Page 38 of The One for Forever

There’s a flicker of something like concern in his face before he covers it up. He tosses the rest of his iced latte into the trash. “I’m afraid our fifteen minutes are up, Miss Ainsley. Hope we can do it again. But call first next time, will you?” He lowers his voice. “And feel free to leave the bodyguard in West Oaks.”

With one last smirk, Christian nearly sprints to the elevator.

One moment, he was cozying up to me. The next, he was gone. What does it add up to?

Rex steps up beside me, sipping his coffee. “What do you think?” he asks.

“The man’s hiding something. But I still have no idea if he’s the secret witness.” I tap my chin. “Maybe I should’ve had dinner with him like he asked. He might’ve wanted to let me in on his secrets, but you scared him off.”

“Not happening, princess.”

I know he’s joking. But something in his tone reminds me of that long-ago prom night. When Rex stepped in as my protector because I had no one else. But he didn’t see me as an equal. Why would he see me as one now?

To Rex, I’ll always be untouchable. Exactly why I’m supposed to be over this crush.

Yet those flutters inside me have turned to a profound ache.

“You all right?” Rex asks softly.

“Excuse me,” a young woman interrupts. And I’m grateful for it. I blink away the sting in my eyes and focus on her.

It’s the receptionist from Hayworth Productions.

“You’re the lawyer from West Oaks, right?”

“Yes.”

She tilts her head, pulling us to a shadowed part of the lobby, sheltered from the view of the elevator bank. “I overheard you ask about Kendall,” she whispers. “Thompson’s personal assistant. You’re looking for her?”

“I am. I wanted to speak to her about the Printz trial coming up. I hoped to catch her at work today.”

She shakes her head. “No chance of that. Because Christian fired her. It’s so shitty. She worked for Thompson for years, and then his son just kicked her to the curb. Don’t tell anyone I said that. But it’s true.”

I share a glance with Rex. “Do you know why Christian fired her?” Rex asks.

“She finally had enough of his crap and told him so. Braver than the rest of us. But now she’s unemployed. Probably won’t work in the industry again.” The receptionist hands me a Hayworth Productions business card with a number scrawled on the back. “That’s Kendall’s new cell. Trust me, she’s got plenty of time to talk to you. Maybe she can help you with whatever you’re looking for.”

I slideinto the booth across from Kendall Simms. “Thanks for meeting me on such short notice.”

“Not like I have anything better to do. I already sent out my daily batch of resumes, and I doubt I’ll hear anything back.”

We’re in a cozy, old-school diner near the 405 freeway. When I called Kendall’s number, she was eager to meet. Rex is sitting in another booth, keeping watch. We both agreed that Kendall might feel more comfortable talking to just me. Rex can be intimidating. And after the meeting with Christian Hayworth, Rex’s protectiveness seems to be turned up to max.

Get your mind off the man, I tell myself. I focus on the young woman in front of me. She’s in jeans and a stained tee, a stark contrast to the business wear and designer fashion on display around Century City. Kendall is an unassuming woman. Light brown hair, a pretty face, and a mousy demeanor. From the redness in her eyes, I’d guess she hasn’t been sleeping.

We order cups of iced tea and slices of pie.

“I was so sorry to hear how you left Hayworth Productions.”

“It’s okay. You can say I was fired. Or maybe shit-canned is more accurate, given the scene in Christian’s office.” She grimaces. “Not my finest moment.”

“You worked for Thompson a long time, right?” I ask.

“Since I graduated film school. Twelve years.” She sighs. “He was like a father to me. Officially I was his assistant, but I was more like his apprentice. He was always so kind to me. Which is rare in this town. Truly a gem.”

I remember she said similar things when we interviewed her before. But I understand she needs to share again. For some witnesses, the prosecutor becomes their confidante about the deceased. Someone they can show their true emotions to when they otherwise keep those feelings bottled up inside.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, resting my hand over hers.

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