Chapter 8 Hollywood Official #2
“I have the gate code,” Vic said. “Unless he’s changed it. But probably he hasn’t, given the things I’ve seen at the Swan.”
Sam and Bex stared at her in mute disbelief.
“He gives it out to people who come and party! And I went to a party! I wish you had a better car, though, Bex, if we’re going to gate-crash.”
“It’s a Mercedes!”
“Eh.” Vic shrugged.
Bex paused with a forkful of burrito halfway to her mouth.
“But we can’t. Colin told us Christian hates Ramona.
He called him toxic. We don’t know anything about who’s at that mansion, who Christian keeps around, what kind of security he might be hiring, or even”—Bex attempted to lower her voice even more, which made it raspier but no less loud—“if he might be the one who’s done something to Ramona.
We know the statistics. If she has been hurt, it would most likely be by someone she knows well.
She ended her friendship with Christian, probably presenting him with a picture of himself he didn’t want to see. It’s not safe.”
Vic looked like she might argue, but then her shoulders dropped. “That’s solid. We should probably wait for your fake work-meeting-thing to come through and figure out who else to talk to in the meantime.”
Bex shook her head. “No, I have a better idea. Let’s get Fergus to come with us.”
Sam laughed. “Be serious.”
“I am. He’s six foot three and madly fit.”
This was true. He also had no job and nothing to do, and this morning, she’d opened her refrigerator to discover that he’d eaten all of the meals she had delivered.
When was the last time she’d asked her brother to do something for her? Anything?
Sam came up blank.
“I guess he might get a kick out of meeting Christian Stanstedt.” She yanked her fringed purse from the back of the chair and poked through it for her phone.
The blue itinerary envelope unfolded itself and dropped clumsily to the floor.
Bex retrieved it for her, and Sam shoved it back down into her bag, her heart racing.
Another one of those things to discuss when she and Bex had time alone. Not now. But soon. For sure.
She shoved the envelope down further, then grabbed her phone and tapped her brother’s contact.
Bex and Vic watched her with identical expressions of Simon curiosity.
“Sammy!” It sounded like Fergus was outside. The wind whistled through the phone.
“Hey, Ferg. Listen, I have to do something, and it occurred to me that maybe you could help out.”
“Yes.”
“Sorry?”
“Yes. Yeah. I’m there. Whatcha need?”
“You don’t even know what it is. I thought you were scoping locations in Malibu.”
“Malibu will be there tomorrow. You’re my sister. Are you headed back my way?”
Sam pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at it to make sure she’d dialed the right number.
“Is he coming?” Vic whispered. “He’s my favorite one of your brothers!”
“Um, no. Actually, I’m at Urth Melrose right now. I was hoping you could meet us somewhere we can park Bex’s car, and then you could take us to—”
“Say no more. Gotta get a shirt on, but then I could meet up with you at—Where’d you say you were going?”
“I didn’t. Beverly Hills.”
“Sweet. And you’re at Urth Melrose. Let’s get together at the Beverly-Canon garage. Grab a spot, and I’ll call you when I’m pulling in.”
“That’s a good idea.” Sam felt like she was having an out-of-body experience. Was this the same brother who’d made her pay him a dollar per minute if she wanted to be in charge of the remote control as a child?
“I’ll roll out of here in five.”
“Thanks.”
“Absolutely. See you.”
Sam put her phone down on the table. “He’ll meet us at the Beverly-Canon garage, and we’ll try Christian’s place in his Rivian.”
“That’s a cool vehicle,” Vic said.
“And he can—you know—make sure we’re safe.”
Bex studied Sam’s face, her brown eyes searching for something. Then she slid her hand across the table. Sam grabbed it, lacing her fingers with Bex’s. “Look at that. Your brother’s going to help us.” Bex smiled. “How does that feel?”
Sam cleared her throat as she studied their interlaced fingers, which no doubt would show up on social media momentarily. She bit the inside of her cheek and looked back at Bex’s beautiful smiling face. “It feels good. I think it feels good.”
“I bet it does.”
Then, unbearably, Sam was grateful for how many years Bex had been her best friend when she wanted more, because all that time they’d spent getting to know each other meant Bex understood.
She knew what it meant that Sam had asked one of her brothers for help with something and that Fergus had said yes without hesitation—a development that might have been lost in translation if they had less of a history or had gotten together too soon.
“My girlfriend,” Sam said.
“What?”
“That’s what you should call me.”
Bex’s eyes widened. A blush raced from her collarbones to her hairline. “Then that’s what I’ll call you. And what you’ll call me.”
“That’s enough.” Vic put her boba tea down. “I just ate.”
Bex’s jaw clenched. She slid her hand from Sam’s. “Jesus, Vic.”
“Sorry.” She glanced toward the women at the table beside them. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just going to retreat to my thoughts until my ears stop feeling like they’re on fire.”
They finished up in awkward silence punctuated by even more awkward attempts at conversation.
By the time they left, the handful of paparazzi who always hung around Urth Caffé had swollen to a crowd.
Pictures of Bex and Sam as a couple were worth money to the celebrity sites and online news, and they hadn’t been seen together since the immediate aftermath of the reunion special.
Vic cut a pathway through the paps, her powerful Viking thighs parting the sea of shouting men and flashing lights.
Bex held Sam’s hand. In this town, it meant they were official. Hollywood official.
They made it to Bex’s SUV and then to the garage in decent time.
Fergus was already there, smiling and waving from the open door of his truck.
He wore board shorts with sandals and a T-shirt that said “Crazy for Swayze” over a line drawing of the Dirty Dancing star in profile.
Vic was hugging him before Sam had finished extracting herself from the car.
“Ironic?” Vic asked, pointing at Fergus’s shirt.
“You’d think so, but no, not remotely.” He gave Vic a crooked smile. “Point Break was, like, formative for me.”
Bex slid a protective arm around Sam’s waist. “Hey, Fergus.”
He pointed at her. “Bexley Simon. I love you, but please don’t hurt my sister.”
“Never,” Bex said, completely serious. “Never again.”
There were a few beats where nothing filled the void but the echoing roll of tires in the garage and noise from the street, and then Fergus gave Bex another one of his crooked smiles that had convinced thousands of people to jump off a cliff holding onto a few hundred yards of nylon and have fun doing it.
“All right, then.” He rubbed his hands together.
“Tell me why you’re pulling me in on this.
I have to say, I’m pretty worked up. If I have too much fun, I might change careers. ”
Sam shot him a look, and he laughed.
Bex filled Fergus in on Macie’s visit and their amateur investigation of Ramona Watts’s disappearance. Fergus became more solemn as he listened, asking questions about everything they had learned so far. “I don’t love how dicey this could get,” he said finally.
“If you’re not comfortable, we have our plan B,” Sam assured him.
“No, I’m good. If I’m going to deliver protection, though, I don’t want to roll up like this.” He swept his hand over his daily uniform. “Hand on. I’ve got a duffel in the frunk.”
Sam yielded the front seat of the Rivian to Vic and sat in the back with Bex while Fergus changed by the tailgate.
When he came around the driver’s side, he wore dark jeans and a white button-down that wasn’t too wrinkled.
Since he’d unbuttoned one more button than was standard, rolled up the sleeves, and added Ray-Bans, he looked every inch the muscle Macie had mistaken him for.
As he pulled into traffic in his silent electric truck, explaining various features of the flatscreen on the dash to a happily chattering Vic, Sam let herself relax and take a minute to just be in the moment—on her way to Swan mansion with Bex and Vic beside her, her brother behind the wheel, the sun baking the hot pavement, the world bright and real and alive.
It was because she was looking out the window and seeing West Hollywood through the Technicolor lens of her gratitude that she noticed the woman. About her age, with dark bobbed hair. It was the same woman Sam had seen at a nearby table at the café. The one who’d been watching them.
And now she was pulling out of a parking spot just outside the Beverly-Canon garage, sliding into the stream of traffic a few cars back.