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This didn’t bode well for the interview we were filming in two days.
I gave Duncan an awkward smile and sucked back more margarita.
“We need a west coast studio that I run,” Chuck said from his place at the wall of windows that faced the ocean. “I might have to sell a kidney, and a lung, to afford beachfront property, but it wouldn’t suck, having that as a view to look at every day. Karen would love it. She’s getting fed up with the city.”
My eyes raced to Hale to find his on me.
A west coast studio.
Chuck might just be talking, but this was not a bad idea.
“New York doesn’t hurt for celebs for you to interview, but I ran into three just on the way to the pool today,” Fliss said. “By the way, Malcolm Tavistock is super short. Like,teeny.”
Genny snorted.
“Really?” I asked after the aging action star.
Fliss nodded. “And he wears Speedos.”
She gave a fake shudder.
I laughed.
“He’s definitely got a Napoleon complex, he—” Genny cut herself off.
There was an awkward beat, then under his breath, Hale said, “You can talk in front of Elsa.”
Genny made no reply, just took some fish out of the oil.
Hale’s face got tight.
But I realized one issue we were having.
Genny didn’t trust me to keep my mouth shut.
I understood that. I understood that better than Hale, obviously. And what I understood was this was a distrust I’d earned. It was far from outlandish she felt that way.
But I also realized we had another problem.
Carole and Felicity were exchanging annoyed glances, and Zoey was straight up glaring at Genny’s back.
Time to do something about that, and I needed Hale to help me.
I caught his eyes and jerked my head to where the margarita pitcher and fixins were laid out on the wet bar in the living room (that was my doing, I couldn’t fry fish, but I sure could mix up a batch of margaritas).
I then went there, and he followed me.
“It’s okay, I get it,” I whispered reassuringly when we stopped.
“You do? Well I don’t,” he said loudly.
I turned my head toward the kitchen to see Duncan had taken Hale’s place at the stove, but he did it not to cook tortillas, but to do with Genny what I was doing with Hale.
Genny’s face was as recalcitrant as Hale’s.
“You have to give her some time,” I hissed.
“I’m not fourteen with my girlfriend over, putting up with the dinner part, hoping I’d be able to cop a feel when my parents took a hike. You sleep beside me. I promised you she’d be cool, you’d be safe, and she’s breaking”—he jerked a thumb to his chest—“mypromise.”
