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“No,” said Manning shortly. “You figure it out. The longer this bitch roasts in hell, the happier I’ll be. Make sure she never gets back to me or my wife,” he commanded before clicking off.
I don’t take orders well from other men but my professionalism kept me calm and cool. I owed it to Levast to figure this out … and I owed it to myself.
15
Rafe
The Los Angeles sunshine was unbelievably bright, the glare painfully reflected off of windows, cars, anything shiny. I felt out of place in my dark suit and mentally made a note to instruct Santino to pack something lighter next time. Of course, I’d hopped on my plane the moment I got a hold of Green Guys, so Santino hadn’t had much time, but I hadn’t expected the city to be so oppressive either.
Because it was. Hollywood was dingy, hardly the glamorous, bright lights big city made out in movies and books. Instead it was strip mall after strip mall, Korean grocery stores and Laundromats endlessly lining the faceless roads that seemed to go on forever.
I came to a square block of a building, painted pale pink, the attempt at Art Deco falling face flat, appearing like a decrepit dollhouse instead. The name Green Guys was emblazoned on the door in peeling letters and I knocked although what I really wanted to do was to bulldoze this place and then maybe torch it afterwards, it was so grimy and gross.
The lock clicked and I let myself in, going up to the second floor.
A blonde woman who was fake in all ways greeted me from behind a desk, her lips like Lisa Rinna on an acid trip.
“Mr. Connor, we’ve been expecting you,” she simpered, giving me her biggest smile. “Please come into the back.”
I followed her through a set of doors to a suite decorated with a desk, a couch, a video camera, and a big screen TV. Okay, this is how porn places outfitted their conference rooms. Made sense, I guess.
“Can I get you anything while you wait?” the blonde purred. “I’m Candy,” she added unnecessarily, batting her lashes at me.
“No thanks,” I replied shortly. The faster this blonde got out, the cleaner I’d feel.
“Well, just let me know,” she cooed, “I’m just outside.”
“Okay,” I said in a clipped voice, refusing to look at her. Ugh, were all LA girls like this? The receptionist was just so fake, big tits that joggled like balloons, a face that was straight out of funhouse mirror.
I paced in the small room and when the door finally opened again I spun around, expecting to see some seedy producer, probably some paunchy short dude, fifty with a big gut. But instead, there stood Jenna.
“Rafe!” she gasped. “What are you doing here?” her cheeks colored.
My body got hard at the sight of her but I maintained my iron control.
“I should ask you the same thing,” I said harshly. “Here to do some filming again?”
She looked down at the floor.
“It wasn’t me,” she whispered. “I’m not the girl in the video, although I don’t expect you to believe it.”
I wasn’t sure what I believed at this point. I was inclined to accept the truth, but seeing the girl in person, mixed emotions crept over me. She looked so vulnerable, so lost, that I couldn’t help but feel protective, my natural male instinct rising to the fore.
I looked closely at my woman. She was thinner, that was for sure. The luscious curves were still there but instead of a solid wholesomeness, she was slimmer, more willowy. Her hair was still gloriously golden, but she’d scraped it back from her face, her oval chin now clearly delineated, the blue eyes looking even larger than before, overwhelming her features. Hmm, Jenna had been going through some hard times.
“Thank you for the bracelet,” she murmured softly, her eyes pleading with me silently, big pools of aquamarine.
Oh that. Right. “You’re welcome,” I growled. I’d actually picked out the bracelet myself, not leaving it to my secretary per usual.
But it was time to get to business.
“So did you or didn’t you?” I asked directly. “Is that you in the video?”
“Rafe,” she replied slowly. “I swear it wasn’t me. I’ve done some dumb things but nothing like that, I promise.”
“What about drugs?” I asked harshly. “Is there some way you were under the influence and don’t remember?”
She blanched a bit. “There’s no way anyone could be under the influence and have no recollection of a scene like that. I’m not sure who they found as my replacement, but she’s a ringer for me, almost a real twin,” Jenna replied softly.
And those words made me pause. I knew that Jenna and Tina were fraternal, looking nothing alike, but could it be possible? Could Jenna have been switched at birth? Maybe her real twin was the one doing the porn. I couldn’t shake the idea, my brain buzzing with possibilities.
