Page 22 of Hotline
“I’ll take care of it.”
“And what time does it start?” I say. “I don’t want to miss a second of it.”
“I’ll make sure you won’t.”
“How?”
“Trust me.”
Trust me.
Okay. Simple, I guess.
“Okay. I trust you.”
His breathing is heavy. I can picture him in his office right next to mine, his knees spread apart under his desk to make room for his big cock.
“Talk again soon,” he says.
“Yes.” I nod. “I can’t wait.”
We end the call and I hold my phone to my chest.
It’s true. I can’t wait to talk to him again.
And I’ll be counting down the seconds.
I pushmy sunglasses down my nose.
This is the theater?
I'm sitting in the back of a convertible on Hollywood Boulevard, shoulders bare and slathered with sunscreen, the faint whisper of palm trees serving as the calm backdrop to the laughs of tourists.
The female driver comes around to my side of the car and opens the door.
"Is this really it?" I say.
"It is." She nods courteously, with a small smile. "Follow me."
The theater is absolutely stunning. A marquis glows with warm lights, and the windows are painted in gold with art-deco patterns. There's a ticket booth, but there's no one inside. A woman in a sharp uniform tips her hat to me as she gestures toward the revolving doors.
The inside of the theater is even more amazing than the outside. It's more like a palace than a theater. The marble floors shine like they're brand new. The chandelier high above me glistens like it's dancing in the moonlight.
"Did we just walk through a time machine?" I say over my shoulder to my kind driver. “Where is everyone?"
"Mr. Lennox has arranged this private viewing just for you," she says.
Okay. He doesn't want me talking to any other guys, and a movie theater is the one place you're not supposed to talk. So, that makes sense.
A cute lady with short blonde hair behind the concession stand waves me over, hands me a bag of popcorn, and asks me to give her my phone.
I pull my purse closer to my side, protectively.
"I'd rather hold onto it, if that’s all right,” I say.
“I’m sorry," she says. "No recording devices of any kind."
"I get it, I really do, but…my boss wants me to have it on me. For…emergencies.”
