16 Millimeters Page 2

  "It must not be easy to have brought the cast and crew of All Is Albright to Georgia, believing you could convince me to sign a contract for another season. And I didn't. And now you've halted production while incurring the cost of salaries and other fees while deciding what to do about a show you marketed and contracted without first signing the name attached to the show."

  Rolling her eyes, Vicki hung up and dialed another number.

  "It must not be easy to have spent the last twenty years managing one actress who now wants a new career. Especially when she's under judge's orders to find a new career. Not to mention the loss of money that went with the actress's brand."

  Vicki covered her free ear, her mouth pursed to shush me.

  "It must not be easy to understand my recent fame has nothing to do with show business but with a splashy investigation case, making Leonard Shackleton interested in my security services. Not in my old career."

  She thrummed her Dior Incognito pink (with a speed dry top coat) nails on the table.

  "So forget about Nash's office," I said. "I'm telling you, this meeting has nothing to do with you."

  She set the phone on the table. Her mouth drew into a snarl. "I accept your apology for screwing up your career, but why go on and on when we're in a hurry? What are you waiting for? Get ready for that meeting."

  This was the problem with depersonalizing with Vicki. After all those years in the industry, she'd already de-personed.

  I slowed my exit to show Vicki I wasn't eager to learn what Leonard Shackleton wanted. But internally, my mind brewed with possibilities. As soon as I'd cleared the room, I scurried like an A-lister assistant on a Starbucks run.

  * * *

  Nash Security Solutions was housed in a for-real vintage brick building above the Dixie Kreme Donut shop. Boring as it was, I couldn't have asked for a more perfectly scented office from which to work. Plus, the Dixie Kreme Donut owner, Lamar, was generous with the day-olds.

  I'll tell you who's not generous. Wyatt Nash. Not with the more interesting side of private investigations. Nor with details on his personal life. Nor with his heart.

  Wait, did I say heart? I meant wallet. I'm making minimum wage for the first time in my life.

  I found Nash and Lamar in the office. Lamar had kicked back in the office La-Z-Boy, listening to Nash. Nash paced between the outer and inner rooms, running down the details of our (his) most recent security analysis. His large, muscle-packed body strained against the Def Leopard concert t-shirt and worn-in-just-the-right-areas jeans. I glanced at the wooden floors, always expecting to see a worn groove from his pacing. Nash was like a caged animal. Wild and powerful, yearning for the touch of a gentle temptress with light auburn hair, green eyes, and bewitching curves. He'd unleash his hunger on his captor, ravishing her with unrestrained and enthusiastic desire…

  Okay, I have a slight thing for my boss. Sort-of slight. Among other wonderful attributes like intelligence, integrity, and chivalry, Wyatt Nash has Paul Newman eyes. Ice blue, glowing with the radiance of sunlight on snow when he occasionally smiles. That smile would make angels weep.

  It made me weep. Into my pillow at night.

  Nash ran a hand over his shaved head, the small scar on his chin twitching with the grinding of his well-defined jaw.

  Okay, I'll stop.

  "It had to have been the dog, sneaking out and setting off the alarm," continued Nash. "The client wanted infrared lasers, and when you have a dog, lasers are not a good idea. If he'd just gone for a simple motion detector, no problem. Although anything over sixty pounds will set it off and that dog was no toy poodle."

  "Lasers are overkill if you have a dog,” Lamar spoke with his eyes closed. "But if the customer wants lasers, give them lasers. You need the money."

  "We need the money. You may be a silent partner, but you're still a partner."

  "I'm not a silent partner," said Lamar. "Jolene hasn't cashed out yet, remember?"

  "Speaking of money," I said.

  "I can't afford to give you a raise," said Nash.

  "It's Leonard Shackleton. He has your card — our card — and he's coming by this afternoon."

  "That's nice," said Lamar. "I told you she'd work out."

  "Another security analysis? Does he live in town?" said Nash. "I could drive out and assess his home. Or is it for his business?"

  "He's in town temporarily. I think. Leonard Shackleton. The producer." Nash's brows creased. I added, "The Exterminator. You know? Time Warpers. The Lusitania Affair?"

  "I liked The Exterminator," said Lamar. "But The Lusitania Affair was overhyped."

  "Movie guy? What's he want?" said Nash.

  "I don't know what he wants, but I assume he's interested in hiring me. I mean, us. He heard about us in Variety. I mean, about me working here."

  "Heard about you? Are you sure this isn't another of those tabloid deals?"

  Nash had rules. Rule number one was no Hollywood Maizie references in the office. Which was fine with me as I didn't Hollywood anymore. Rule number two was no hugging. Rule two also made me weep into my pillow at night.

  "Maybe he wants a bodyguard," I said. "Or a special security system. Or he wants you to investigate something. Maybe due diligence?"

  I hoped it wasn't research. Research was not my fav. But we'd take what we could get.

  "Sounds like good money, whatever it is," said Lamar. "Hopefully it'll be better than the laser job."

  Nash glanced sideways at me, meeting my sea glass greens with his Paul Newman blues.

  "Miss Albright." His head dipped in thanks with a smile that revealed a half-dimple in one cheek.

  My heart bounced like it was jamming to a techno house party beat. It'd been a while since I'd seen that smile. Nash had been knocking himself out, trying to get the business back on its feet. Smiles were not in his survival daywear. Lately, he'd been wearing a furrowed brow, tight lines around his eyes, and a grimace.

  My poor Nash.

  "Good job, kid." His eyes met mine, then traveled down my ATM scoop neck tank. He ran a knuckle against his whiskered jaw and drew a deep breath.

  I felt the sizzle and pop in the current that ran between us. Undercurrent. Deep current. Involuntarily, my toes curled, my back arched, and my stomach danced sideways. We'd been playing it cool, working our butts off, and ignoring the heat between us. This small sign of recognition felt like a crack in the "no relationship at work" wall we'd (he'd) created.

  Lamar coughed.

  Nash's dimple disappeared.

  My cheeks heated to match my "Hotter Than You Pink" OPI pedicure.

  And we simultaneously turned at the knock on the door.

  Two

  #SeersuckerSaga #FraudSchmaud

  A slight man entered. A ginger, like me, except more freckled. Older, but wore his age casually. His pale green seersucker suit and white CK loafers granted him that old Southern charm ID. Very dapper. I love a good seersucker.

  "Theodore Malthus," he drawled and gave a slight bow to the room.

  Nash snapped his mouth shut. "Mr. Malthus."

  Theodore trotted forward and took my hand. "Truly a pleasure, Miss Albright. I'm a great fan of your work."

  "That's nice." I reverted automatically back to starlet simpering, which couldn't be helped. Renata said love from fans helped to overcome the lack of affection from my manager. I mean, mother.

  Theodore leaned to plant a kiss on the back of my hand.

  I flashed him my famous Julia Pinkerton finger gun. "I'm always thrilled to meet a fan."

  "Of course, I know you from Julia Pinkerton," drawled Theodore, "but it's your reality work that I enjoyed. All is Albright is such a hoot."

  Nash cleared his throat.

  I lost the simper. "What can I do for you? We do for you, I mean. Security or private investigation-wise?"

  "That's not why I'm here, sweetie." Theodore trilled a laugh, placed his hands on his hips, and swiveled to take in the office. "She said Maltese Falcon noir. I
think we're halfway there."

  "Beg your pardon?" said Nash.

  "Hells. You're the designer," I muttered. Catching Nash's look, I turned to Theodore. "There's been a mistake. Vicki has it all wrong. There's no reason for you to be here."

  "I think there's every reason for me to be here. All the reasons are screaming at me. Screaming and crying and pleading for me to do my work."

  "I'm confused." Nash held out his hand. "I'm Wyatt Nash of Nash Security Solutions. Why are you here?"

  "I know who you are. I know everyone in Black Pine." Theodore held up his phone, touched the screen, and spoke to his hand. "Bring everything. Quickly."

  Nash gave up on Theodore Malthus and turned back to me. The smile had been evicted. "Miss Albright."

  "Remember Mr. Shackleton is coming? Remember how happy you were a minute ago when I told you that news?"

  "Miss Albright."

  "Well, I met Mr. Shackleton when I was with Vicki. My—"

  "I know who Vicki Albright is."

  "Right, so like, we were doing lunch at the Cove and Mr. Shackleton was lunching with Cambria — do you know Cambria? — and she…" The smile hadn't just been evicted. It had been eviscerated. I hurried the story along. "Anyway, Vicki thought Mr. Shackleton was interested in me for a role and not for private investigation work. Even though I explained, Mr. Shackleton looked at our business card and said he’d heard about the case in Variety. Case work. Not my dramatic work."

  At those words, Nash's eyes flicked skyward then to Lamar. But Lamar was staring stonily at Theodore Malthus.

  "This has to go," Theodore explained to Lamar. "It doesn't say Maltese Falcon."

  "It says, my feet and back hurt and this chair is comfortable. First shift at the bakery starts at four a.m., and this chair is part of my break schedule." Lamar slammed the lever on the recliner. The headrest hit the wall and an explosion of dry wall rained on the stained corduroy material. "It's my damn chair."

  Theodore raised his phone to his mouth. "We're going to need drywall patch, too."

  "Miss Albright." Nash's voice rose.

  "Anyhoo…Vicki thought since Shackleton is coming here, your office needed a little lift. Decorating lift. I tried to convince her not to do it. But she doesn't listen to me. You know how she is."

  "This is my office." Nash folded his arms.

  "And my damn chair," chimed Lamar. "I rescued it. It's a rescue chair."

  "Y'all are just too precious." Theodore laughed. "Jolene warned me about you two."

  Nash spun around. His scar beat white against his chin. "Jolene? Jolene Sweeney?"

  "Oh, shizzles," I said and felt my skin turn white (whiter) as Nash spun back to me.

  "Jolene. He said Jolene," Nash snarled. "You. Fix. This."

  He shoved past Theodore and strode from the office.

  Lamar walloped the chair lever, scooted the chair from the wall, and dusted the plaster debris from its back. "It's been nice knowing you, Mr. Malthus."

  "Seriously, Mr. Malthus," I said. "There's been a big mistake."

  "Call me Theodore, honey.” He turned back to his phone. “Y’all just hang on a minute.”

  "Theodore. My manager, I mean Vicki, is confused. She misunderstood what Leonard Shackleton wants from me. And this isn't her office, so she has no right to do anything to it."

  "Dear me." Theodore slipped his phone into his jacket pocket and laid a manicured hand on my arm. "Leonard Shackleton? The Leonard Shackleton? This is worse than I thought."

  "That's exactly what I'm talking about. This isn’t movie business. Vicki thinks he's interested in me for a part, when he's just interested in hiring us for a private investigation or security gig."

  "Honey, everything with Leonard Shackleton is movie business." Theodore laughed. "But look who I'm talking to. You're Maizie Albright, and I'm just a lifestyle designer. The lifestyle designer for Black Pine, but still. Whatever Mr. Shackleton wants, you need to resuscitate this office. Immédiatement."

  "We can't afford it."

  "Vicki's paying."

  "Not when she finds out this isn't industry related."

  Theodore pulled his lips into a purse and tapped his fingers on his chin. "I see. But what are you going to do when Shackleton takes one look at this rinky-dink pigsty and decides he's better off hiring an Atlanta firm to do whatever it is that he wants?"

  I pulled in my breath. "I need his business. We need his business."

  "So I've heard." Theodore cut me a look. "Jolene's been talking."

  I folded my arms. "That woman is evil."

  "She's an ex-wife. Goes without saying. At least from Nash's point of view. And Jolene says she still owns half the business."

  I wrinkled my forehead, but he had a point when it came to Jolene Sweeney. "She's been fighting the buyout. Lamar's got the money, but she keeps claiming red tape."

  "Oh honey.” Theodore winced sympathetically. “It's because Jolene hates your guts. She thinks you're sleeping with Nash."

  "But I'm not," I said.

  "Listen, Jolene's a client, but she's not a friend. That woman would rather stab you in the back than look at you. Why don't I help you out?” Theodore rested his hand on his chest. "Let a fan do you a favor."

  I grabbed his hands, my eyes teared. "You're so sweet. But there's just a little problem."

  "Nash and Lamar."

  Gripping his hands, I nodded, sniffing. "I love them. But this is a pigsty. I don't know what to do."

  "You're used to luxury, you lost it, and now you're doing the best you can."

  I fell against Theodore, sobbing into his seersucker. "It's been hard."

  "Honey, I know. Let old Theodore handle this. Don't cry, sugar." He patted me, then shoved me away. "You're wrinkling your Anthony Thomas Melillo top. And mascara on my Haspel? That's the real crime. Now, here's what we're going to do. You need some theater back in your life. We're going to stage an office."

  "But Nash'll come back and see you've changed things. He hates change. Like totally and for real."

  "Leave it to me. There's an empty office next street over. I'll get the keys from a realtor friend, my boys will set up in there. Tack up a new sign, and voilà, you meet with Shackleton in a noir by T. Malthus, Esquire. Shackleton will be impressed and hire you. How could he not? My work is incredible."

  "But how can I pay you back?

  "Honey, you pay me back by coming to a party at my house. It's nothing. Seriously, building a mock PI office is a lot easier than tearing this one down and building it back up."

  * * *

  I slipped out to find a Noir-ish ensemble to match Theodore's staged office—Ulla Johnson in a black cap-sleeve lace dress that had a 40's vibe with Gianvito Rossi ankle-strap pumps—and returned to an old brick building two streets down from the Dixie Kreme. "Nash and Albright" had been stenciled on the storefront window.

  I squealed and clapped my hands, glanced around the street to see if anyone noticed, and dashed inside the new office. The front room had a wooden railing separating the receptionist desk from the front door. Inside the PI's sanctum, two wooden desks sat perpendicular to each other with a battered (but not dusty) file cabinet between them. Green-shaded brass banker lamps, leather-bound ledgers, and blotters completed the vintage noir look.

  Theodore Malthus stood in the center, surveying his masterpiece. I grabbed his shoulders, screamed, and bounced, making my lace shimmy and slide. He took no notice, but stepped back and bowed.

  "How?" I said.

  "Big staff." He smiled. "And I'm a good resourcer."

  "How long can we keep this?" I bit my lip. "Nash won't be too happy. He's not into theater. Or deception of any kind. Also, the Nash and Albright name — which I definitely think has a ring — will probably not go over too well. Probably not well at all. Like, he'll hate it. He already has a business name."

  "Not to worry, honey. The stenciling isn't permanent. It's on a clear shade. We just roll it up, and it disappears before your boss sees it.
If Shackleton hires you, you may need it again. But I've worked my magic. It might be used for another set, so we can keep it for a while."

  "You're amazing. I can't wait to see Nash's face when he hears we got Shackleton as a client. I'm sure he'll be so thrilled he won't care I did it on the sly." I crossed my fingers behind my back. Of course, Nash would care.

  Theodore gave me a slow blink and regal head bow. "I'm leaving you with a friend. Lana. She can act as your assistant for the meeting. I also have someone waiting at the old office to route Shackleton here."

  Tears welled, and I sniffed. "Very few people would have done this for me. I can't thank you enough, Theodore. Are you sure I can't do more for you than attend your party?"

  He shook his head, smiling.

  A cute blonde in a gingham shirtwaist dress sashayed through the door. "I'm Lana Miles, your new assistant."

  I threw myself at Theodore, happy T. Malthus didn't have a rule number two.

  He hugged me back, then straightened his jacket. "Lana, when Mr. Shackleton arrives, have him wait no less than a minute thirty, but no more than two minutes thirty. He's busy, but we also need to seem busy. Bring him in to Maizie, and she'll do the rest."

  Lana nodded and returned to the front room. Theodore turned to follow her.

  "Wait," I said. "How do I get him to hire me without Nash here? Nash doesn't have me talk to the clients."

  "You'll do great, sweetie.” Theodore patted my hand. "It's just another role, right?"

  I wrung my hands, knowing this would tick off Nash. They were his clients. He had the investigator license. I had to complete two years under his mentorship. "Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, right?"

  "I like that." We air kissed, and Theodore strode to the door. "Break a leg, honey."

  Dread mounted with each mincing step Theodore took from the office. I'd been excited to snare Shackleton with a better venue and hadn't thought beyond his first visual impression.

  "Nash's going to kill me," I muttered, then the realization of what I'd committed slapped me in the face. "Oh my God, this is fraud. Is it fraud? I do work for Nash Security Solutions. OMG, I'm going to lose my probation if this is fraud. Please do not let this be fraud. How did I let Theodore talk me into this?"