Chapter 18
The Los Angeles Area Code
Eddie
“You want another round?” the bartender asks.
I nod and shove my empty glass toward the edge of the bar. “Yeah. Why the hell not.”
“What is with you, man?” my friend Mike asks, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “You need to cheer the fuck up.”
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
Total lie, but hopefully, he won’t push it. Bad luck for me, he does.
“Did something happen with that chick you were seeing? What’s her name… Kiki?”
“It’s over,” I reply with a shrug, trying like hell to look unaffected. “We had a good time. That’s all it was.”
Mike takes a slow pull from his beer as he studies my face.
He knows I’m lying. Hell, everyone knows I’m lying. At least he’s not calling me on it.
“Well, you know,” he says, leaning in to jab me in the ribs with his elbow, “the best way to get over someone is to get under someone new.”
He thumps me hard on the back, and I sputter my beer. “Jesus Christ, man. That shit worked when we were twenty-five.”
“Dude, you’re thirty, not eighty. Go get laid. You’ll feel better.”
The truth is, Mike’s right. I should get laid. I should have fun.
But I don’t want to. I don’t want any other woman but Kiki… even after learning the truth.
I drag a hand over my face, my jaw tightening as I stare down into my beer. I can’t believe I told her I loved her. Can’t fucking believe I said those words out loud. More than once, too.
And for what?
So she could look me dead in the eye and tell me I was filling a void? A goddamn void.
A bitter laugh scrapes up my throat. I choke it down.
I thought it meant something. The way she looked at me, the way she touched me… I thought she felt it, too.
Turns out I was a fucking placeholder.
I take a long swallow of my beer, hoping like hell I can drown Kiki’s memory if I drink enough. It doesn’t work. Nothing does.
Images of her remain, running laps in my head like a treadmill with no off switch.
I shouldn’t care. Not after the way she tossed me aside like yesterday’s garbage. Not after she made it clear exactly what I was to her.
But I do.
Because for the first time in my life, I fell in love. Hard. Fast. All in. And I got fucking obliterated.
Thankfully, I haven’t seen Kiki in the last few weeks. That’s about the only positive thing I can say, which is surprising considering the size of Sparkwood.
But I’ve been hanging on the fringes, drifting back to some of my old haunts—places closer to where Deirdre and I used to live. My friends are here, I know the bartenders, and there’s zero chance Kiki shows up.
Win-win, right?
Yeah. That’s what I keep telling myself, anyway. If I say it enough times, maybe it’ll start to sound true.
It doesn’t.
I wonder if she’s found someone else to fill the void.
Not that I want to know.
And maybe Kiki is right. My situation… being a single dad, the bullshit with Deirdre, it’s a lot. And she’s got enough on her plate without taking on my crap too.
Not that I’m forgiving her for the way she treated me. That will never happen.
Hell, for all I know she decided to give it another go with Drake.
I bite back a belch, the sour taste of beer coating my tongue at the thought of her giving that bastard even an inch of space in her life.
Right now, he’s locked away, unable to touch her. But I’ve heard rumblings. Talk that Drake’s got some kind of ace up his sleeve—something that might let him walk free.
With enough money and power, you can buy just about anything, right?
I press the heel of my hand against my eye.
Eddie, you’re not doing this anymore tonight. You need to forget about Kiki. The same way she forgot about you.
Nicole, one of the regulars here, slides onto the stool next to me, shooting me a flirty smile. “Look what the cat dragged in. Long time no see, Eddie.”
“Yeah,” I say, lifting my beer. “It’s been a while.”
“Where’ve you been?” she asks, leaning in. “Last I heard, you were shacking up with some woman, and—poof—gone for weeks. Is that still a thing?”
I shake my head and motion to the bartender for another beer. “Nope.”
You’d think a one-word answer would shut this down. Not Nicole.
She tucks her hair behind her ear, angling toward me like she’s got all night to hear my tale of woe. “Didn’t end well, huh?”
I shoot her a look. I’ve seen this play before.
Don’t get me wrong, Nicole’s good-looking. She’s fun. We’ve hung out plenty of times, playing pool, shooting darts, drinking beers and having a few laughs.
But she doesn’t give a damn about my broken heart, and I sure as hell don’t want to discuss it.
“Nothing to end,” I mutter, taking a pull from my drink.
She grins, not buying my words for a second, then glances up as the bartender heads our way. “How about this. You buy me a drink, we grab a pool table, and figure out how to turn that frown of yours upside down?”
I huff out a breath. Look at that, I didn’t have to go looking for trouble. She walked right in and sat down next to me.
I know Nicole likes me. She’s hardly subtle about it. And honestly, I’ve thought about it before.
But then I met Kiki, and I couldn’t think about anyone else.
Maybe I need to reconsider Nicole as a possibility, because right now, anything is better than this.
Look, I’m not trying to sound like a heartless dick, but Nicole’s not looking for anything serious. She’s told me as much on several occasions.
Seems like that’s something we have in common now.
I nod toward the bartender. “Get Nicole whatever she wants. Put it on my tab.”
My phone rings, and I shift to pull it out of my pocket, glancing at the screen.
No one I know. Los Angeles area code. Probably a damn telemarketer.
Not happening. Not tonight.
I let it go to voicemail, but it rings again.
Goddamn it. Persistent asshole. Time to read them the riot act. Release a bit of my pent up anger.
I slide off the stool and nod toward the pool table. “Hey, Nicole, why don’t you rack ‘em up? I’ll be right there.”
She winks and walks away, ensuring I get a full-on booty shot. “Not a problem, handsome.”
I step outside, my breath catching as a blast of arctic air slaps me in the face. A couple of guys linger near the entrance, smoking cigarettes, and I shake my head as I walk past them.
Look, I’m not judging but Jesus, it’s below freezing out here. Is the cigarette really that important?
Then again, my sorry ass is out here, too.
My phone rings again. Same number. Third time is a charm. “This is Eddie Landry.”
“Here I thought you were ignoring my phone calls.”
It’s a deep voice. Smooth. Confident. Definitely doesn’t sound like a telemarketer.
I frown into the receiver. “Sorry, who is this?”
“Nolan Montague. Who else would be calling you from Los Angeles at this hour?”
Everything in me stills.
Nolan Montague. The Hollywood director. The massive mansion restoration I put a bid in on weeks ago. It had been so long since we spoke last that I figured I didn’t get it.
My brain goes into a full-on demolition derby, as dozens of thoughts crash into each other, but all I manage is a casual, “Oh, hey, Mr. Montague. How are you doing?”
“Just Nolan, remember? Mr. Montague was my father, and he was a bastard.”
A short laugh escapes me. “Fair enough. What can I do for you?”
“Sorry for the delay,” he says. “I needed to go through everyone’s plans and see which ones meshed best with my vision for the house, before I made my decision.”
He pauses, stretching the silence long enough to make my jaw tighten, and I’m this close to demanding he spit it out when he finally does.
“You’re the perfect man for this job.”
My heart stutters, then damn near stops altogether. I swallow hard, forcing myself to breathe through it, to keep my voice steady.
Because Nolan doesn’t realize this is the biggest job I’ve ever landed.
Sure, I’ve worked big ones before, but on those I was just a cog in a much larger machine. This one? This baby is mine. The decisions, the final say, the vision—mine.
Damn, I needed this break today.
“I promise I won’t let you down. Me and my guys, we’ll get it done exactly the way you want it. When do you want to get started? It’s a quiet time of year for us, so just say the word. We’ll be there.”
My mind reels at a million miles a minute. There’s so much to do. Set up the crew, order supplies, establish the plan.
Fuck, I’m giddy.
“Hang on a moment,” Nolan says, interrupting my reverie. “I have a non-negotiable caveat to this deal.”
Should’ve known there’d be a catch.
Still, I force out a slow breath, determined not to let it rattle me. Maybe it’s something stupid, like he wants us all to wear white on the job site.
Hey, the man may be a film genius, but most of those types are eccentric as hell. I wouldn’t put anything past him.
“Okay… I’m pretty sure I can work with requests, considering you’re footing the bill.”
Nolan chuckles. “I was hoping you’d say that. You told me you worked with a designer on those plans. Kiki Wilder, right? I loved her ideas for the interior.”
My mouth goes dry. Hearing another man say her name—my woman’s name—hits wrong.
Asshole. She’s not your woman anymore. Remember?
“Eddie? Are you still there?”
“Yeah,” I manage, scrubbing a hand over my jaw. “Kiki is an extremely talented designer. She gave me some great ideas for your place.”
“Well, I want her on the job too.”
Say what now?
“Uh, that might be tricky.” I choose each word carefully to buy myself time, like a viable excuse might show up if I stall long enough. “I don’t think she’s available.”
Low laughter emanates from the phone. Seems no isn’t a word Nolan hears often.
“Well, damn it, man, is that the issue? An easy fix. Tell her it comes with a twenty-five-thousand-dollar bonus for each of you if she can make herself available. You’re a smart guy.
Make it happen. As soon as you’re both ready to roll, the job is yours. ”
And I already know the answer before I ask my next question. “If I can’t get her?”
There’s a lengthy pause, which is all the response I need.