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I barged into his office at a quarter to eight, when I knew he’d be having his job-well-done drink, a weak shot of brandy to round out his day. I slammed the door open hoping he’d spill it, but he just looked up, tired-eyed, and sagged where he sat.
“What is it, Eric?”
“Lacey Hall? Are you kidding?” I slammed the door shut this time. The bang made him flinch. “You couldn’t have warned me? A little heads-up?”
Sam beetled his brows. “A heads-up? For…?”
“For, oh, I don’t know. Being cast with the devil?”
“You mean your whole feud? I thought that was a joke.” He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m sorry if Lacey caught you off guard. But you never let on that it bothered you, your whole back-and-forth. I thought you were in on it. A stunt for the press.”
“You thought I was in on it.”
Sam shrugged. “It made sense.”
“Well, I wasn’t. We weren’t. I really can’t stand her.”
Sam made a pained face. It made him look older. If I hadn’t known him since high school, I’d have thought hewasolder. Forty at least, with those deep forehead lines. He reached for his drink, found it empty, and sighed.
“It’s how long?” he said. “Twelve weeks of shooting?”
“Yeah. About that.”
“You can deal with her that long. A Berg film’s worth it.”
“Award bait, I know.” I stifled a groan. “But seriously, Lacey?”
“Forget about Lacey.” Sam sat up straighter and loosened his tie. “This’ll be great for you. A real career boost. It's a chance to show off your emotional chops, to prove you can play more than your standard tough guy. This could be yourCop Land. YourSherrybaby.”
I made apffsound. Sam didn’t seem to hear me. He shuffled the papers piled on his desk.
“I wanted to talk to you about your suite in Oahu. I checked the reviews for your hotel, and it’s fine, but it looks like the beach-facing rooms are more noisy. But I know you’re an ocean guy, so—”
“I don’t care about that.”
“Well, you’ll be there three months, so maybe you should.”
“Or you could care for me. Isn’t that your job?” I was being an asshole. A king-sized dicknose. But all through that table read, I’d been riding Berg’s edge. Fueling my anger, only to quash it. I was still fuming. My chest still felt tight. If I didn’t let loose soon, I might just explode. Sam didn’t deserve to get caught in the blast.
“Sorry,” I said. “I should head out.”
Sam jumped up. “Wait.”
“Can’t we handle this later? I’ve had a long day.”
“I hear that,” said Sam. “Mine’s been rough too. I thought we could stop by the Rio for drinks.”
I’d had my hand on the doorknob, all set to storm out, but the rasp in Sam’s voice stopped me in my tracks. When I took a good look at him, I could see he was tired, and not just long-day tired. This looked like a long week. Maybe even a whole lousy month. His skin was smudged purple under his eyes, his hair mussed on one side. I let my hand drop.
“Hey. You okay, man?”
“Yeah. I’m all right. But I could use a boys’ night. You know, like old times.”
I blinked.Like old times?Hadn’t we just been out toasting my Emmy? That had been, what? A couple of months back? No, the Emmys were in January, so more like a year. I felt my guts twist. How had that happened?
“Yeah,” I said, hoarse. “Let’s go get some drinks.”
Sam called a car and we headed for the Rio. He got us in through the back so we wouldn’t get mobbed, and straight up the stairs to the VIP loft. From our corner table, we could see the whole club, the hustle of the dance floor, the teeming bar. Our drinks appeared at our elbows as though by magic, an old-fashioned for me, a gin sling for Sam. He took a deep swig and let out a moan.
