Chapter Thirty-One
When I got back to the property, I pulled up to the security gates, but Victor, who worked most nights, didn’t automatically let me in. He leaned out the window of his little hut and pointed to a black Ferrari SUV that I immediately recognized.
Brody stood leaning against the hood with his arms crossed. He wore black jeans and a white T-shirt that stretched across his biceps. I didn’t feel the usual fluttery feelings, though. Instead, I felt a distinct sense of dread.
When he noticed me, he gave me a little wave.
“Fuck.”
“That guy says he’s here for you, but I can’t let him in without your permission.” Victor eyed me carefully. “If you don’t want him around, I’m happy to be the bad guy.”
I shook my head. “It’s fine. Let him in.”
Victor gave me a salute as he opened the gates and then waved Brody in.
I pulled up enough for him to file in behind me.
As he got in his car and drove forward, I gave myself exactly thirty seconds to hold my hands over my face and silently scream with my mouth closed.
How did he even know I was here? Surely he knew by now that I’d lied about the screenplay.
What if he was here to get his bedding back?
That would at least be simple, if humiliating.
He parked beside me in what was technically Eli’s spot. I almost asked him to move, but I didn’t plan on letting him stay long.
“You don’t answer your phone anymore?” Brody asked the minute he got out of his car, like he’d been holding in that sentence for the entire drive.
I walked up to the apartment door and shook my head. “Can we please not do this outside?”
With his fists clenched at his sides, he followed me inside. Marlon blinked a few times before charging at his ankles. Brody scooped him up and tucked his squirming body against his chest like a football. “We didn’t even get to say goodbye,” he said to Marlon.
“I am sorry about that,” I conceded.
I tossed my keys onto the coffee table and gathered up the decimated bowls of ice cream I’d left out when I took Brigid home. “What are you doing here, Brody?”
Gently, he set Marlon down on the couch. “What are you doing here, Vera? Everything was fine.” His voice dropped as he added, “We were fine. And then I left for Scotland and you disappeared. What the fuck? We’ve known each other for twenty years and you just ghosted me.”
I chewed at the cuticle around my thumbnail. “How did you find out where I was?”
“Don’t get mad—”
“Brody, nothing good ever starts with the phrase don’t get mad.”
He rolled his eyes. “It was Tess. It wasn’t her fault.
She was toasted at the after-party for Revenge Is a Girl’s Best Friend.
She never goes to those things and she was really letting loose.
I figured if anyone knew where you were, it would be her.
She told me you were out here with Ruby and that the sale of the script fell through. ”
“That fucker.” I leaned against the breakfast bar, my cheeks flaring with anger at my best friend for selling me out. At least she had the good sense to lie about my screenplay.
“But that can’t be the only reason you left, right?” He stepped toward me, drawing me closer with a hand on my waist.
My breath caught. This felt . . . comfortable. Easy.
But not intoxicating. Normally when Brody touched me, I was lost to the moment.
Whether it was time or distance, for the first time ever, I was able to slide a slim partition between my feelings for him and this moment.
I wondered if even unbeknownst to him, Brody was just playing another part when it came to me.
The part that would satisfy me and lull me into acquiescence so that I could play my own part as the Vera he needed.
His other hand framed my face, a manicured thumb caressing my cheek. Oh, but I did like that. My head tilted into his touch and my chest bloomed with warmth as every logical thought left my brain.
“Come back, Vera. Everything is a mess without you.”
The cloudy haze cleared, and ah, there it was. “But are you a mess?” I asked softly. “Or is your professional life a mess? Why would you want me to come back when getting rid of me was part of the business plan anyway?”
His forehead creased for just a moment before realization hit him. He cleared his throat. “You have to know that I was never going to follow—”
“Did you notice someone parked in my spot?” Eli asked as the front door swung open.
I could practically see the inner workings of Brody’s brain right there in his brow line as he placed that familiar voice.
With his hand still on my waist and his other hand cradling my cheek, he glanced over his shoulder to see Eli, who looked dead tired.
But not so tired that he didn’t have the energy to grit his teeth and shake his head.
“No,” Eli ground out. “Get out.”
I pushed Brody back and stepped out of his reach. “Brody was just leaving.”
“Uh, like fucking hell I am,” Brody shot back. “I’m here to see Vera,” he said to Eli. “Definitely not you.” He turned back to me. “What the fuck is he even doing here?”
“Vera can see you if she wants to. But not in my apartment.”
Well, that was convenient. It’s our apartment until I invite Brody in and then the place is Eli’s again.
“What’s going on?” Brody asked, turning to me in disbelief. “Wait. Do you two live together? Are you two a thing? My god, Vera. You can’t be serious. This asshole?”
“He’s not an asshole,” I said.
“I sort of am,” muttered Eli.
“Not helping,” I told him. “Brody, let’s talk outside.”
He threw his arms up like I’d seen him do so many times when he needed me to come and fix something. A publicist he didn’t want to fire himself. A costume that he didn’t like. A company that stopped making his favorite undershirts. (Yes, really.) “You just told me to come inside!” he said.
“And now I’m telling you to go outside.” My voice was firm and unyielding. It was a tone I’d used plenty of times on behalf of Brody, but never directed at him.
Eli stood with his arms crossed just in front of the door, so that Brody would have to squeeze past him, which was very childish. But then in an equally childish move, Brody let his shoulder ram into Eli’s as he walked by.
A vein in Eli’s neck twitched, but he didn’t move.
“I’ll be right back,” I told him.
“I can make him leave,” Eli said quietly. “Just say the word.”
I shook my head. “I’ll be right back,” I said again. “Can you please take a breather? This whole macho energy is not helping.”
“Sorry for not being more chill about seeing that fucking piece of shit inside my house with his hands—” He inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring. “Never mind.”
I had to fight every urge to ask him to continue and lean into every animalistic tendency and describe in detail what it felt like for him to see me with Brody.
But then he sunk down onto the couch and closed his eyes. “Just go.”