“And you?” I asked.
He smiled. “Kitty Kat.” He didn’t say more on the subject. “We can’t call you since your phone records are being checked. While I’m not ashamed of us, I don’t need to screw up the investigation. I’ll get in touch with you later.”
With a wink, he was gone.
Screw up the investigation.
I had nothing to do with Erin’s murder, but I was tangled in it. Being with Nix and Donovan could screw not just with the investigation, but with their jobs. Fucking a suspect probably wasn’t a good idea. If I were cleared, then was us being together okay? I didn’t know the nuances of the law, but I knew they were the ones putting their careers on the line. Not me. I had no career.
I climbed from the bed, my earlier happiness about being in Nix’s bed pretty much gone. Alone, reality returned.
I found my overnight bag on the vanity in the bathroom. I showered, using the soap and shampoo that smelled like Nix, and pulled myself together. Nix had packed me jeans and two shirts, sandals, toothbrush and hairbrush. He’d included no makeup or hair products, so while clothed, I’d certainly be casual.
As for underwear, he’d found the sexiest and skimpiest silk panties and matching bra. Knowing how Nix felt about me, about what he liked to do to me, it only made my pussy clench in eagerness for him.
After making Nix’s bed, I sat at his kitchen table as I worked on my first cup of coffee—someone had left a full pot for me—and called Eddie Nickel. He answered on the second ring. “Hi, Mr. Nickel, this is Kit Lancaster.” I tried to sound bright and cheerful.
“Kit! You caught me on a break between shoots.”
He sounded very upbeat for first thing in the morning. I was finishing my first hit of caffeine, but it sounded like he was on his fifth.
“Eddie, remember? No one calls me Mr. Nickel.”
He was casual. Far too casual for my liking, but I had a feeling that was the way of Hollywood stars. Everyone knew him, therefore everyone was a friend. In his forties, he hadn’t quite hit over-the-hill status in films. For men, they didn’t age, they matured. He was handsome, incredibly so. He knew it. Women flocked to him which gave him the validation he clearly craved. I’d never fawned over him. He wasn’t my type. Erin was—had been—friends with his daughter, Poppy. We’d all gone to school together.
I liked Poppy. As for Shane, he was a year ahead in school, but our paths didn’t cross that much. They were both really nice and well-adjusted considering their father’s ego and his being off shooting a movie more than he’d been at home, but I learned early enough to be jaded about rich parents. Money could buy pretty much anything, except love. Parents who actually gave a shit.
“Right.” I stirred my coffee with a spoon, even though it didn’t need it. “I’m sure you’ve heard the news.”
“A detective notified me yesterday morning. Awful.”
My mind flashed to finding Erin dead on her floor. I paused, s
wallowed, pulled myself together.
“Obviously, we missed our meeting with you,” I plowed on. “I know your movie will go on even with what happened to Erin.”
“Yes, we have a deadline to wrap up shooting here in Cutthroat in three weeks.”
“Right, that’s why I was calling. Did you want to meet later today to talk end-of-shoot party?”
“Kit, Kit, Kit.” His voice sounded as if he were scolding. “We can’t work with you now. I mean, there’d be bad press. The movie’s event planner was murdered. That’s what the tabloids would latch on to, not the movie itself.”
I set my elbow on the table, rested my forehead in my hand. “But—”
“You’ve done great work, but my assistant has found someone else.”
He had no clue what kind of work we’d done. It had been all behind the scenes tasks, planning a venue, caterers, band, for the party. He was full of shit. And he wasn’t going to change his mind. I knew his kind. Rich, self-centered, thoughtless. I felt sorry for Poppy.
“I hope they find out what happened to Erin. Good kid.”
He hung up. Good kid?
I groaned. Loud. Stood. Paced. Tried to rip my hair out.
Eddie Nickel’s production company had been Mills Moments’ biggest client. Our biggest money-maker that would have lasted almost a year in events and projects for the movie they were shooting now. We’d hoped they’d use us for future work as well. This work was why I’d returned to Cutthroat.
Now? Only one other client remained, a baby shower scheduled for next month. I looked up the hostess’s number, introduced myself when she answered. “I’ve got the invitations ready to go to the post office.”