Coming Soon / Hidden Gems: Coming Soon. Carrie Alexander
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in front of Bax, but wow, that had been really scary. For a minute there, she’d thought those whack jobs were going to trample her to death.
Bax. He’d asked her to call him by his first name. That meant something. And he’d been all over those paparazzi when she’d tripped. Just remembering his voice gave her the shivers. So forceful and commanding. She’d practically swooned into his arms, which, now that she thought about it, was pretty bizarre. She wasn’t the swooning type. She was the one her friends called when swooning occurred.
So why was she feeling like such a girl?
And what had that one pap asked about Geiger and the Mexico shoot? Was she remembering right? Probably not. She’d been pretty distracted, what with falling on her behind.
Back in the locker room to fetch her backpack, she met up with Lorraine, one of Piper Devon’s assistants. They talked a bit about the murder. Lorraine hadn’t worked yesterday, but she’d heard all kinds of things today.
“Geiger’s wife is planning to sue the hotel and the movie company for millions.”
“Really?” Mia sat down on the bench, her backpack forgotten on her lap. “Did she call Piper?”
Lorraine sat down, too. She was about Mia’s age, but they didn’t know each other well. Lorraine was in grad school, so her schedule was hell, but she was nice. And observant.
“She called Piper all right. Of course, Piper knows how to handle this kind of thing. She invited the wife to lunch. Tomorrow.”
“At Amuse?”
Lorraine nodded, then wiped a stray blond hair from her cheek. She, like many of the women here at Hush, tried to emulate Piper Devon’s look. They all wanted to appear as sophisticated and as together as Piper. Only a few came close.
“Of course, Trace is going to be there, too. She’ll just introduce him as her husband. Geiger’s wife won’t even know he’s the hotel’s attorney until it’s too late.”
“Odd though, don’t you think, that Geiger isn’t even buried yet and his wife is all about the lawsuit?”
“Look what her husband did for a living.”
Mia nodded. “That’s true. Greedy doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
Lorraine looked into the bathroom, making sure they weren’t being overheard. “Did you know that Danny Austen had something going on with Geiger?”
“No he did not.”
“I swear.”
“Something sexual?” Mia asked, lowering her voice to a whisper.
“So I’ve been told.”
“I thought he was trying to get tight with that actress. You know, the redhead?”
“Yeah, Nan. I met her. She seemed sweet and all, but she wasn’t shy about Danny Austen. Paul saw her in Austen’s trailer wearing his bathrobe.”
“So if Danny is with Nan—”
Lorraine shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose if you’re famous enough, you can have everybody. Maybe for them it doesn’t matter what the sex is as long as it’s sex.”
“Still, Danny Austen with Geiger? I find that difficult to believe. Geiger was a parasite. Danny could get anyone he wanted.”
“You’re probably right. Although…”
“What?”
“Jeff Crown, the guy from accounting? He said there were some pretty suspicious charges coming from Danny’s room.”
“How would he know?”
“Yeah. You’re right. I think everybody wants to be on the inside, you know? He’s probably full of crap.”
“Yeah. Probably.”
“I gotta go,” Lorraine said. She closed her locker. “See ya.”
Mia hugged her backpack as she stared at her locker. That business about Danny Austen made no sense. But then, she didn’t really know a lot of famous people. She wouldn’t have believed Geiger having drinks with the director, and that turned out to be true.
Or was it?
No, it was true. Andy, Theresa’s room-service source, wouldn’t lie about that. Mia had no idea if Jeff Crown would. She’d best take it all with a big grain of salt. She’d keep her ear to the ground. That’s all. She’d just listen.
A few minutes later, she was going out the back door to make a beeline to the subway, hoping to get past the paps without tripping or being trampled. Only she didn’t have to worry because there was Bax, sitting on the pony wall in the garage, looking rumpled and tired and wonderful. Not a paparazzi in sight.
“What are you doing here?”
“Driving you home.”
“You don’t know where I live.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“I’m in Connecticut.”
He looked a little startled, but then his unflappable face came back. “Then we’d better get going.”
“I’m kidding,” she said. “You don’t have to take me home. The subway’s right over there,” she said, pointing to her right.
“My car’s right over there,” he said, pointing to his left.
“I live in Brooklyn Heights.”
“Great,” he said, standing with a distinctive knee pop. “It’s right on my way.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why do I doubt that?”
“Because you’re a suspicious woman. Come on. Let’s do this.”
She followed him to a somewhat new Ford Taurus that she would have immediately pegged as an unmarked police car. He held the door for her, and she wasn’t surprised to find the inside was impeccably clean.
Watching him as he came around, she wondered if he was just being nice, or if he had more on his mind than simply seeing her home.
He didn’t seem the kind of guy that would want more. Especially now that they’d established their working relationship. But then, maybe he didn’t see a problem with that. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit the idea had its merits.
How long had it been since she’d been this interested in a guy? It felt like forever, but it was actually about eight months. Jean-Jacques had been nice enough. Certainly his European charm had seduced her and his accent had made her giddy. But in the end, they were both too caught up in their work worlds to have anything meaningful.
“Brooklyn Heights,” Bax said as he settled in the car. He started it up and they drove slowly through the pack of photographers lying in wait. He said something low that she didn’t quite catch.
“What was that?”
“A subliminal message.”
She laughed. “You think it worked?”
“Nope. They’re still there.”
For a while, she just sat back and watched him drive. It was still rush hour, so traffic slogged. She didn’t mind. She liked the way he maneuvered the car, not shy, but not in a death match, either. It would take them a while to get to the Brooklyn Bridge and across. For once, she was glad she didn’t live closer to Midtown.
“Where do you live?” she asked, as they made the last turn before the bridge.
“Park Slope.”
“Oh.”
“I told you.”
“I’m not right on your way.”
“Close