Killer Closet Case: a Danger Cove B&B Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 6) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Elizabeth Ashby, T. Sue VerSteeg
all of my accounts unfrozen by the end of next month at the latest. I'll just wait until then." Tears welled in her eyes.
Which, of course, was my kryptonite. And she knew it.
My posture slumped out of defensive mode. "I'm sorry, Cris. I know this is hard on you. It's only temporary." I ran a comforting hand down her arm.
She flopped onto the black-and-tan speckled loveseat, so I sat in the matching wingback chair next to her, which, other than a small round coffee table and a bookcase, were the only pieces of furniture that would fit in the condensed space.
Cristal reached down and motioned toward the floor in front of her. "Let me braid your hair."
I draped the plaid throw blanket from the back of the chair over her bare legs, knowing there was nothing else keeping me from parts of her I had no intention of grazing, and flopped on the floor between her knees. "If you're trying to butter me up for something, you're on the right track."
She threaded her fingers through my hair, quickly detangling my curls. "If not for your wash-and-go styling habits, we may have never met."
I laughed as she sectioned parts of my hair off and tightly wove them into a French braid. "Even your best makeup job and hair styling still couldn't save me from twisting an ankle and falling off the runway into the Prada buyer's lap."
Cris put a hand on my shoulder. "Had he not been gay, that might have gotten you some brownie points and kick-started things for you."
"Well, I think the brownies themselves might have had a little bit to do with my failed modeling career. I believe the dress seam also split open right over my butt from my fall, if my mortified memories serve me right. Let's face it—I'm just not glam material."
Our laughter filled the tiny apartment.
When she was finished with my hair, I handed her the ponytail holder, which I usually kept on my wrist, so she could secure it. I turned sideways, laying an arm across her bony knees. "Then you had to go and land an agent and hit the big time." I meant it as a compliment, but the smile tumbled from her lips, and reality snuffed the sparkle from her eyes.
"I should've known he didn't love me. I just don't know what I'm going to do," she blubbered, tears streaming down her cheeks.
I knew better than to say what popped into my mind. You know, the usual stuff about married men being off limits, agents only using you as long as your star is rising and then throwing you away, LA not loving anyone—just tolerating the pretty people for a while. She'd heard it all from others anyway. Strangers who recognized her face from television or an ad even stopped her on the streets to scold her for cheating and lecture her on life choices.
Sure, Cristal wasn't the first person to sleep with her agent to get ahead. That was as old as the professions of modeling and acting themselves. She may have been the first person, however, to sleep with an agent who was married to an even bigger agent in the business. When his wife caught them in bed together, crap hit the fan. Hard. She went for Cristal's jugular, both at the scene of the infidelity and in every legal way she knew how. His wife's attorneys convinced a judge to freeze all of Cristal's accounts while they sifted through her financial records for anything that might be owed the wife as compensation for her pain and suffering under the guise that her husband had been paying all of Cristal's bills, some of which was actually true. She also made sure to blacklist Cristal on every reputable set in the Los Angeles area—maybe even the country—and go in front of any newscaster who would give her time to bash her husband and his affair.
Cristal was ruined.
It was a shame, really. She was actually an exceptional actress, an amazing runway model, and a wonderful friend. When I would come home upset after a failed interview, she always had a pint of rocky road ice cream with two spoons ready as I walked through the door. Granted, I ate all but a
Which, of course, was my kryptonite. And she knew it.
My posture slumped out of defensive mode. "I'm sorry, Cris. I know this is hard on you. It's only temporary." I ran a comforting hand down her arm.
She flopped onto the black-and-tan speckled loveseat, so I sat in the matching wingback chair next to her, which, other than a small round coffee table and a bookcase, were the only pieces of furniture that would fit in the condensed space.
Cristal reached down and motioned toward the floor in front of her. "Let me braid your hair."
I draped the plaid throw blanket from the back of the chair over her bare legs, knowing there was nothing else keeping me from parts of her I had no intention of grazing, and flopped on the floor between her knees. "If you're trying to butter me up for something, you're on the right track."
She threaded her fingers through my hair, quickly detangling my curls. "If not for your wash-and-go styling habits, we may have never met."
I laughed as she sectioned parts of my hair off and tightly wove them into a French braid. "Even your best makeup job and hair styling still couldn't save me from twisting an ankle and falling off the runway into the Prada buyer's lap."
Cris put a hand on my shoulder. "Had he not been gay, that might have gotten you some brownie points and kick-started things for you."
"Well, I think the brownies themselves might have had a little bit to do with my failed modeling career. I believe the dress seam also split open right over my butt from my fall, if my mortified memories serve me right. Let's face it—I'm just not glam material."
Our laughter filled the tiny apartment.
When she was finished with my hair, I handed her the ponytail holder, which I usually kept on my wrist, so she could secure it. I turned sideways, laying an arm across her bony knees. "Then you had to go and land an agent and hit the big time." I meant it as a compliment, but the smile tumbled from her lips, and reality snuffed the sparkle from her eyes.
"I should've known he didn't love me. I just don't know what I'm going to do," she blubbered, tears streaming down her cheeks.
I knew better than to say what popped into my mind. You know, the usual stuff about married men being off limits, agents only using you as long as your star is rising and then throwing you away, LA not loving anyone—just tolerating the pretty people for a while. She'd heard it all from others anyway. Strangers who recognized her face from television or an ad even stopped her on the streets to scold her for cheating and lecture her on life choices.
Sure, Cristal wasn't the first person to sleep with her agent to get ahead. That was as old as the professions of modeling and acting themselves. She may have been the first person, however, to sleep with an agent who was married to an even bigger agent in the business. When his wife caught them in bed together, crap hit the fan. Hard. She went for Cristal's jugular, both at the scene of the infidelity and in every legal way she knew how. His wife's attorneys convinced a judge to freeze all of Cristal's accounts while they sifted through her financial records for anything that might be owed the wife as compensation for her pain and suffering under the guise that her husband had been paying all of Cristal's bills, some of which was actually true. She also made sure to blacklist Cristal on every reputable set in the Los Angeles area—maybe even the country—and go in front of any newscaster who would give her time to bash her husband and his affair.
Cristal was ruined.
It was a shame, really. She was actually an exceptional actress, an amazing runway model, and a wonderful friend. When I would come home upset after a failed interview, she always had a pint of rocky road ice cream with two spoons ready as I walked through the door. Granted, I ate all but a
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