A Hollywood Deal (Ryder & Paige 1)

She flushes. “No. It’s personal. But we can talk afterward.”

I pull back at the stiffness in her voice. She’s never taken that tone with me, not even when she was upset over my purposely missing family gatherings or pretending not to understand what she was saying. I suddenly realize how much of her warmth I’ve been taking for granted. I never once thought it would vanish, no matter what.

I want to insist that she talk to me now, but I’m acutely aware of our audience. “All right. We can talk afterward. Just let me know. I’ll be around.”

She looks at me dispassionately and nods once. “I’ll do that.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Paige

I climb inside my old car and speed off the property.

Ryder told me to stay away from Anthony, but I don’t know if he’s as dangerous as Ryder made him sound. I’m certain most of Ryder’s worry has to do with their bitter history.

I pull over and dig out Anthony’s business card from my purse. It only has an office number. Does it forward to a voicemail, or someone who can get in touch with him directly?

I flip it idly then stop. The back of it has ten neatly hand-written digits. Underneath it says CALL ME.

Did he know I’d end up needing to talk to him when he gave me the card? My hands clammy, I text him instead. This is Paige. Can you tell me about Lauren?

When? he replies.

Now.

A beat passes by before he responds: Come to Z.

I merge into the traffic and drive to the club. Amazingly, there aren’t that many cars on the road. I spot a white SUV and a black Escalade tailing me.

I snort. Tailing. Yeah right. More like we’re just going in the same direction. I must be getting paranoid after all the uproar. Bethany texted me four times already this morning to check up on me, and I owe her a call after I’m done getting answers about Lauren.

About an hour later, I park my car in a semi-deserted parking garage a block away from Z and walk over. The club looks different during the day.

No long line snaking around the building. No lights. No throbbing heartbeat of club music. It looks as empty as an old hermit crab shell.

I knock on the main door, and it opens soundlessly. A man stands on the other side. He’s in a dark crew neck t-shirt and black shorts, revealing legs like sequoias. His arms bulge as he crosses them. “Hey, Paige.”

“Hi, TJ.”

“Mr. Blackwood is waiting for you.” He jerks his chin toward the back. “I’ll show you.”

“Thanks.”

Sunlight beams inside through the thin vertical windows. Little motes of dust float in the air, glinting. The A/C isn’t on, but it’s comfortably cool inside.

The small clacking my sandals make seem to echo in the vast empty space. It looks much bigger without anybody around.

The office is in the back, past the VIP room. The basic dark door has nothing on it except a small plastic sign that reads MANAGEMENT in all caps.

TJ knocks. “Paige Johnson is here.”

“Send her in.”

TJ opens it and stands aside to let me go in. The door closes behind me, then locks automatically with a loud metallic click.

The office is surprisingly small and plain. It doesn’t have any windows. The desk is neat with a large monitor, keyboard and mouse on it, all wired together. The wall to my right has five large filing cabinets, each one of them locked with a vertical rod through the drawer handles.

Anthony sits behind his desk in a cheap office chair with his blazer hanging off the back. The top two buttons of his white shirt are undone, and he’s rolled up his sleeves. The big watch on his wrist has several round displays, probably telling him what time it is elsewhere in the world where he has clubs and other business holdings.