Page 87 of Act Like You Don't Care
Today I was having a pina colada themed snack with a kiwi-pineapple-coconut juice mix and a tiny coconut protein cake that wasn’t half-bad.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Miles pulled it out and glanced at the message, then put it away.
“If work needs you, we don’t have to stay,” I offered. We’d started the actual filming early—just before I hit thirteen weeks—and while I didn’t want to cut my time with Miles short, being on the set of a Margaret Grant film was amazing.
He shook his head. “It’s just Jim.”
“He still sleeping on your couch?” I asked with real sympathy. Things hadn’t gotten any better after what the family had taken to calling ‘Odette’s episode’. Jim had landed on Miles’s doorstep just before our last doctor’s appointment, looking for a place to crash while he and Odette ‘worked things out’. Having seen it play out a million times around me since I’d moved to L.A., my guess was that they would be splitting for good shortly if something serious didn’t change. “Look, if it helps fix things between them, I’ll talk to Summer.”
“And then what will be the next thing she comes to you for?” Miles said wryly. “She’s not your responsibility.”
“Jim’s your brother.” I almost saidJim’s family, but caught myself just in time. It felt a little too intimate for the relationship I was trying to manage. “I don’t really know him, but this has to be tough for him. Hollywood itself is tough.” Casually, I picked up his fork and took a bite of his cheesecake. “Wow. After Wirechild is done, I’m coming back here for about three servings of this.”
Miles laughed and took his fork back to take a bite himself. “I might come with you.”
“Deal,” I told him.
We were quiet for a few minutes. I wasn’t sure what was going through Miles’s mind—probably his brother’s marriage issues—but I was debating whether or not I should even go ahead with the other thing I wanted to talk to him about. I checked my phone for the time and decided that I might as well ask. The worst he could say was no, but being Miles he’d probably agree. “Do you want to go look at a house with me?”
He froze with his coffee halfway to his mouth. “A house?”
I nodded awkwardly. “I think I’m going to move. A condo isn’t the best place to raise a child. I’d like to have a yard for him or her to play in, you know? Like I always had.” And bedrooms. One for my mother when she wanted to stay. One for the baby.
One for Miles, in case.
“Where were you thinking about looking?” He still looked startled and I wondered if I’d been wrong to think about asking him.
“I’m not sure,” I confessed. “I have to decide if I’m going to rent out the condo or sell it first. I’ve been playing around in the real estate market the past couple of years whenever I had extra money—I could maybe sell one of those. But I need to get closer to my payout for Wirechild before I can really start shopping.” I paused to eye him curiously. “What?”
He laughed. “I remember wondering why you didn’t have a big splashy condo when we first met. Now I know.”
“Oh.” Then I laughed too. “Yeah, they’re all held by a corporation, registered in… Montana, I think? I forget now. But that way it can’t be traced directly to me.” I thought about it for a moment, wondering if I should put the house in the corporation’s name too. Which brought me back to where the house should be. “What about where your parents live? It seems like a good neighborhood.”
“How much are you wanting to spend?” he asked me.
I propped my cheek on my fist. “I’m going to have to sell the condo, aren’t I?”
“Depends.” He set his coffee down. “We can look around different neighborhoods.”
“Yeah.” I sat up again and played with my protein cake while I thought. “I probably need something with a gate anyway.”
He nodded. “On the bright side, I can get you a good deal on a security system.”
I laughed and let his humor blow away the disappointment.
Movement caught my attention from the corner of my eye. Not a tourist with their cell phone held up, but a photographer with a real camera. “Shit.” I took a last long drink from my glass of juice and crammed the protein cake into my mouth. “Gotta go.”
“What’s wrong?” Miles leaned back in his chair and somehow managed to twist himself around with the movement so he could look in the direction of the photographer. “Ah.” His phone buzzed again, he pulled it out and shook his head, then shoved it back in his pocket. “I’ll call him back later.” He cocked his head at me. “What do you want to do?”
“Leave,” I told him. “I need to get back anyway.” What was a photographer doing here?
He nodded and stood up, holding out his hand to shake mine like it was a business meeting.
I stared at him for a second, and then my brain caught up with him. “Good idea!” I shook his hand like we’d been here discussing business and then we left, heading in different directions.
Only, as usual, he’d driven me to the doctor’s appointment.
My phone rang and I answered it. “He’s following you,” Miles said.
