.”
“Your offer is a bit late. I have my first lesson today.”
"I know, that's one of the reasons I stopped by so early. You need to talk to me before you do things like that."
I sit forward. "How would I know that? You keep me totally in the dark. It didn't occur to you I might want protection after what happened in Shanghai?" I raise my brows at him. Archie, displaced by my movements, hops off the chair and heads into the kitchen, his little tail held high.
"I'm sorry that we've had communication issues." He purses his lips. What, are we heading to couples therapy next?
"Look, I told the training people it was all for a role so don't worry about it."
That tick in his jaw again—the man has some tells, I’m pleased to see. "I need you to go to—" Temperance is cut off by a bark from Archie.
"He wants his breakfast," I say, standing.
Temperance follows me into the kitchen. The sun is over the building across the street now, and the intimate space is filled with warm, yellow light. I pull out Archie's kibble and fill his bowl. He prances around my feet as I place it back on his mat, grabbing his water bowl. Temperance stands in the doorway, watching me. His gaze is almost like a touch, a gentle brush in a crowd…the almost-missed invasion of a pickpocket.
"Have you been following the election?" he asks me.
I glance at him before putting Archie's water bowl down next to his food bowl. "A little." I lean against the counter and cross my arms.
"Reginald Grand is interested in meeting you."
I raise my brows. “The Republican candidate for president?” Temperance nods. "Hold on," I say. "What do you mean ‘he wants to meet me’—like, the way that Vladimir wanted to meet me?"
"No." He shakes his head. Then gives a small shrug. "Well, yes, his interest is that of a fan."
I bark a laugh. "Vlad wanted to fuck me, Temperance."
"As do many of your fans." He says it low, trying not to insult me or insinuate that he too wants to do me.
I shake my head and turn to my coffee pot, refilling my cup. "So, how is this not like Vlad? I'm not going to need to slip something into his drink?”
“Nothing like that.” I turn back to Temperance and wait a beat, but he does not go on.
"So…what am I supposed to do with him?”
<
br /> "Just meet him."
"Just meet him?" Temperance nods. "This smells like bad fish, Temperance."
"He asked to meet you. I'm facilitating." That ticking jaw again.
"You're not happy about this," I say, stepping forward. "Why?"
His sharp gaze meets mine, and he licks his lips. He takes a step into my kitchen. "It's totally inappropriate."
Both my brows go up. "What do you mean?”
"He's getting security briefings because of his position. So he knows what happened with Vlad."
"Maybe he can tell me then," I say, sullen and childish but not regretting it.
Temperance goes on, ignoring my grumbling. "The fact that he is asking for a meeting with an operative—it's just not done."
"He's married, right?"
Temperance huffs. "Yeah."
"But, like, a known philanderer."
"Yes, he's been married three times, leaving each for the next."
I nod slowly. "I don't want to meet him," I say with a shrug. "I don’t want to get involved in politics. Never have. And this guy seems pretty toxic. You know Hollywood is a liberal town."
"It would not be public. We'd keep it a secret."
"I still don't want to meet him."
Temperance nods. "I'll let him know your feelings. But I can't guarantee he won't show up here. He is one election away from the presidency."
"You think he'll win?" I ask.
Temperance shrugs, his gaze falling onto Archie, who walks up to his feet and sits on one. "I don’t know. I also try to avoid politics."
I laugh. “That's rich."
He bends down and picks up my dog. The small, white fluff ball in the big man’s arms is cuteness personified, and something inside me melts a little. I'm suddenly not even pissed he showed up unannounced at 6:00 a.m. "You sure you don’t want a cup of coffee?" I ask.
Temperance shakes his head, his attention on Archie as he scratches the little dog behind the ear. "I'll get out of your hair. But expect to hear from me soon." He glances up at me. "And congratulations." He grins.
"For what?"
"Ah, Mary hasn't gotten hold of you yet." Temperance smiles with some secret knowledge. "You'll know why soon."
"Give me my dog," I snap, pulling Archie from him. Holding my dog with that smug smile. No thanks, bozo.
"I'll let you know what Mr. Grand says."
Temperance shows himself out. I make my egg whites and spinach, eating at the kitchen table, then get into workout gear and head to the gym in my building. I've got it to myself and hop on the rowing machine. CNN is playing on the big TV.
Reginald Grand fills the screen—he’s got reptilian eyes set deep into a puffy face. The man is balding with grey, oily skin, and jowls that shake as he speaks. The tv is on mute so I can't hear him but his lips are moving and there is something gross about them. The shot goes wide, and his wife is standing next to him. She is almost as tall as her husband, with brown hair pulled tight to her scalp and her mouth set in a deep frown. Resting bitch face. My heart goes out to her. She’s probably a nice lady but with a face like that it’s hard to tell. There is a bit of the librarian shushing unruly teenagers about her.
I plug my headphones in, and Grand’s voice comes through. "We've got to keep these criminals out of our country. Rapist and murderers are flooding over our borders." He pauses, looking out at the crowd, his lips pursed and chin high. “I am the only one who can stop them.”
I stop rowing to pull the headphones out of my ears and find the controller so I can turn off the TV. I don’t need to listen to that crap.
My grandmother escaped the Nazis and found safety on these shores. Roma are often called gypsies and are thought of as thieves and beggars, but they are a persecuted people who did what they had to in order to survive. Close to 500,000 didn’t survive the Nazis. My grandmother and I don’t get along and I can’t forgive her for the mistakes she made—not that she’s ever asked for my absolution—but she’s hard working. If she ever stole anything, or killed anyone, the crime came from desperation.
I pick up the rowing bar and push back, releasing a breath. I’ve killed out of desperation and duty. Pulling the rowing bar to my chest and leaning back so that my abs engage, I take a fresh breath. I’ll never kill out of hate.
There are some lines I won’t cross.
Mary is all smiles when I show up at her office. She comes around her desk and hugs me. "I've got some great news," she says, motioning for us to sit down by the window, where she's got a couch and two chairs.
"I'm dying with anticipation," I tell her.
She grins. "Well, what is the one role that could make you an even bigger star than you are now?"
"I've had one successful movie," I point out. "So I imagine there are a lot of roles that would help."
She nods, too eager to listen. "Star Wars!" she blurts out.
My jaw loosens. Star Wars...
"They are making a new episode. And you're going to be the star—a young Jedi woman. The most powerful Jedi ever."
"Really?" A smile is breaking out on my face.
"Yes." She grabs my hands. "The money is amazing. And you're getting a piece of the box office." She smiles smugly. "I'm a hell of a negotiator."
"Mary, this is amazing."
"I know."
"Who’s directing?"
"Troy Woods!"
He's huge—his last three films made as much as the freaking Matrix franchise. Crap on toast. Mary is squeezing my hands, and I can't even speak. She laughs. "You have a few months until you start shooting."
"I'm…this is..."
"Oh, I know. You've arrived."
I nod, my voice lost in the wonder of the moment.
Temperance's congratulations came back to me—he knew about this before I did. Did he help make it happen? He certainly acted like he did. Is Troy Woods an asset as well?
"Woods wants to meet you as soon as possible."
I shake myself out of my stupor. "Yes, of course. When?"
"I'll let you know." Mary stands. "Come on, I'll take you to lunch and give you all the details. We need to celebrate."
She goes to her phone and buzzes her assistant. "Bradley, please let the paps know I’m taking Angela to Petunia's for lunch to celebrate a major new role."
I look up at her…God, she plays this game well. She should work with Temperance. Maybe she does already…
Mary grabs her purse and a jacket out of the closet. Turning back to me, she laughs. "Come on, let's go."
I pick up the bag Archie is sleeping in and follow her out the door. When we arrive at the restaurant, a few photographers are already waiting. They snap shots of us getting seated at an outdoor table. The clicks continue as a bottle of expensive champagne arrives, and Mary and I click our glasses. They wander off by the time our appetizers arrive.
"This is obviously a game changer," Mary concludes after detailing the lucrative financial package, then going on about foreign rights and future roles. I sip my champagne and pick at my tomato and burrata salad, a weight growing in my chest. A game changer, yes—but whose game?
Chapter Twelve
My lungs burn and music pounds in my ears as I run around the empty indoor track. Sweat slicks my body, and there are no thoughts in my head, just the beating of my heart matching the throbbing of the song.
I'm in the zone.
My eyes flick down to my watch. I'm meeting Synthia in ten minutes. It took two weeks to get back on her schedule. I pump my legs harder, pushing against all resistance and breaking through another layer of myself. This is power.
When I can't keep up the pace for even one more breath I let myself slow down, my entire body tingling with effort, my chest heaving with exertion. I slow to a walk and continue around the track, slowly regaining my composure.
Synthia’s fit form appears in the doorway, and she waves. I give her a big, breathless smile, crossing the large space toward her.
We meet in the middle. "You're
looking good," she says, running her eyes over my body.
"Thanks, I've been trying to stay in shape." I give a sheepish smile. "It's not easy on the road."
"Lots of tempting food."
"And not enough time to exercise."
She nods, her brown eyes sympathetic. She is fit in the way that few humans will ever be. With long, lean, sculpted legs, a stomach carved by hours of hard work and a strict diet, and shoulders that could probably carry me around, Synthia is a pure professional.
"Come on." She waves me to follow. "Let's hop in the boxing ring."
I nod, pulling my hair tie out and gathering up all the locks that escaped during my run, then refastening it as we head into the next room, where several boxing rings are lined up.
It's empty now but will fill soon. The gym opens in twenty minutes. They let me in early because I'm a big star meeting a world-famous trainer. There isn't one cell in my body that feels bad about that.
Synthia ducks under the ropes, and I follow. She passes me gloves, a mouth guard, and helmet. I fit them all on, the plastic of the mouth guard satisfying against my teeth.
Synthia’s eyes fall onto my shoulder, which has largely healed in the weeks since my return. "Something going on there?” she asks before putting in her own guard.
I give a small shrug and pull out my mouth guard to answer. “Had to have a mole removed.”
She gives a sympathetic nod. That’s normal. I slip my mouth guard back in and bite down. The lying comes easy.
We touch gloves and then begin our dance, circling each other, gloves up, eyes narrowed. Once again my heart starts to beat hard, my head clears out, and I feel weightless. Ready for anything.
Synthia lunges, surprising me with a kick that knocks me back, almost landing me on my ass. I catch myself, but she's still coming, a jab connects with my chin, knocking my head back. She's not playing today.
I get my hands up again but backpedal into the ropes, and she's on me, pummeling my stomach so that I have to drop my arms to shield my midriff. Synthia responds with an uppercut to the jaw, jangling my brain.
She punches my gut, and I curl over. Another uppercut and I'm on a freaking rollercoaster, her fists the track, my body the unwitting car.
A Spy Is Born Page 12
