Page 42

Chapter Thirty-One

N ancy

Liam wasn’t in the lobby. Nor in the parking lot. Nor in the showcase halls, or the alcoves, or the vending machine corners, or the lounge, or the gift shop, or the restaurant. He was gone.

Sadness settled over me, like a smothering blanket.

I’d come to depend on him for feeling good.

The world looked wretched—empty, flat, boring—without him.

I was so angry. I wanted to break windows, smash furniture.

What the hell was that stunt he’d pulled, pulling the phone out of the wall without telling me?

At a professional networking event? That was manipulative.

Controlling boyfriend territory. A huge, scary red flag.

A deal-breaker, right there, all on its own merits, but it was piled on top of a bunch of other deal-breakers. A whole mountain of them.

I couldn’t have caved to his demands. It took two to make a compromise. If I blew off an opportunity like this out of fear of losing him, I would never respect myself again. And in the end, he wouldn’t respect me for it, either.

And that reflection did not help me one little bit.

“Ms. D’Onofrio? Are you all right?”

I dashed away my tears and looked over my shoulder. “Huh? What?”

“Can I help? Can I get you something?”

I blinked back the tears, tried to focus. Oh, yeah. Okay. This was Enid’s Hollywood studio exec. Big, beefy guy. Muscle going to fat. He had a sleek black goatee on his broad face, gleaming black hair. His eyes were full of concern.

I vaguely remembered this guy was significant, for some reason. Oh, wait. I was supposed to be kissing his ass. I was so completely not in the right head space for that.

“No,” I whispered. “Thanks, I’m fine.” I dug around in my pocket for a tissue. It was coming back to me now. Studio exec. Time crunch. Plane, leaving for L.A.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “We were supposed to have a meeting, right?”

“Yes, but it’s all right. I can see you’re not well,” the guy said.

My spine stiffened with embarrassment. “No, I’m fine. You’ve got a plane to catch, right? Let’s just go to the bar and have a cup of coffee.”

But Sills led her past the bar and into the restaurant.

He walked briskly past the few free booths and sat down in the strangest spot—a table, not a booth, and way in the back.

It was out of sight to all but a few of the booths, but annoyingly close to the kitchen door, which continually swung open as tray-laden waitresses bumped and bashed their way through with their hips and elbows to carry out breakfast orders.

The waitress brought us a carafe of coffee. Maitland Sills poured and pushed the cup across the table. “You look tired,” he said.

I took a deep, grateful gulp of coffee. “It’s been quite a night,” I said.

I knew in just a couple of seconds that something was wrong.

A numb, crawling feeling spread from the tips of my toes and fingers, creeping swiftly inward toward my core.

I heard my heart beating loud and fast in my ears.

I couldn’t move. I fought to breathe as my vision dimmed. What the hell? Was this a panic attack?

Then I looked into the eyes of the MGM studio exec, and my insides contracted. A flash of understanding that came too late. Those dark eyes, fixed and cold and avid. Snake-like. That mouth, so fleshy and wet. He licked his lips.

My eyes fluttered, and in those brief eyelid flickers, I saw like tiny film clips the monstrous thing he was beneath his human mask. Something twisted and foul.

His breath smelled like death.

He leaned forward, his low voice like a snake’s hiss. “Do you wonder what your mother’s last words were when she was gasping on the floor, Nancy?” he crooned. “Do you want me to tell you?”

I tried to open my mouth, scream for help. Nothing worked.

A waitress burst through the kitchen door and bustled right past us without looking at us. I couldn’t speak or raise my hand to get her attention. The open door to the kitchen let in a swell of noise. The volume diminished again as it swung shut.

He reached across the table, seized the pendant Lucia had given me. The burn of the chain around my throat kept me conscious. Snap. It broke. He pocketed it.

He got up, came around the table, and reached for me.