Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Volunteering, I feel like I’m making a difference. And I am. I know that.
But I wish I could make a difference and get paid for it at the same time.
The bottom line—I’m tired. Exhausted. So past exhausted I feel like an extra from a zombie movie.
It certainly doesn’t help that instead of getting my quick Tony fix, I just ended up more frustrated than I’d been to begin with. And instead of banishing the embarrassing memories from my mind, I stayed up half the night thinking about my mysterious bad boy. If I were a braver woman, I might have stuck around and suggested we enjoy a few rounds of anonymous sex. At least then I wouldn’t have spent the night lying in bed, aggravated and aching for release.
Sighing again, I approach the curb and focus on flagging down a taxi. I find one fairly quickly, though the drive back to Manhattan isn’t as quick. I’m two minutes late when the driver maneuvers out of lane-to-lane Saturday evening traffic and finally creeps to a stop in front of the Olive. I hand the man a couple of bills, then hurry inside and make my way across the bar toward the employees’ lounge.
“Hey, Trish,” I call to the counter.
The second she sees me, Trisha drops the receipts in her hands and dashes over. “Walk faster,” she hisses.
As she grabs my arm and practically drags me through the back corridor, I look at her with wide eyes. “What’s the matter?”
“Just move.”
Trisha pushes open the door to the lounge, staying on my heels as I head for the small bank of lockers at the far end of the room. I open my locker and shoot my co-worker a sideways glance.
“Well?”
She shifts from one foot to the other, her dark eyes dancing. “I think Ben Barrett is here.”
I slip out of my jeans and change into the denim skirt the waitresses have to wear. “Who?”
“Who? Who? I can’t believe you just asked me that. Heart of a Hero? McLeod’s Revenge? The Warrior?”
I blink. “What, he writes romance novels or something?”
Trisha lets out a shriek. “No, you idiot. Those are movies he’s starred in. You’re honestly telling me you don’t know who Ben Barrett is?”
I shrug, then pull my T-shirt over my head and exchange it for a V-neck black tank. “The name sounds familiar, but I can’t attach a face to it.” Kicking off my sneakers, I strap a pair of black heels on my feet and turn back to the enraged brunette.
“His latest action movie is in theaters right now!” she balks.
“Trish, the last time I went to the movies, I was ten. My foster parents took all the kids to see a Disney movie.” I poke my tongue in my cheek. “Come to think of it, that’s the only time I’ve gone to the movies.”
“What about television?” she asks with a frustrated tilt of her chin. “You’ve got to watch TV.”
“Not really.” I pause. “If I’m not too tired, I’ll watch sappy dramas with Summer. But lately we’ve been watching cooking shows. She’s trying to learn about Jamaican cuisine so she can cook for Tygue. The first time she tried we all got food poisoning, so—”
“Forget it,” Trisha cuts in, not looking amused. “All I’m going to say is I think a movie star is sitting in the booth near the pool table.”
I don’t really care, but I feel I owe it to my friend to ask, “What makes you think that?”
“Well, he came in about an hour ago, walked up to the bar and ordered a glass of sparkling water. He gave Matt a hundred-dollar bill and said he wanted to be left alone.”
“Gee, then it must be him.”
Trisha ignores me. “He’s wearing a baseball cap and hiding behind a newspaper, but he looks sooo familiar. I walked past him a few times and I swear it’s him. And there’s more.”
“I can’t wait to hear it.”
“I saw on the news earlier that the police found Ben Barrett’s car abandoned a few blocks from here.”
“Maybe he couldn’t find parking out front.”
“Then,” she continues, still ignoring me, “the cops gave a statement saying that Ben Barrett is alive and well, and he was just a victim of some good ol’ NYC vandalism. But I think the whole thing was a scam, and he ditched his car because he’s on the run.”
My head begins to spin. “Why do you think I’m interested in any of this, Trish?”
“Because I need you to find out if it’s him or not!” she wails.
“How would I know? I have no clue what the guy looks like, remember?”
“Well, I can’t do it. I’ve already walked by his booth too many times. If I do it again it’ll raise his suspicions and he’ll take off.”
I roll my eyes. I know Trisha is bored shitless with her boyfriend, and that sometimes her predicament causes her to poke her nose into other people’s business. But this is just ridiculous.