Page 76 of Professional Consult
“But I have to accept your terms?”
“No. I’ll apologize regardless, but in this case, the timing is important.”
The waitress drops off the drink and leaves, and for several long minutes, Alicia Davies stares me down.
She was born to play my role in Cruel Justice. Her beauty doesn’t make her look weak, as mine does with me. It enhances other qualities in her, bringing out the steel of her spine.
“Tell me what I can do to make it better,” I say sincerely.
“When you were babbling on and on over the phone, you said something that stuck with me.”
“What, exactly?”
“You said you wanted to be a writer.”
I think back to our talk, barely remembering that part of it.
“It’s something I’ve wanted to explore.”
“I’ll take the role, but you need to sign on to do a pet project of my own.”
My brow knits together. “You have a project?”
“Iwillhave a project if you agree to help me make it.”
“Tell me about it.”
“We tellourstory.Ourhistory.Yourlife.Mylife. How they entwined.”
“You want me to make a story about how I’m the villain in your life?”
She snorts in disgust. “No. I’m not like you. I want the truth. Both of our truths. What we went through, and what we’re still going through.”
“You must know this is going to get under a lot of people’s skin.”
“I’m counting on it.”
My whole life, I’ve kept secrets. I’ve had to. Some were related to scripts, others, scandals. My parents made me keep all kinds of secrets when the men I was working with—notable men with awards decorating their walls—leered at me. It wasn’t until I was almost an adult that I had the courage to emancipate myself, and even then, I never told any secrets. I was just happy to be free.
Perhaps it’s time I let a bunch of cats out of their bags.
“It’s a deal.”
CHAPTER18
LUKE
One Month Later
Pond Spring is good at being quiet, which is great, but sometimes I’d rather the noise in my head get muffled out.
I run patrol because sitting behind a desk is akin to torture. Barb is getting a little antsy staying in office but she understands that I need this right now.
Across the way, I see a dog happily chasing a duck, and I know a trip to Austin Wrangler’s house is going to be in order.
“Dog!Come here, boy,” I holler at the hound, because Austin never gave him a proper name other than ‘Dog’.
At the sound of my voice, his ears perk because I’ve become synonymous with treats to the canines around Pond Spring.
