SLEAZE: A Hollywood Comeback Story (Book #1)

Chapter 56

Sophie didn't come back that night -- or, the next night, or the night after that. I returned home early Sunday morning, unable to stand the thought of spending another day in the empty mansion. Back in my one-bedroom apartment, I finally understood what Sophie had meant about preferring my place to hers. My kitchen faucet may have leaked and, sure, the sounds of the freeway often filtered through my windows but at least it wasn't silent. I had a feeling that three days alone in her house was my limit; anything longer than that and I suspected I'd start re-enacting scenes from The Shining. 

Although no one had seen her in days, to her credit, Sophie was still responding to texts and firing off emails as if her life depended on it. To Michael's immense annoyance, however, most of those emails seemed to involve Sophie's legal team and the slew of publications that had written unflattering stories about her over the past six weeks. 

"She's completely lost it," Michael said to me Friday morning while we waited for our orders in a local coffee shop. He'd ordered an Americano and, judging by the way his eyelids drooped, I doubted it'd be the last one of his day. "I mean, she's threatening to sue magazines that actually like her: Star Daily, You and Me News, L.A. Scoop... I spent half of yesterday trying to convince her lawyers not to file any suits and the other half apologizing to the editors she's accusing of libel."

He shook his head as the barista behind the counter called his name. Michael reached for the cup, then changed his mind and asked, "Can I get whipped cream on it?" 

Popping off the lid, he handed his Americano back to the curly-haired woman, who drew a spiral of cream around the mouth of cup. Michael smiled. "Thanks."

My order was called next and Michael's eyebrows rose slightly when I went to collect it. When I returned to his side, he eyed my cup with a judgmental expression in his eye. "What?" I asked, stopping at a table to add more sugar to my drink. 

"Nothing, sorry. I just, uh, never realized it was possible to get a 'caramel coconut mocha' here."

"With an extra shot of espresso and chocolate drizzle," I added, then shrugged. "Everything is possible."

Michael looked down at his own cup and then back at mine. "Does it even taste good?"

"Want to try it?"

"No, thanks. My insurance doesn't cover dental."

I held the door open for Michael as he pulled his sunglasses from his back pocket and slid them on. "Anyway," he said, picking up the conversation from where we'd left off, "you haven't been able to get hold of her either, then?"

"Sort of," I replied. "She texted me this morning to tell me that she's fine."

"But she really just ran off?"

"Bolted." I'd already told Michael about Sophie's strange reaction to Richard's interview, though I hadn't mentioned any of the other odd statements that she'd made.

"I know it isn't any of my business, but aren't you worried?"

Though I knew Michael didn't mean anything by it, the question still felt like a trap. If I said yes, then I would be admitting to him as well as myself that's there was a reason to be worried -- that she wasn't just a stressed nineteen-year-old girl blowing off some steam. On the other hand, if I said no, then not only would that make me a terrible boyfriend, but I'd be lying, too.

"Of course I am," I said eventually, though without meeting Michael's gaze. "But if I think about it too much, it'll drive me crazy."

"Are you sure she's not on drugs?"