by C. J. Thomas
“You’ve never called them losers before, but thanks a lot.” I peeled off the last dress I tried on, then pulled a red, sleeveless number up over my body. Mia zipped me. The dress had a draped neckline, which showed just enough skin to be enticing but not enough to get me thrown out of church.
“What do you think?” I checked myself out from the back. The hem hit just above my knees, and the skirt swirled a little when I moved.
“I think that’s the clear winner. I really do. It’s perfect on you.”
“Not too distracting?”
She took a step back, turning her finger in a circle. I spun around. “Not too distracting at all. Remember: You want to use your body to your advantage, too.”
I narrowed my eyes. “That’s so romantic.”
“You know what I mean. Butter him up. You know how he is. He’ll screw around with you, tease you, keep you on your toes. Keep him on his. Go for stunning. You won’t have to work hard.”
I sighed in despair, trying to keep it all straight. What was it about him that shook me up the way it did? He was just a man. I had to think of him that way, and not as the cavalier star detective who could bed any woman in the city just by shooting her one of his patented panty-melting glances.
I had many ruined pairs of panties to show for our long association.
I unzipped, pulled on my robe, and went to take a shower. In spite of my qualms over how the night would go, I wanted to be prepared for any possible outcome. That meant all-out grooming, scrubbing, scenting. Men had no idea what women went through to make themselves ready for sex. I would rather be caught dead than have Dan touch my stubbly legs. Talk about killing the illusion.
By the time I got out of the shower, Mia had opened a bottle of wine and was pouring us both a glass. “You need to relax,” she announced. “This will do it.” She led me to the sofa, demanding I sit.
“I have to do my makeup,” I despaired. “And my hair.”
“Girl, you always look great, no matter what you do. He might be God’s gift to women, but you’re no slouch, yourself. Stop over-thinking it and look at it as the chance to have a good time.” She touched her glass to mine and drank deeply.
“What if he doesn’t want to talk about work?” I asked.
“So what? Don’t talk about work, then. Talk about sex.”
I laughed. “Then when do I tell him what I think about the case?”
“Afterward. He’ll feel like listening then.”
“Unless he’s one of those guys who falls asleep right after.”
“Hmm, you’re right. During?”
I giggled. “Oh, yes. That’s not a boner-killer or anything. ‘Hey, handsome, that feels good. Listen, while we’re at it, I don’t think that case you’re working on was a suicide. Oh, yeah, more of that.’”
“Please, that’s nothing compared to some of the things I’ve heard in bed.” She rolled her eyes.
124
Dan
MY FAVORITE WATERFRONT RESTAURANT. The perfect setting for a date I’d spent years angling for. The lighting was dim, the interior full of shadowy corners where couples made naughty suggestions to each other in hushed tones. The service was efficient but discreet—nothing annoyed me more than an abrasive server. I didn’t need them in my face throughout the meal, especially when I dined with a woman like Julia.
I waited for her just outside the door to the place, on a deck which led down to the beach. There was seating out there, too, but it wasn’t nearly as intimate as the dining room. I’d bring her back here some other time, and we would dine on the water.
Was I already thinking about a future date? I hadn’t even had the first one yet. Who said I would feel like seeing her again after this? It was hardly my style. There were too many women in Los Angeles to limit myself to just one.
Then why had I been chasing just one for years?
I didn’t have the time to answer myself once I caught sight of her walking toward me. Besides, she answered the question for me. Breath caught in my throat when I took in the sight of her. She was the most gorgeous, graceful woman I’d ever seen. The dress she wore nearly stopped my heart, but it wasn’t flashy or revealing. It promised a lot more than it showed. This wasn’t the t-shirt-and-jeans reporter I’d come to know.
This was a goddess.
“Hi,” she murmured, smiling ear-to-ear. There was something touching about her nervousness.
“You look beautiful.” It came out before I could stop it. She blushed, turning her face away.
“Thanks. I’m also starving.” She did that a lot, using humor to mask her discomfort. She always broke an uncomfortable moment with a wisecrack.
“I guess we should go inside, then. I heard they serve food.” She giggled as I opened the door for her. Who was this woman who floated in front of me? Just when I thought I had her pegged she threw a curveball.
By the time we sat—at the secluded back table I’d requested—my mind was made up. I was taking our relationship to the next level tonight. The idea had played in the back of my mind for years, and went into high gear when she agreed to come out—hence the table. Seeing her made it all more real. I had to have her.
I should have been looking at the menu, but I kept looking at her. The candlelight caressed her face, lit up her eyes. I never noticed how green they were. Maybe I was always so busy focusing on the connection I felt with her when our eyes met. She glanced up at me, and my heart stopped for a second. She was the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen.
“You all right?” she murmured.
“Excellent.” I turned my attention to the menu, shifting in my seat to allow for the almost painful erection I had developed. At least it waited until I sat down.
“What do you recommend here?” she asked.
“Anything seafood-related is a good bet. They’re renowned for it.” Get it together. Get it together. Stop acting like an adolescent. Get it together. Don’t look at her tits. Damn. You looked at her tits.
The server stopped by and took our drink order. I chose a good bottle of white wine from the list. “You like wine?” I asked Julia.
“Very much.” I nodded to the server, and she hurried off. “You know your wine?” she asked, grinning.
“I know a lot of things.” I winked. She gave me that smirk, the one I was so used to seeing.
“Wine is one thing I’ve never quite understood the way I’m supposed to.”
“Supposed to?”
“I mean, when people talk about the notes they taste in a sip of wine? I taste wine. Some are good, some are bad—to me, anyway. I like what I like. Sometimes it happens to be the cheapest.” She shrugged.
I had to laugh at her refreshing honesty. “You don’t know how many women agree to smell the cork when a sommelier opens a bottle. That does nothing, by the way. It tells them nothing. They do it to seem sophisticated.”
“A lot of women, huh?” She would pick up on something like that. Always keeping me on my toes.
“More than a dozen, less than a thousand.” Again with the smirk. Her eyes were teasing, though. She looked at the menu again, and I traced the long, graceful lines of her neck with my eyes. It curved down to meet her smooth shoulders—
The wine arrived and I watched with keen interest as Julia took a sip. She smiled, and I motioned for the girl to give us both a fuller pour. She left the bottle on ice beside the table.
“This is different,” I admitted.
“What is?”
“Seeing each other this way. We’re usually working.”
“Yes, it’s usually pretty grim, isn’t it?”
“You don’t usually dress the way you’re dressed, either. It’s nice to see that you can get out of work mode every once in a while.”
“I wish I could say the same for you, but you’re always wearing those suits of yours when I see you.”
I had to laugh at my own expense. I was a clothes whore, with a closet full of suits like the one I currently wore. “I believe
in dressing the part,” I explained.
“What part is that?”
“The opposite of the clichéd lazy slob detective,” I said.
“Oh, like your partner?” I almost spit out the wine I’d just sipped. She giggled, one hand over her mouth. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that to you.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” I laughed once I got my breath back. She was too right.
We ordered dinner. With the menu gone, there was nothing for her to keep going back to. She had to face me, no matter how flustered she felt. She looked a little flustered, too. There was color in her cheeks, and it didn’t look like makeup to me.
“What do you do when you’re not working?” I asked.
“I work a lot. Work is my life.” She shrugged.
“That’s it?”
“I’m a workaholic. Phone’s always on. I can’t pass up a good story. I have to be available day or night to get the leads. I love to write. I think it shows.”
“It does. Your columns are always the most interesting, even when the topic isn’t.”
“Oh, so you read my columns?” she teased. She got me again.
“That’s what I get for trying to compliment you,” I said with a rueful smile.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Thank you for the compliment—and yes, I think that’s why. I work at it. I don’t churn out insipid garbage with an eye-catching headline. I want to inform people in an entertaining way.”
She could have made a career anywhere. Why the tabloids? I wanted to ask, but we were talking about work again. I wanted to steer away.
“So, no hobbies? No secret stash of romantic comedies you pull out on a rainy day? No knitting obsession? No book club?”
“You have the most limited view of women.” She laughed. “No, none of those things. I do like going to the movies. I guess you have to, living in this town. Sometimes I go just to watch the people I know so much about pretending to be somebody else for the public.”
“It’s sort of sick, isn’t it? Once you know about it, you can’t go back to not knowing.”
“Exactly.” She shrugged. “Occupational hazard. What do you do?”
“I run, I bike. I hike and mountain climb. I read constantly. I cook sometimes. If there’s an interesting exhibit at the museum, I’ll go.”
“Oh, putting me to shame.”
“I believe in a work-life balance, is all.”
“I guess you need to, with everything you deal with.”
“Exactly. I’d go crazy. Some cops do. They let it get to them to the point where they fall apart. It’s too much.” How were we talking about work again? She wasn’t kidding when she called herself a workaholic.
The server brought salad to the table, and the food gave us both a distraction. I wondered how to get her to stop bringing up the job so much. I hadn’t waited all this time to be with her so we could compare notes on our career highlights.
“Do you at least get out with friends sometimes?” I asked.
“On occasion. My best friend, Mia, drags me out with her whenever she thinks I’ve been sitting at my desk for too long. I used to get out a lot more—we spent a lot of time up and down the Strip in our misspent youth—but I’ve mellowed out of that, I guess. I don’t think I could hang with the youngsters anymore.”
“Oh, I know I couldn’t. I went to a party at a friend’s house not long ago. A sort of pool party-slash-barbecue. It started in the early afternoon and went all night. In and out of the pool, eating now and then, you know. I lost all track of what I drank that day. It took two days to get over.”
“How did we do it, back in the day?”
“I don’t know. Of course, the memory’s a little hazy.” We both chuckled. “So you were a party girl, then?”
She blushed. “I did my share of partying, like any girl.”
“Any pretty girl,” I amended. She tilted her head to the side with a smile.
“What difference does that make?”
“Pretty girls get into the clubs more easily. They get better service at the bar. They get asked out more frequently, for sure.” She frowned. “Tell me I’m wrong,” I challenged, teasing her.
She wanted to tell me I was wrong. She really did. But she couldn’t. Her frown turned into a scowl. “See? Told you. The beautiful get special privileges in this town.”
“Oh, so I’ve gone from pretty to beautiful, huh?”
“I already told you you’re beautiful.” I stopped teasing. I wanted to tell her she took my breath away. She undid me, the way a beautiful woman can undo a man without trying. She had no idea the effect she had.
I couldn’t, of course. But I wished she knew.
I wanted to know more about her. I had to bring us closer if this was going to go anywhere.
“Where do you live?”
“An apartment in Canoga Park. It’s affordable, and it’s a great neighborhood. A lot of interesting people.” I wondered at her affordable comment. Didn’t her boss pay her enough for being his best writer? God knew the magazine had a large enough circulation. She should have been able to afford a lot more than what she did. They probably spent so much on suppressing libel threats, there was nothing left for wages.
“I started out in the biggest dump of an apartment you could imagine,” I said. “And there weren’t many interesting people. Well, no. They were interesting. Just not the sort you wanted to invite up for coffee, unless you locked up all your valuables first.” She grinned, nodding.
Then she looked me up and down, again referring to my clothes. She stared pointedly at my Rolex. “You sure don’t live in a place like that now, do you?”
“I don’t. Though I still lock up my valuables when I have company, just in case.”
“And do you have company often?”
“Let’s just say, the company I have would give my old neighbors a run for their money.” In Hollywood, gold diggers were plentiful.
She was still giggling when our entrées arrived, and I had the pleasure of watching her enjoy the meal. She closed her eyes at the first bite of her paella, making a sound I usually only heard women make in bed. My dick jumped again, and I watched in breathless fascination as she closed her eyes and absorbed the taste of the food.
“That good, huh?”
Her eyes flew open and a blush colored her cheeks. I held up a hand.
“No, please. It’s rare to see a woman admit that she likes what she’s eating. I’m tired of watching women smile over dry salad.”
“I was never that girl,” Julia said, going for another bite. No, she was totally surprising.
She caught me off-guard, too. Just when I thought we were on a level playing field, far away from work, she blindsided me. “I don’t think Emelia killed herself.”
My eyes flew open wide and I glanced around to be sure nobody overheard us. She murmured quietly enough—besides, everybody else was busy with their own night.
Once I regained my composure, I discovered she had me intrigued enough to ask why she felt that way. My instinct was to shut her down, but she seemed so sincere.
“She wouldn’t. Not her.”
“I didn’t know you were friends,” I replied, sipping my wine.
She scowled. “Do you know anything about her?”
“Other than the movies she’s made? Not really.”
Julia leaned forward. A few curls had escaped the knot she’d bundled them into at the nape of her neck, and they brushed against her skin, drawing my eye. I ached to touch her.
“Emelia’s baby brother died of an overdose, years ago. Nobody ever talked about it, at her request. It devastated her. It was the reason she was so anti-drug. She lived a clean lifestyle. She never showed up in any of the gossip rags like mine, because she didn’t do anything to appear in them. It wasn’t a pay-off, like it is with so many other stars.”
I mulled it over. I hadn’t heard anything about her past.
“Plus, there was no note. She was so close with her parents. Wouldn’t
she have left something behind for them?”
“I’ve gotta admit, you have a point.” She sat back with a satisfied smile. “But you have to remember something: I’ve seen too many celebrities fall apart behind closed doors. Haven’t you? It’s the oldest story in the book. She might have become addicted to painkillers after some random injury onset. It happens all the time. So what if she didn’t go into drugs recreationally? She could still have gotten hooked, and it put her in the wrong mindset. No telling what she thought when she was stoned.”
Julia shook her head firmly. “I don’t think so. It’s completely out of character.”
I sighed. “If it makes you happy, I’ll keep an open mind. We’ll consider all possibilities. All right?”
She grinned, then dug back into her dinner with gusto. She was much more open to talking about other things after that. Like she’d finally gotten off her mind the thing she came out to discuss and could now enjoy herself. I wondered if that wasn’t why she kept trying to steer us toward work earlier on.
She was a piece of work. Yet, for some reason, I was more determined than ever to steer us back to the romantic date I’d planned. I was always a sucker for a challenge, especially when that challenge looked the way she did.
125
Julia
THE TIME FLEW, and after our second cup of coffee, there was no way to avoid the pointed stares from our server. I leaned toward Dan. “I think she’s trying to tell us something. Like she wants to turn this table over.”
He looked at his watch with wide eyes. “We’ve been here for four hours. That might have something to do with it.” Had we? It seemed like five minutes. “Want to walk some of that food off with me?”
“Please. I think I’ll have to walk all the way home to make up for it. I can’t believe I ate so much.”
“Is that something women are supposed to say? Like we’re supposed to tell them it’s okay to have an appetite and eat when they’re hungry?”
“Yeah. It’s in the handbook we get when we hit puberty.” I rolled my eyes. He laughed good-naturedly. I didn’t miss the way he threw an extra handful of bills onto the table to cover part of what our server lost through our lingering. A mental note was made.
