Rock Bottom. Cate Masters

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      “Really. But now he’s sending you away?”

      Ignoring her friend’s incredulous look, she set her messenger bag atop her desk, wondering how much it would hold. How much her heart could hold. The situation called for positivity. “It’s been casual up to this point, but I really thought we broke new barriers this weekend. So in this new relationship zone, it’ll take a while to sort out the signals.” If one weekend in bed counted as new. Or counted for anything. Damn. She’d been so sure it had.

      “That mixed?” Zinta cocked her head in a way suggesting she’d nailed the problem. “He failed the litmus test?”

      After unplugging the laptop, she coiled the wires. “I don’t have a litmus test. Exactly.”

      “You showed him the tree houses, didn’t you?”

      Her flat tone suggested Billie didn’t need to answer. Zinta already knew.

      Billie stuffed the mouse into a carrier pocket. “Too much junk to pack.” Evasive tactics might stall her friend.

      Zinta craned down to peer her in the eye. “It’s way too soon.”

      Billie slumped her shoulders. “I know. That should come much later. I rushed it. But he might come around.” Sure, he was sending her away, but that didn’t necessarily mean he didn’t want a relationship. Maybe just not right now.

      Standing, Zinta sighed. “Honestly, you need to revise your list of Lust Haves. Cross Everett off.”

      Lust Haves. Zin liked to quantify and qualify everything into lists, descriptions, categories, goals. Billie, on the other hand, accepted what came her way with gratitude. And much less organization.

      “I have a feeling Everett just revised it for me.” He’d topped her Lust Have list. But such incredible sex couldn’t all come from lust, could it? He had to have thought about her, given her more consideration than his usual dates. Maybe even pined for her, a little.

      “Aw, honey. Play it cool. Let him make the next move.”

      He’d forced her to, temporarily. From Philadelphia to Malibu. Talk about culture shock.

      “I have no choice. He’s actively avoiding me. Of course, now he won’t have to.” She sat and opened her desk drawer, removed her digital recorder and a few notepads and pens. Whatever she forgot, she’d buy on site and charge back to the magazine.

      Zinta tapped her nails against her mug. “I can’t believe he gave you that assignment. He mentioned it earlier, but I didn’t think he was serious.”

      Zipping her laptop case, Billie tried to keep anxiety from her voice. “Yes, on an extended story. He must really want me gone.” Maybe things hadn’t gone as well as she’d thought.

      “No.” Zinta’s whine matched her pout. “I need you here.”

      “You’re the only one, apparently.” Biting her lip, Billie realized the truth of the statement. Going away might provide a better perspective on her life. And what she needed to change.

      * * * *

      The desk appeared too neat. Freakishly so. As if she’d never again sit at it to dash off a review or interview an up-and-coming band. To remedy that, she crumpled a sheet of paper and tossed it onto the desktop. Too staged. When she removed it, her stomach clenched. Would she never occupy this place again?

      After stopping by Zinta’s desk for a hug, she went to Everett’s office and stood in the doorway. “Guess I’m off.”

      “Come in. Shut the door.”

      Oh no. Here it came. The final kiss-off. She did as he said, and turned to face the music.

      He pinned her against the door, his body all hard warmth, his tongue already probing hers. “God, you taste good.” His lips curled against hers in a smile.

      Ignoring the alarm bells screaming in her head, her body melded to his. “Why–”

      “It’ll be good for us. Both of us.”

      She let her fingers wander south of his belt buckle, and made her voice breathy and low. “Are you sure?”

      Releasing a pent-up sigh, he groaned. “Yes.”

      Damn. So much for sexual persuasion. She could only imagine how ineffectual she’d be in California.

      * * * *

      Through the wispy clouds, Los Angeles sprawled below and the plane tilted into its descent. If lucky, she’d spend less than an hour in the airport, and another hour trekking south to Malibu, if the traffic gods smiled upon her. Then she could collapse on whatever cot in a closet they provided.

      Now she could unequivocally state she knew how Jet Trently felt when his life began its downward trajectory. “Luck, be a lady and plummet my jet from the sky to save me from this torture.”

      The plane touched down with not even a bump, and Frank Sinatra crooned endlessly in her head.

      No such lady. Not in California.

      All for the best. Everett wouldn’t have grieved at her memorial. More likely he’d have angled for solace in the arms of someone else. Someone younger. Less available. Despite his lust-filled goodbye, his eagerness for her departure shone through, leaving her more confused than ever.

      After collecting her suitcase from the carousel, she wheeled it toward the exit. At least the promised heat had allowed her to pack light. A few basic black essentials she could dress up with accessories. Hope sprung eternal Everett would cut her stay short.

      Outside, the sun sizzled up from the sidewalk. Even sunglasses couldn’t cut the glare. The dark suit jacket had to come off. Everywhere she looked, sun, sun and more sun. Could people go mad from too much sunlight? Might be a good angle. Would account for a lot, actually.

      Hailing a cab, she gave the driver the address provided by Jet’s manager and spent the drive with closed eyes hidden by sunglasses. When he slowed, she cleared the haze from her brain to take in Malibu. Getting to the beachfront house required the driver to meander through a high-end neighborhood. They pulled up outside a mustard-colored plaster wall with a wrought-iron gate. The driver pressed the intercom button. A woman answered, asked them to wait while she checked for Billie’s name on the list. The gate swung open.

      The immense house echoed the honey-colored wall, but its Spanish-Mediterranean architecture set it apart from the other homes. A mixture of funk and class, not at all the soulless sleek beach home she’d imagined.

      The driver set her luggage from the taxi’s trunk on the sidewalk. “Will that be all?”

      She caught the look as his gaze sidled up her thighs and rear. “Yes, definitely all.” A thought struck her. “Hold on. I do need something else.” Switching on the cell camera, she handed it to him. “Take a quick pic. Get as much of the house in there as possible.” She waved her middle finger.

      He held it at eye level, clicked, surveyed his handiwork and gave it back. “Nice.”

      “It’ll СКАЧАТЬ