Page 57 of My Lucky Star
She raised her brow, giving me a knowing nod. I poured her a coffee and watched her shoulders drop as she sighed with relief. Setting milk and sugar on the table, I peered past her to Emir, giving him a curt nod. Fine. He could twist my arm, but it wasn’t over yet. Once I got them out of this hotel, they had no leverage.
I’d feel bad going back on my word, but maybe I didn’t have to. Maybe they’d change their minds. Crazy ideas tended to peter out on their own. In a couple of days, they’d forget all about this and I’d never see them again.
Except maybe at the audition, my old self whispered, and my hand instinctively touched my pocket. I had a feature film audition, and it was all thanks to Cem. Could I actually go? Janie didn’t seem to consider it a problem. Maybe I could work around the film role, if I actually got it, which was highly unlikely.
I wiped the counter and turned to Lindsay. “Do you need anything else? I’ll get these guys upstairs to pack their things and drive them to the Airbnb. Then I’ll send the cleaners here to get your rooms ready. Is that okay?”
Lindsay drained her coffee and smiled. “Perfect! I’ll keep everyone in the production meeting so we’re out of the way.”
“Great. Call me if you need anything.” I flashed her one last smile and directed Cem and Emir outside.
“You made a promise,” Emir reminded me on the stairs. “I hope you intend to keep it.”
I smiled sweetly. “I hope so, too.”
Chapter 19
Cem
ICOULDN’T READ ARIAand it made me nervous. She’d seemed on edge ever since we’d left the hotel with our haphazardly packed suitcases, headed for somewhere along the coast, driving through the town center and up a steep residential street.
Aria parked behind a traditional white villa. It didn’t look as big as our first location, but as we stepped inside, I could tell someone had painstakingly restored the house and equipped it with modern conveniences.
“This is one of Napier’s oldest buildings. It survived the earthquake and fire and was restored.”
I glanced at the dark, weathered beams running across the ceiling. “It looks... old.”
Emir opened a stiff, squeaky door and peered into the small kitchen. “Why did they restore this? It’s only an old house. Small rooms. Low ceiling. Uneven floor.”
Aria glared at him. “It’s from the 1800s. It’s historical.”
“Half of Istanbul is from the 1800s,” I explained, to apologize for my brother.
We carried our luggage upstairs, examining the two cozy bedrooms. I touched Aria’s arm. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“No worries.” She hurried down the narrow, squeaky stairs, worn smooth from centuries of use.
