Page 20 of A Spy is Born
He moves into the left lane, accelerating. “I actually have some insight into what it’s like to be a woman in this business. My sister, you know, she's an actor, too. We’re very close.”
“Right, I’ve heard that.” His sister is not nearly as big a star as Julian but has had some interesting roles in indie films. She’s tall and thin and shares his dimples, but with green eyes instead of blue.
"She's told me stories." His hands tighten on the wheel. "Even told me some stuff about Jack.” My lips go numb, and I don't respond. "Not to speak poorly of the dead or anything, but I heard the guy was a real jerk." Julian shifts again, the engine purring with delight as we speed up.
"Yeah," I say. "A lot of people in this business are jerks.” I glance up and see the turnoff for Malibu.
“We could go to your place instead,” Julian suggests. “I'm happy to hang out and leave."
"I think that's a better idea,” I say, giving Julian the address.
"Thanks for the invite,” he smiles, changing lanes and speeding toward my apartment.
I open the door with my key fob, and we step into the darkened living room. The landline phone rings as I flick on the light.
“Just a moment,” I say, passing into my bedroom.Almost no one has this number.Just my grandmother and Mary. The white rotary phone blares again—I love the weight of it, the look of it, its incredibly loud ring. The whole thing harkens back to an era when phone calls were important.
“Hello,” I answer, curling the cord around my finger, my eyes landing on Archie’s crate where he is still fast asleep.Quite the watchdog I’ve got.
“Angela.” His voice is a deep rumble, a tiger’s purr.It’s Temperance.
"Oh, hey," I say.So he is real.
“How are you?" he asks.
"I have a guest.”
Temperance chuckles softly—the butterflies in my stomach dip and whirl at the sound. "I know. That's why I'm calling. You need to get rid of him."
"Excuse me?"What is he, my father?
"Get rid of him. We need to talk." The line goes dead. I return to the living room. Julian is looking around my apartment, at the white couch with its artfully thrown pillows, the flat-screen TV and the array of vases on the mantel. None of it mine, all of it rented.
"I'm sorry," I say. "But you have to…have to go. That was my grandmother…”Ugh, when did I become such terrible liar.
Julian's brows arch. "Everything okay?"
“Yes, I’m sorry… I just need you to leave.”
Julian takes a step toward me. His tie is loosened, hanging casually around his neck, and the top button of his white shirt is undone, exposing the dip at the bottom of his throat.Seriously sexy.Julian smiles softly, offering just a hint of dimple. "Can I see you again sometime?"
"I don’t think you have a choice.” I raise one eyebrow. “Aren’t we going to be doing a massive press tour together in the coming weeks?"
"I mean just the two of us. Can I take you to dinner?"
That smile is sneaking back onto my face—the real one.He seems so sincere. He issocute. "Sure," I say, trying to hide the smile. "I'd like that."
He nods, smiling, and starts to move toward the door. I follow in his wake. Standing on my threshold, he leans back in, catching my eye. “I hope everything is okay.”
I nod, guilt at the lie sending the butterflies into a circling pattern. “Thanks.” He hesitates for a moment and then steps into the hall. I close the door behind him, leaning my forehead against it. How can I enter a relationship with someone when I’ve already had to lie to him before we’ve even gotten started?
I take a few breaths, my eyes closed, breathing in the scent of wood and the last wisps of Julian's cologne.Should I change out of this dress?It makes me vulnerable while also providing protection—hard to run in, but gives me an air of untouchability. The low neckline does expose enough to make any man hungry for me, which gives me a certain kind of power.
I've goton jeans and a T-shirt when the knock comes. My hair is still up in a complicated twist, a few loose strands tickling my neck and cheeks for effect, and my makeup is still thick, showing off all my best assets and hiding any flaws. But the gown now hangs on my closet door, the full skirts spilling out onto my bedroom floor, far too ample to be contained.
I answer, affecting an air of nonchalance. I'm not afraid to have a master spy in my apartment. This is totally normal for me—a figure from a nightmare strolling into my living room and turning to close my door. Temperance puts a finger to his lips, telling me to stay quiet. I give a small nod, adrenaline seeping into my system, raising my heart rate and sending fluttering waves of nausea through me.
He moves smoothly across the carpet, his footsteps silent. I follow him into my kitchen. Temperance glances around quickly before going to my table, pulling out a chair, and climbing onto it. Reaching up, he takes the cover off the recessed light and holds it out to me. I step forward, taking it. Temperance reaches up past the bulb and pulls out a small something with wires sticking out of it. He slips it into his pocket and then holds out his hand for the cover again. I hand it to him, and he puts it back, his eyes never meeting mine.
