L.A. Confidential (5 page)

“For old times' sake,” she said, even as she pressed her body against his. In one practiced movement she was up on her toes, her lips pressed to his. She was a beautiful woman, not half bad in bed, and he felt absolutely nothing—not a twinge, not a spark, not anything—nothing except some vague semblance of pity that she'd stoop to throwing herself at him.

Gently, he pushed her away even as a little voice in the back of his mind urged him to just do the damn show. After all, it wouldn't kill him, and she must really be in a bind if she was that desperate. But he didn't intend to compromise his principles. Not for Alicia, not for anybody.

“Go home, Alicia.”

She clung to him, the bourbon clearly getting the better of her, as he maneuvered them toward the swinging doors. He almost tripped over her feet, but finally managed to get her steady.

When he looked up, he almost dropped her again.

There, standing right in front of him, was the love of his life. The woman he'd wanted to marry. The woman
who'd walked out on him. The woman who made his blood boil.

The woman he needed to forget.

A tiny smile graced her beautiful mouth. “Hi, Ken,” Lisa said. “I was hoping you'd have a minute to talk.”

 

L
ISA WATCHED
as a flurry of emotions passed over his face. More tersely than she would have anticipated, he said goodbye to the woman named Alicia. Then he turned to her, his face devoid of emotion, and steered her toward a secluded table. The pressure of his fingers on the small of her back sent a once-familiar chill racing down her spine as they moved through the near-deserted restaurant.

Oxygen had changed very little in the past five years. It still had that air of quiet elegance that Ken had worked so hard for, and she let her gaze drift over the few remaining guests as Ken led her through the room.

Although a part of her dreaded having to explain why she needed help, for the most part, Lisa was proud of the way she'd kept her voice steady despite the shock of seeing Ken with another woman surgically attached to his lips.

She'd known it would be hard seeing him face-to-face after so much time, but what she hadn't expected were the stabbing needles of jealousy she'd felt when a waiter had pushed open the swinging doors and she'd caught a glimpse of their embrace. And that jealousy made her more than a little uncomfortable. She was here for a job, not to strike up a relationship. It had been five years. Whatever had once been between them was long over. He could kiss whomever he wanted whenever he wanted. It really wasn't any of her business.

Still, she had to admit to feeling a small sense of satisfaction when his eyes had widened and his mouth had opened. She'd never forgotten him, not one detail, but she'd always feared that somehow he'd managed to put her out of his head, that he wouldn't recognize her if he saw her again.

He'd recognized her, all right. And there was no hiding the white-hot anger mixed with desire that clouded his eyes. She'd seen it, plain as day, and her stomach had clenched from the knowledge that she'd hurt him so badly the pain was still raw.

That look was gone now. He'd erased it in an instant before sending the woman he'd kissed on her way. And now, as they arrived at a table by a window overlooking Sunset Boulevard, he was nothing more than coldly professional.

“Have a seat.” Ice dripped from his voice. He pulled out her chair, then sat opposite her across the table, the hard angles of his face seeming more stern and foreboding in the flickering candlelight.

She licked her lips, trying to cure a severe case of cotton mouth. She saw him focus on the movement, a hint of desire flashing in the deep blue irises, and she relaxed a tiny bit. Maybe he wasn't as good at turning off his emotions as he liked to pretend.

Almost as if realizing he'd revealed something of himself, he ripped his gaze away, then roughly pulled back his sleeve to reveal his watch. “I've got fifteen minutes before I say good-night to the last guests.” He paused, his eyes meeting hers, and this time they reflected only annoyance. “Why are you here, Lisa?”

She flinched at the harshness in his voice, but didn't let him rattle her. Of course he was going to be upset.
But she needed his help, and that meant she had to stay calm and reasonable.

“Lisa?” he repeated as she counted to ten. “What do you want?”

What did she want? Well, that was the question of the hour. Fame, fortune, to right past mistakes, to rebuild burned bridges. But there was no easy way to say all of that, and in the end she simply said, “Help. I need your help.”

“My help?” His forehead creased as he leaned back in his chair, regarding her, an unfamiliar coldness in his eyes. “All this time, and you walk back through the door and announce you need
my
help?”

She nodded, her eyes burning with the effort to hold back tears. Part of her wanted to throw her arms around him and tell him she was sorry for the hurt, sorry for being so focused on her career, and to beg him to tell her all was forgiven.

But that was a selfish dream. For one thing, while she'd never meant to hurt him, the truth was that she'd done what she needed to do, and she'd do it all over if she had to. She had to get her career off the ground.
She had to.
Five years ago, that meant leaving him. Today, it meant begging him for help.

“Why, Lisa?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion. “Why should I help you?”

She couldn't stop the single tear that escaped, tracing a path down her cheek. “Because once, a long time ago, you told me you loved me.”

“I
DID LOVE YOU
.” He struggled to not let his voice betray him, because if he was honest with himself he probably loved her still. Loved her, hated her, and everything in between.

Every emotion had gathered into a tight knot in his gut, and it was all he could do to keep his voice steady, to hold on to the control he worked so hard to maintain.

Lord knows, no other woman had ever affected him as much, had ever gotten under his skin the way she had. Passion, lust…love? He didn't know. All he knew was that she'd poisoned him, infected his blood, shaken his self-control—and that was what had really thrown him for a loop.

She seemed to shrink away, probably in part from the dry, emotionless tone of his voice. But that was the only option—either no emotion, or let loose with every emotion that was raging within him. He'd opened himself once to Lisa Neal. He wasn't the kind of man who made the same mistake twice.

“Will you help me?” Her voice was small, pleading,
and he had to wonder what was so important that she would come to him after so many years.

If he were a stronger man, he'd tell her to go away. He'd tell her that five years ago he would have done anything for her, but that now he had no interest in helping her, no reason to help her.

But, dammit, he wasn't that strong. And he was curious to know what twist of fate had brought her back to him after so much time. After caring so little that she could simply walk away, what now spurred her to gather her pride and come knocking at his door?

He signaled for Chris to bring them a bottle of wine, then leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. “What is it you want me to do?”

Relief flashed in her eyes, but she was smart enough to know she wasn't home free yet. She pressed her lips together, then folded her hands primly on the tabletop. Chris slipped over, dropping off an uncorked bottle of a Napa cabernet and two glasses before drifting back into the shadows. Lisa eyed the bottle, so Ken poured her a glass, sliding it to her side of the table.

She gulped it, downing half the glass in one swallow, then took a deep breath before meeting his eyes again. “Things didn't work out in New York,” she said.

The fury he'd been containing bubbled to the surface, his head filling with noise as blood pounded in his ears. “So, since things didn't work out with Tyrell, you're rushing back to me?” He spat out the words, not even trying for civility.

For a moment she looked shocked, then she reached down to pick up her purse. “I'm sorry.” She stood. “I shouldn't have come. I don't know what I was thinking.”

For just an instant he considered letting her walk away, letting her leave his life again—and maybe this time she'd leave his heart, too. But he couldn't do it. He caught her arm as she moved past him.

“Let go.”

“Lisa,” he whispered, and damned if his voice didn't hitch. “I'm sorry.” He nodded toward the table. “Please. Sit down.”

She hesitated only a second before slipping back into her chair. This time she didn't look at him, and instead concentrated on her wineglass. “Like I said, my plans in New York didn't work out.”

“But I saw the trades. I even watched a few movies that you'd worked on with…him.” He couldn't bring himself to say Tyrell's name.

She looked up, her eyes misty. “You watched my movies?”

His heart twisted, but he tamped down the tug of emotion, needing to stay clearheaded.

She didn't wait for him to answer. “You must not have followed my career after that.”

That much was true. He'd been so infuriated that she and Tyrell had become a couple, that he'd quit paying attention, deciding that he'd simply been torturing himself by paying any attention at all.

“Let's just say I wasn't able to parlay my work on those movies into anything else after Tyrell's production company bottomed out.” Despite the flat tone, she couldn't hide the sadness in her voice.

An intense urge to take her hand, to soothe, caught him by surprise, and he fought to keep some distance. She'd hurt him, and it would take more than concilia
tory words to make amends. “So what have you been doing?”

“This and that. Nothing like what I'd planned, that's for sure.” Her mouth curved up into an ironic smile. “Lately, I've been doing temp work.” She took a breath. “Until now, anyway. Now I've got a real shot again. A decent break.”

“And you need my help.” His words were sharp, his tone cutting.

She nodded, just one curt movement of her head.

“Even if I wanted to help you, I'm not exactly involved in the film scene. What could I possibly do?”

“Winston Miller is shooting a sequel to
The Velvet Bed
in Los Angeles. I'm his location scout. It's my job to find a dozen or so super-sexy locations around Los Angeles to film at.” She shrugged. “Not the greatest job, but if I nail it, Miller's offered me a producer credit.”

“Which is exactly what you always wanted to do.”

She rolled her eyes. “Right. Except I wanted to work at a studio. But any producer credit now will get my foot in the door. And it'll get me back to Los Angeles. Back to the heart of the industry.”

“So what do you need me for?”

She licked her lips. “The restaurant. Oxygen. Miller wants to film here.”

He balked. Not so much at the request, but at his almost immediate, unexpected reaction to open the doors for her. He'd never allowed a film crew on site.
Never.
And just moments ago he'd turned Alica down flat when she'd made essentially the same request.

“I know it's asking a lot…” She trailed off, the tip of her finger tracing a pattern on the wineglass.

“It is.” Disconcerted, he stood, ran a hand through
his hair. “I have to go get ready for closing. Meet me tomorrow. Breakfast. Hugo's at nine.”

He hadn't meant to meet her eyes, but he couldn't help it, and when he did, he saw that they were wide and full of hope—hope he'd put there. And damned if he didn't like the feeling.

“You'll help me?”

“I'll think about it.”

“Thank you.”

As if she knew the moment was tenuous, she stood quickly and kissed him lightly on the cheek before slipping past him.

“Don't thank me yet,” he whispered, even though she'd gone. He didn't have a clue what the hell he was doing or why he was doing it. And he wasn't inclined to examine his motives right then.

One thing, though, was certain—his motives were anything but pure.

 

H
E WAS DRUNK
, and it felt nice. The liquor had dulled the pain of seeing her again, of knowing she was there because of what he could do for her, not because she wanted to see him. The knowledge made him feel raw, especially since every atom in his body still wanted her. Despite the fresh waves of hurt and anger that washed over him when he thought of her, the bottom line was, he wanted Lisa in his bed. He always had.

But he'd lost that chance years ago. She'd probably thought of him as some sort of country bumpkin, out of place among the L.A. power players. She'd supported his dream, but she'd never really believed he'd be one of them. Not a player. Not as she intended to be. And in the end that meant she needed a man other than Ken. A
man like Tyrell who could help her get where she wanted to be. Ken may have been an enjoyable dalliance, but he wasn't permanent material, not for someone like Lisa.

Disgusted with himself for dredging up old hurts and insecurities, he tossed back the contents of his glass, letting the slow burn of whiskey eat away at his despair.

“You should slow down,” Tim warned, even as he topped off Ken's drink. The restaurant was closed and dark, but Tim had stayed around, apparently sensing an aberration in his friend's usually predictable life.

“I don't have to drive home.” Ken tipped the glass back, took a long swallow. “Keep it coming.”

Four years ago it had seemed easier just to move into the hotel. His dreams of having some sort of home life had crumbled around him, and the hotel had the advantage of built-in maid service, easy access to work, the constant thrum of activity to ward off loneliness. The perfect living arrangements. At least, that's what he told himself.

“I'm going to pull the plug soon. You're so trashed you'll get cited for a D.U.I. in the elevator.”

“This is twice now she's done this,” he said, his fingers tightening on the glass as he ignored Tim's comment.

“Who's done what?”

“Lisa. Used me as a damn stepping stone.”

Tim poured himself a shot of bourbon and sat across from Ken. His boss's mind tended to go a mile a minute anyway, so Ken was always at least two steps ahead of everyone else. Usually, though, Tim could catch up pretty quick. Tonight, he was lost. “Come again?”

“Five years ago I was the romantic interlude on her journey to find a lover who could help her career. Now
she's back, and—surprise, surprise—it's all about her job again.”

Tim took a long swallow, trying to decide what to say. He'd known Ken for seven years, and Lisa for almost six. He'd spent countless hours with the two of them, heard them laughing and teasing as they painted the restaurant or poured over plans. He'd seen the way she'd begged a blanket from housekeeping when the late hours got to Ken and he fell asleep behind the unvarnished bar.

No woman could tuck a man in so gently, with such a soft look on her face, and not feel real, deep emotions. Lisa'd loved Ken, all right. But that didn't change the fact that she'd left, and now Tim didn't know what to say, didn't know how to help ease the pain.

He decided to not say anything, just simply asked, “What does she want?”

“To film inside the restaurant.”

“Whoa!” Tim knew better than anyone how Ken felt about keeping a mystique surrounding Oxygen. “What are you going to do?”

“I'm not sure.”

Tim frowned. He'd expected a rousing refusal. No one filmed inside the restaurant, and that included ex-girlfriends and objects of obsession. That Ken was even considering the possibility was not only a bit unnerving, it was also very, very interesting.

Ken picked up his glass and swirled the liquid, watching as the melting ice clattered against the sides of the tumbler. The liquor had fogged his head, true, but not so much that he didn't know exactly what he was doing. “I'm thinking of a little tit for tat.”

The plan was forming even as he spoke the words. Decadent, yes, but extremely appealing.

“What do you mean?” Tim asked. “You're going to let them film here?”

“Possibly. She wants to use me. Maybe I want to use her, too.” Hell, maybe he
needed
to use her. Maybe that was the only way to set the past aside.

With a clarity he was used to experiencing only in his business deals, the plan came to him full-blown. Since Lisa, he'd had his share of women, but not one had satisfied the hole she'd left in his heart. He'd loved her, true. But he was long past love. He had to be. Any emotion left was just residual and, more than anything, he needed her out of his system, needed to break through the red wall of anger pressing up against him.

But he also wanted her.

Lust and revenge, a potent combination.

Potent enough to throw his principles out the window? Potent enough to let her into Oxygen?

He ran his hands over his face, remembering all those nights when he'd longed to sink himself into her. He'd held back then, so sure that one day she'd be his wife. Well, he'd lost then. She'd walked out, leaving him with nothing but memories and an ache in his heart.

He didn't intend to lose now. So help him, he wanted her.

Tim was watching him, disbelief in his eyes. “You're not thinking what I think you're thinking?”

Ken half smiled, knowing Tim would disapprove. “Since I can't read minds, I couldn't say.”

Tim shook his head. “Be careful, buddy.”

“I'm always careful,” Ken said, slamming back the rest of his drink.

“You need coffee. You're not thinking clearly.”

“On the contrary, this is the most focused I've been since I started thinking about the anniversary.” He moved toward the door, only slightly unsteady on his feet. “Lock up when you leave,” he called, even though he knew Tim would.

He headed for the elevator, planning to hit the sheets immediately. But when his alarm went off the next morning, he realized he had no memory of getting from the restaurant to his suite, much less getting into bed. Since he was still wearing his suit, he apparently hadn't put too much thought into the endeavor.

With a groan, he sat up, one hand pressed against his temple to keep his brain from spilling out his ears. He almost called the front desk to have them stop the damn construction, until he realized the pounding was all in his head.

Memories of the night before flickered through his mind, scattered and indistinct.
Lisa.
Lisa was the only impression that stood out. The only real memory in a haze of illusions. Lisa…and his plan.

Stumbling into the bathroom, he pressed his hands against the counter and stared at the mirror. His reflection stared back, stern and unblinking. Could he really do this? Did he still want her so much—and did he want retribution so much—that he was willing to make sex a bargaining tool? That he was willing to sacrifice his hard-and-fast rule against filming inside the restaurant?

He took a deep breath. Anger or lust, he didn't know, it didn't matter. The answer was still the same—
yes.

Ken shut his eyes against his reflection's reproach.

Lord help him, yes.

 

H
UGO'S WAS JUST AS
she'd remembered it. A popular breakfast spot on Santa Monica Boulevard in the heart of West Hollywood, it was a favorite hangout among gays and straights, the trendy and the hungry. When she'd lived there, it had been Lisa's favorite place to grab a weekend breakfast, and she'd become addicted to the pumpkin pancakes.