Chapter 8
PRESLEY
Fridays were my least favorite day of the week.
Dash didn’t work on Fridays unless he’d gotten behind.
He’d put in long days early in the week so he could spend Fridays with Bryce and their boys.
Emmett and Leo loved to duck out early and get their weekend party started.
When he’d lived here before, Isaiah used to stick around in case a last-minute walk-in showed, but now that we had the other mechanics, he was gone early too.
And without Draven, that left me alone in the office, watching the clock tick toward five.
The slowest hours of the week came on Friday afternoons.
But not today. I couldn’t wait for this Friday. I’d driven to work with jitters this morning that had yet to fade.
I had no idea what time Shaw would come to the office, but when he showed, I’d be ready. I’d worked ahead the last few days, preparing so that once he arrived, I’d be off the clock and all ears.
My afternoon cup of tea was steaming. My foot bounced on the floor. I’d be a mess if Shaw made me wait until five.
He didn’t.
At ten after three, his gleaming SUV pulled into the lot.
“Hey.” He walked into the office and whipped the sunglasses off his face.
“Hey,” I breathed, the air from my lungs stolen by the square cut of his jaw and his glittering eyes. The man was handsome to distraction.
I hadn’t seen much of Shaw since the evening he’d helped me unload groceries at my house. His vehicle had been missing more often than not whenever I came home from work. I’d done my best not to watch.
I’d followed my normal routine and lived like that house was empty.
I didn’t check the windows when I heard a car drive by.
I didn’t turn down the television at night so I could hear the slam of his door.
A movie star might live next door, but I refused to treat him differently than I would any other neighbor.
I respected his privacy that much.
Except . . .
Then the nights came. I’d retire to my bedroom and slip into my pajamas. I’d settle underneath my covers and fluff my pillow. But instead of closing the blinds like I had for years, I’d leave them open. I’d crack the window.
Only when the light from his bedroom window shone across the expanse between our homes, twinkling in my own room, would I be able to relax and sleep. I’d had a hard time falling asleep whenever he was gone at night because there were too many questions rattling through my mind.
Was he working? What had he done for dinner? Was he with a woman?
The nighttime hours were the only ones when I couldn’t seem to control my obsession with Shaw Valance.
“Would you like some coffee or water?” I asked.
He gave me a sideways glance, like he didn’t trust my offer’s sincerity. To be fair, it was the first time I’d greeted him without a glare. “Water, but I’ll get it.”
“It’s in there.” I pointed to the waiting room and filled my lungs as he disappeared to fill a cup.
The foot I’d been holding flat on the floor began bouncing. My limbs felt loose and uncontrollable. The electricity between us, the anticipation of this discussion, was unnerving.
Shaw unsettled me with his bright gaze and I lost track of my wits. The more time we spent around one another, the harder it was to keep up the icy facade.
It was a miracle I’d managed to kick him out of my house on Tuesday.
He’d been funny. He’d been entertaining and kind.
How was I supposed to deal with a charming movie star standing in my kitchen?
When I’d bent to put my carrots in the fridge, I’d lingered inside the door, hoping the chill would cool me down.
The man walked into a room and the temperature spiked. It was no wonder he was melting me into a puddle.
Shaw emerged, a paper cup of water in hand.
The way he walked was so . . . graceful.
Manly. His hips swayed with confidence, like every step had been preordained.
He knew exactly where to place his foot to make his leg look as long as possible.
He knew how to highlight the perfect curve of his ass and draw attention to his zipper.
When he sat, the muscles on his shoulders and arms tightened, showing off the definition between the sleeves of his shirt.
I was so used to seeing men in T-shirts, bulging arms covered in tattoos on display. Shaw’s button-ups and rolled sleeves hid the bulk of his biceps, hinting at what I knew to be sexy muscle beneath.
He set his water on the desk and the smooth cotton stretched, revealing the definition of his bicep. It disappeared when he leaned back, placing his hands on the armrests, making his shoulders look impossibly broad.
“So where do we start?” he asked.
Right. We were talking about the movie. I tore my eyes away from his shirt and shrugged. “It’s your movie.”
“Then the beginning.”
I shifted in my chair, rolling it over an inch or two until he was directly in front of me and his words would hit me straight on. “Okay.”
“It starts with the murder. The scene is all about Amina, and it’s not a pretty one.”
Then no matter what she said, I would not let Genevieve see this movie. I knew Isaiah would be on board with me too. “Does it show Marcus?”
Shaw shook his head. “You don’t know he killed her until near the end. It’s just Amina, her eyes aimed at the ceiling and a trickle of blood coming from her mouth.”
Maybe I wouldn’t be seeing this movie either. I’d been debating back and forth, but I was leaning toward no. “Who is playing Amina?”
“Dacia French.”
“Oh.” They weren’t holding out on the cast, were they? If Shaw was one of Hollywood’s most notable and in-demand actors, Dacia French was his female counterpart. She was equally as beautiful and as captivating on screen as Shaw.
I’d recognized Dacia in one of the pictures with Shaw on the internet. They’d been a couple once, hadn’t they? Were they still? Was she in town? I hadn’t heard, but true to my vow, I’d been steering clear of all things gossip.
It didn’t matter. She’d be gone, like Shaw, before winter. “What happens next?”
“The next morning, Marcus arrives on the scene at the motel,” Shaw said without hesitation.
He was trusting me with this. I knew it was confidential and he was violating a rule, but he kept talking anyway.
“He examines the body and starts the investigation. He finds out that Draven was there the night before. He walks around the property and finds the knife in a field. He crouches down and pulls an evidence bag from his pocket. He picks up the knife and sees Draven’s name engraved on the side. ”
“I bought him that knife. For Christmas.” I turned my gaze to the window. “I wish I had bought him socks instead.”
“Listen, if this is too hard—”
“No.” I shook my head. “Keep going.”
“Marcus rejoins the cops in the room. They tell him the victim’s name is Amina Daylee. He tells them he knew her once, long ago. Then it flashes back to the time they met, as kids. That’s how the whole movie goes. It follows his investigation at the time but jumps back in time.”
“How did they meet? In the movie?” I knew how they’d met in real life. Marcus had been Amina’s neighbor. When she’d moved to town, he’d lived next door, though a few years younger.
“As neighbors.” He raised an eyebrow. “How am I doing so far?”
“So far you’re authentic.”
He chuckled. “That was such a good word before I met you.”
“Keep going.”
“The next scene is him arresting Draven.”
“Where?” I’d been here the day Marcus and two officers had come and arrested Draven. We’d all been here.
“At a garage.”
“Which garage?”
“A fake one in LA. None of us wanted to try and shoot scenes here.”
So they weren’t completely heartless or insensitive about this film. “Thank you for that.”
I would have had to be the one to tell them no, because I answered the phones and would have taken that call.
“The next scene is in an interrogation room. We’re doing that in LA too. Then it’s another flashback of Marcus and Amina walking home from school one day. They’re friends. And when it cuts back to him in his office, he’s sad that she’s gone.”
Marcus probably had been sad. Maybe he’d been angry. Maybe he’d been heartbroken. But as far as I was concerned, he didn’t get to feel anything for Amina but shame. “See? Now you’re making me mad. The viewer is going to sympathize with him.”
“Probably,” Shaw admitted. “If I’m doing my job right. The next scene is him on the phone with Genevieve. She calls to find out about the investigation. He promises to get justice for her mom. She cries. It’s hard for him to hear.”
My molars ground together. “No one should feel bad for Marcus Wagner. I hate this.”
I understood what they were doing. The audience would be shocked. They’d drive home from the theater with popcorn kernels stuck in their teeth and wonder if they’d missed a hint or a sign at the beginning of the film.
Fucking Hollywood.
“I know, just . . . stick with me.” Shaw’s pleading eyes made me clamp my mouth shut.
“The next scene is one from the past. Marcus comes to the garage to ask Draven questions about a guy who was beaten at a bar. Marcus thinks it was Draven or someone from his club. Of course, Draven knows who did it but he’s smug.
He doesn’t say anything incriminating and Marcus has no choice but to let it go. ”
They’d show Draven as the bad guy and Marcus as the cop who couldn’t seem to take down a criminal.
The most infuriating part was that Shaw wasn’t wrong.
Draven hadn’t always been an upstanding citizen.
Even after the club had disbanded, there’d been some questionable activities.
But I’d kept my mouth shut about a lot of things that I’d seen happen or comments I’d overheard in my years working here.
“Is it wrong?” Shaw asked.
“Keep going.” It was the only answer he’d get.
“The next scene is in the present again. Marcus is talking to the prosecutor about the case. He’s . . . excited. Hesitant.”