L.A. Confidential. Julie Kenner

noticed.”

      His grin widened. “No? You should pay more attention.”

      At that, she laughed outright then her smile faded to a frown again. “I’m just afraid Ken’s going to laugh in my face. And I wouldn’t blame him one bit. I was a bitch. Self-centered and stupid.”

      “Ah, but now you’re a reformed bitch. Or at least you’re a charter member of Bitches Anonymous and firmly on the wagon.”

      She managed a smile, wondering if it was true. If it came down to it, would she do the same thing all over again?

      “Seriously,” he continued, “there’s no crime in wanting to focus on your career.”

      “I know. But I’m sure he thinks I left him for Tyrell, not for Tyrell’s job offer.” She sighed. “Besides, fat lot of good it did me. I came out here expecting to return to L.A. in triumph, and look at me. I’m going back now with less in my checking account than when I was fresh out of school.”

      “I don’t think Ken’s going to care about your checkbook.”

      “Except to feel some smug satisfaction that I blew it.”

      Greg’s smile was patient. Clearly he knew she was in one of her moods. “The way you’ve described him, I don’t think he’s the holier-than-thou type.”

      She wasn’t ready to concede. “Maybe not five years ago, but he’s Mr. Big Shot now.”

      “And a damn good-looking Mr. Big Shot, too,” Greg said.

      “He’s not your type.” She smiled, but her heart wasn’t in it.

      “Too bad.”

      “Do you know I went to the opening of Oxygen? That was the night he was going to ask me to marry him. Of course, I found that out later, after I told him I was moving back to New York. Not a very happy memory, and now I’m supposed to go back and ask to film there? Do you have any idea how many old wounds this is going to open?”

      “So don’t take the job.”

      “Ha, ha.” Taking a fortifying breath, she latched her suitcase and tugged it off the bed. “Wish me luck. I’m off to beg a favor from my ex-boyfriend.”

      “Good luck.”

      She paused in the doorway. “Thanks. I’m going to need it.”

      3

      “THANKS FOR CHOOSING the Bellisimo, Ms. Neal. Enjoy your stay.”

      Through a haze of exhaustion, Lisa thanked the clerk as she clutched her room key, still not quite believing that Avenue F was footing the bill for her to stay in a hotel as lush as the Bellisimo. She hadn’t slept at all the night before, and now she was having trouble remembering her name, much less what she did with her luggage. She looked down toward her ankles, trying to find the matched set of suitcases her mother had given her years ago and fought a wave of panic until she remembered the bellhop had taken them.

      Stifling a yawn, she surveyed the lobby, trying to find the bellman and her bags. The hotel was just as she’d remembered it. Polished marble columns, polished hardwood floor, everything shiny and gleaming and not the least bit understated. The place practically smelled of money, and it attracted the type of clientele who were drawn to that particular scent.

      Exactly the kind of atmosphere Ken had wanted for his very first restaurant—a prestigious address with a crowd made up of climbers and those already at the top. As Lisa glanced around, she knew he had to be pleased. Not some small part of his success was tied to his skill in choosing the right location.

      Some sort of convention was going on, and the lobby was filled to overflowing with men and women in suits sporting little plastic name tags. When the crowd finally parted a bit, Lisa caught a glimpse of the bellhop near the bank of elevators. With a wave, she signaled that she was on her way.

      Actually getting to him was a bit more tricky, and she ended up having to squeeze between the stacks of luggage left lying around by the conventioneers, a process that took a lot more energy than she had left. She finally made it, though she ended up feeling frazzled and far too jostled for comfort.

      After handing the bellhop her room key, she ran her hands through her hair, sure she was probably making it a spiky mess. Not that it mattered. The one thing she wanted was to get to her room, then collapse on her bed for a long nap and spend a few blissful hours completely ignoring the problem that had kept her awake in the first place—how she was going to persuade Ken Harper to help her.

      The bellhop punched the elevator button, and Lisa leaned against the cool marble wall as they waited for a car to arrive. In truth, persuading Ken wasn’t her biggest worry. No, what she feared most was her reaction—and his—when she saw him again.

      When she’d told Ken she was leaving five years ago, she had no way of knowing that he’d been planning to ask her to marry him that very night. She’d found out the next day when she’d gone to the restaurant to say goodbye to Tim and Chris and all the other friends she’d made. Tim’s usually cheerful face had seemed cold and closed off, and she’d pushed him to tell her what was wrong.

      When he told her about Ken’s plans, she’d gone cold inside, but she hadn’t changed her mind. Ken had wanted to wait until marriage to sleep together, but Lisa’d never made any promises. If anything, she’d been completely forthright. Marriage wasn’t on her radar—then or now. Five years ago she’d been entirely focused on her career. Her whole life she’d wanted a career in the film industry, and she’d had no intentions of getting distracted by a relationship. Maybe someday she’d marry and have a family, but not now—and certainly not back when she’d moved to New York.

      Not that leaving had been easy. She adored Ken. Maybe they hadn’t slept together, but his kisses, his touch, his nearness had always done amazing things to her body, making her breathless and tingly in a way no man since had ever made her feel. He had always been a perfect gentleman—had never teased her sexually and then pulled away. And despite the firm boundaries in their relationship, there’d been a chemistry between them that was undeniable.

      She’d wanted to sleep with him, had wanted him to gather her in his arms and make love to her for long, endless nights—but she’d fought the feeling, using all her effort to box that passion and push it to a secluded corner of her mind.

      In a weird way, Ken’s old-fashioned insistence saved her. Her reaction to him was explosive, and she wasn’t sure she would have been able to keep her focus if they’d given in to passion.

      The bell sounding the arrival of the elevator pulled her from her thoughts, and she stifled a shiver. Now that she was here, she was terrified that she’d react just as powerfully to Ken—but that he’d only react to her with anger and hurt.

      “After you, miss.” The bellhop held open the door, gesturing for her to enter the windowed elevator. He followed with his cart laden with her luggage, and a swarm of conventioneers piled in after him, pushing her all the way to the back. A wave of claustrophobia swept over her, and she turned around to look through the glass at the lobby coffee shop, trying to ignore the uncomfortable press of people behind her.

      Her gaze swept the lounge, taking in the chic attire of the Los Angeles elite. Still early morning, and already the movers and shakers were having their breakfast meetings, making decisions. Producers were meeting with directors, agents were meeting with actors, and more than anything, she wanted to be in on the action.

      With a little sigh, she pressed her forehead to the glass and was just about to close her eyes when a familiar movement caught her eye. She blinked, trying to figure out what she’d seen.

      And then there it was again—a starched white shirt, khakis, broad shoulders, a head of thick brown hair. He moved with the casualness of the completely self-confident.

      Her pulse quickened. Even from behind, she knew that body, knew the way those broad shoulders moved as he walked, knew the way those strong