It was after Scott that I started thinking about leaving. It wasn’t so much that life in Quincy felt inadequate, and it wasn’t the shame that I’d felt at Moe’s. It was more that, after my experience with him, I wanted something different. I wanted to be someone different, someone without scorn, someone without a past.
Someone with a future.
CHAPTER 20
Justin Hitchins got the call when on Sunset Boulevard, leaving The Coffee Bean with a double espresso, one wheat bagel with light cream cheese, and a container of sliced strawberries. He stopped his step into the crowded street, moving back two paces, until he was safely out of harm’s way, in between two parallel-parked cars. He reached for his cell, almost dropped everything, then glanced around, carefully depositing the espresso on the hood of the black Mercedes to his right. Digging in his pocket, he answered the cell a moment before it went to voicemail.
“Morning.”
“This guy’s a fucking lunatic,” Cole Masten hissed, his voice at whisper level.
“He’s what you wanted. Did you see the dossier I emailed over with his list of cases? He’s never lost—”
“We are going to the airport right now, Justin.” There was a muffled bump across the line. “He wants me to go to Quincy now, to get out of LA. And call the production company—we’re keeping the original timeline, no delays on filming.”
Not an entirely bad plan, seeing the path his employer’s life had taken recently, but Justin swallowed that opinion in light of more pressing issues. “You’re going to the airport right now?” He would need to call the scout, see if Cole’s house was ready for occupancy, see if their local restaurants had a list of approved meals, see if… his mind jumped hurdles, moved through crowds, and had a minor panic attack all in the three seconds it took Cole Masten to respond.
“Yes, right now. I told you… insane.”
“Why are you whispering?” The Cole he knew—had worked for over thirteen years—stood straight and ordered. He hadn’t ever heard a whisper out of the man unless it was printed in a script.
“You meet the guy and tell me you aren’t going to hide in a plane restroom and whisper when you complain about him.”
Justin smiled at the visual. “Okay, when are you landing?”
He didn’t hear the response. It was drowned out by a loud horn, typical in Los Angeles, the accompanying screech of tires another norm. He turned his head, saw the Range Rover swerve, saw the blur of bright white and Xenon headlights slam into the back of the black Mercedes and realized, several moments too late, what was about to happen.
The Range Rover slammed the parked Mercedes forward, not far, but enough to collide with the minivan parked before it, Justin Hitchins a soft cushion in between the two vehicles.
The espresso sloshed up and out in the air, his cell flew from his hand, and Justin Hitchins’ world went black.
CHAPTER 21
The call went dead in Cole’s hand. He glanced down at the cell, the plane dipping, his hand bracing the wall for support, and cursed. Damn service. He pocketed the phone and opened the door, stepping out into the jet’s short hall, a bedroom to the left, seating to the right. In one of the chairs, Brad DeLuca spoke into a phone. Apparently his service worked just fine at forty thousand feet.
He stepped forward, settling into a chair across from the attorney. Justin would handle it, would have everything ready by the time they touched down. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He was just thinking about coming down to Quincy and escaping the madness of Hollywood. Maybe he needed the kick in the ass to get him there. He felt better already, every minute putting more distance between him and Nadia. Felt better with this freak of nature next to him. The man was terrifying, but he was in his corner, fighting for him. He would rip out the throat of Nadia’s puny lawsuit and eat it for breakfast. Cole relaxed against the back of the seat.
“Have you called Quincy?” Brad DeLuca spoke from beside him, and Cole swiveled his seat to face the man.
“My assistant is handling it. They’ll be ready for us.”
“I’m not staying, just dropping you off. I’ve got to get back home.” The man glanced at his watch. “I’ll call you when I land tonight. Pick up the phone. We’ll game plan then, and I’ll have a response filed with Nadia’s team by the morning.”
“Okay.” He flipped his cell against his leg and looked at the man. “This all you do? Divorces?”
DeLuca nodded. “That’s it.”
“Dismal job. Ripping apart marriages.”
The man grinned. “That depends. For me, my divorce was the best thing that ever happened. I lost a mistake and ended up marrying my soulmate. You can waste your life away, tied to the wrong spouse. Divorce can right at least one of our wrongs.”
Cole laughed. “So you’re Replacement Cupid? Steering husbands away from one mistake and on to their next?”
The man smiled. “One day you’ll thank me.”
Cole looked away. “It’s Nadia Smith. Not many women can hold a candle to that.”
“Stop thinking of her as Nadia Smith. She’s not a shrine you pray to; she’s a woman. I love my wife more than life itself, but she has flaws. If Nadia and you were perfect together, she wouldn’t have fucked another guy and served you divorce papers. You will move on from this. You will be stronger after this.”
It sounded like a crock of shit. A brutal crock of shit. It’d been a long time since anyone, other than Justin or Nadia, spoke to him without carefully selected undertones. Cole shifted in his seat and wished they’d gone by his house first. He’d have liked to shower and change, grab some clothes. No matter. First thing, upon landing, he’d find something else to wear, just to tide him over until Justin arrived. His assistant knew what to do, would catch a flight in with a month’s worth of outfits. He pulled at the collar of his shirt and rolled his neck. Maybe he’d have Justin get him a massage in Quincy. Better yet, book a full day tomorrow at a spa.
DeLuca got on the phone, and Cole reclined back in his seat, closing his eyes and trying to push the thought of Nadia from his mind. She’d looked beautiful, standing in the hotel. Beautiful and unaffected. He hadn’t expected that. It hurt, even more than the papers, even more than what he’d seen in their bathroom. It made it all worse than just an affair or a fight or cheating. It meant that Nadia could walk away from their years together without hesitation. He’d looked through the divorce paperwork. It was too detailed, too tight, to be thrown together in the last week. She had been planning this. That was what made his chest tight. And what made his head hurt was how oblivious he’d been to the entire thing. How disconnected had they been that he hadn’t seen any signs? That he’d thought they were great when they’d been on the brink of disaster?
And then for Nadia to bring up The Fortune Bottle. In the moment when they should have been discussing their love, their relationship, their lives—his movie was what she brought up, what she cared about, fought for. He suddenly remembered scattered comments from Nadia about the movie, her request to be an executive producer, her transfer of funds last month “just moving stuff around.” He groaned and leaned forward, holding his head in his hands.