Page 7 of The Man I Hate

“I’d give my left arm to meet her,” she said. “I’d let them hack it off at the shoulder.”

“Your entire arm?”

“Uh huh.”

I didn’t get wrapped up in admiring the actors, actresses, or really anyone, for that matter. In my eyes, we were all the same.

“Sever and arm?” I looked at her like she was crazy. “Just to meet someone?”

“Not someone. Lady Gaga, for Christ’s sake. The part she played in A Star is Born? It changed my life.” She glanced at me. “You’ve seen in, right?”

I’d seen the one with Kris Kristofferson, but not the most recent one. I shook my head. “I haven’t,” I admitted. “Not the new one, anyway.”

“Oh, wow. That’s crazy. Well, Lady Gaga did a marvelous job. I guess I really want to just thank her for putting her heart and soul into the part she played. Her character gave me courage.”

She looked away for a moment but then appeared to have an epiphany. “What about the cute one? She was married to Ben Affleck.” She snapped her fingers a few times. “She does the credit card commercials.”

“Jennifer Garner?”

“Yes,” she said. “Her. Have you met her?”

“I have.”

“Was she nice?”

“Very.”

“Oh my God.” She shook her head in disbelief. “This is bananas. My mind is going a million different directions wondering what they must have done that they needed your assistance.”

“To be fair to everyone involved, I generally don’t speak about my work. For the sake of clarifying matters, I do offer services other than erasing regretful acts.”

“Like what?”

I felt like I was being interrogated. The women I typically spent my time with talked very little and asked even less about my profession. She was cuter than hell, but her incessant prying into my private life was going to become unnerving if she didn’t slow down.

“Security services,” I responded. “Surveillance. Things like that.”

“Like a bodyguard?”

“I suppose.”

“Everything makes sense now,” she said.

I hoped she was right. If everything made sense to her, maybe the questions would stop. I grinned in anticipation. “Everything?”

She nodded. “Pretty much.”

Regardless of her claim, she had no idea of what types of situations I got myself into. If she knew, I doubted she’d be in the car with me. We definitely wouldn’t be going to breakfast together.

Satisfied—at least for the moment—she glanced around the car’s interior. Now seeming more interested in the vehicle’s gadgetry than with me, she traced her fingertip along the edge of the dash.

“Is this the Autobiography Edition?” she asked.

“It is,” I replied. “I’m surprised you noticed.”

“I own a car dealership in Oklahoma,” she replied. “I specialize in exotics.”

I wouldn’t have guessed her for an exotic car dealership owner. She was an extremely attractive thirty-something who dressed like a successful businesswoman and drove a new Mercedes-Benz. Considering that her auburn hair was fixed differently on each day that I’d seen her and that her makeup was nothing short of perfect, my guess would have been a high-end hairstylist.