Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 102394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Back in my car, I put the key in the ignition and checked the time on my watch. It was still only nine o’clock, so I had a couple of hours to kill. Putting my hand on the gear shifter, I realized I had no place to go except my mostly empty apartment. I’d shipped my boxes and car, and they weren’t scheduled to arrive for another ten days, so I didn’t even have unpacking to keep me busy. The envelope Tom had given me sat on the passenger seat. Since I was in no rush, I decided to learn about the celebrity I was going to be protecting.
The top left-hand corner listed the date and time of the job’s start, along with the address, but when I moved on to the client’s name, I froze.
Bradley Wilson.
No way. The douchebag actor that had given Juliette a hard time. The guy had kept making her do rewrites just to feed his ego. What were the odds? There had to be tens of thousands of actors out here in LA, and I just happened to get assigned to him? I scanned the assignment sheet again. I’d be picking Bradley up at his house, then accompanying him on a three-day local press junket—media interviews, photo ops, late-night talk shows, the works. The paperwork didn’t mention the title of the movie, but just being assigned to him felt…oddly significant. Or maybe a little like fate. So I decided to lean in, take a detour before heading over to Bradley’s. It had been three months since I’d last seen Juliette—unless you counted all the times I’d stalked her social media—and even just catching a glimpse of her house in person would be great.
When I pulled up outside her place, though, I almost didn’t recognize it. The tan house had been painted bright blue, and the front yard, which used to be patchy dry grass, was now alive. There were even a few flowers planted. The garage door was open, and while I sat idling, Juliette walked out carrying a pot of flowers in one hand and a small trowel in the other. I should’ve slipped down in the driver’s seat or hit the gas and moved on so she didn’t spot me, but I couldn’t bring myself to take my eyes off her.
Juliette walked over to a flowerbed, seemingly oblivious that a man was watching her not thirty feet away. Sadly, so was her trusted bodyguard, Eddie, who sat in his car, busy stuffing his face, and didn’t even clock me idling. Juliette dropped to her knees and started digging, and I thought I was going to get away with stealing a glance at her, but then she suddenly sat up and turned her head. And her eyes landed right on me. For a second, her face lit up, and my heart started to race. Then, just as quickly, everything changed. Her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed, and her posture said don’t you dare.
The smart thing to do would’ve been to wave and drive away. But smart wasn’t the way I’d ever handled things with Juliette Ginocassi. So instead, I pulled closer to the curb and killed the engine. The look on her face told me I should stay in the car. So what did I do? Of course, I got out and ambled over.
“Hey,” I said softly. “How are you?”
She stabbed the trowel into the dirt. “What do you want?” Icy.
“Do you think we could talk for a few minutes?”
“No.”
I swallowed. “Could you listen then? I won’t take up more than a minute of your time.”
“Get off my property.”
“Juliette, I—”
She pointed toward the street and raised her voice. “Off. My. Property.”
I lifted my hands and showed her my palms. “Okay, okay.”
She didn’t wait for me to retreat before turning back to her planting. Deflated, I started the walk of shame toward my car, but it hit me that if I was ever going to have any chance with her again, I needed to say my piece. I hadn’t planned on coming here today, hadn’t planned on laying my heart on the line this morning, yet now I felt desperate to do it. So I stepped off the curb, cupped my hands around my mouth, and yelled to her.
“I’m off your property now. I just need to say a few things, and then I’ll leave.”
Juliette’s head whipped around, and she scowled. “Keep it down. My neighbors are going to hear you…”
I shrugged. “What choice do I have when you won’t let me come closer so we can talk quietly?”
Her eyes narrowed to near slits.
I took that as an invitation to continue, this time even louder. “Three months ago, when I left California—”
She abruptly stood and pulled off her gardening gloves. “Five minutes, Wes. I’m not kidding.”