Unforgettable 2 (Hollywood Love Story #2) (7 page)

Brenda smiles proudly. “My pleasure. I hope you nail the bastard.”

Rising with the folder in his hand, Pops takes a deep breath. “Me too.”

I can read him like a book and detect a shadow of doubt.

He gives me an affectionate noogie. “C’mon, babycakes. I’ll walk you back to the front desk.” I stand, and he wraps a comforting arm around my shoulders.

When we return to the front desk area, there’s a line out the door to get Brandon’s autograph or take a photo with him. Alma is shouting out for people to behave themselves. Despite my glum mood, I can’t help smiling.

“Sorry, guys. Last autograph,” I hear him say when he catches sight of me. Despite the moans and groans of the disappointed bystanders, all eager to have a moment of glory with America’s favorite action hero, he struts over to Pops and me.

“How did it go?”

“Pretty good,” I say with a heavy heart.

“What do you mean?”

Pops chimes in. “We’ve identified the man who murdered Zoey’s mother. But it’s gong to be difficult to nail him.” He slips his hand into the thick folder and shows Brandon the photo of Frank Donatelli.

All blood drains from Brandon’s face. His eyes almost pop out of their sockets. He looks as if he’s just seen a ghost.

“Holy fuck! This can’t be!”

“What, Brandon?” I ask, never seeing him like this before.

“It’s him! The bastard who rammed into my parents’ car and killed them.”

My jaw drops and I’ve never seen Pops look so surprised. “Frank Donatelli?”

“No. Arthur Fratianne. But I swear on my life, it’s the same bastard.”

Pops slips the photo back into the file. His face darkens. “Brandon, we now have a new suspect in your hit and run.”

My eyes dart from Brandon to Pops and then back to Brandon.

An unprecedented blanket of rage falls over his beautiful face. His violet eyes narrow into switchblades. His nostrils flare while his chest rises and falls.

“I want the motherfucker dead.”

Brandon

I
f yesterday started with a bolt of lightning—I’m still not over the fact that Zoey’s mother’s killer is the bastard responsible for my parents’ demise and neither is she—today starts with a clap of thunder.

Hurricane Katrina. Clutching Gucci, clad in his latest pink designer outfit and matching bow, she storms into the living room where Zoey and I are eating breakfast on the couch and dissecting all the mind-boggling motives behind our intertwined cases. A uniformed livery trails her, wheeling a massive pink suitcase.

“What the hell is
she
doing here?” she shrieks, shooting eye daggers at Zoey and cutting our conversation short.

“I had Zoey stay over because of her concussion.”

“You mean that stupid little bump on her head you blew me off for?” Adjusting her gazillion dollar fur coat, she looks at me harshly. “You owe me a dinner.”

“We can go to the Polo Lounge tonight.” I turn to Zoey. “Zoey, can you please make us a res—”

Katrina cuts me off. “It’s too late. I’m off to New York for Fashion Week. I’m taping segments there for my series.”

Great. A week away from her! I inwardly sigh with relief. I need the time to think things through. I still don’t feel a thing for her in my heart or my soul. Nor can my brain remember a damn thing about our past. And she does nothing to arouse my cock. The only thing she gets up is my blood pressure.

My relief is short-lived. Not only does the obnoxious mutt growl at me, but Katrina also throws me a curve ball.

“And, darling, you’re going to meet me there next Thursday. Scott booked
The Letterman Show
for us.”

What the fuck! This is all news to me. Why didn’t Scott tell me? Or even Zoey? I ask my fiancée why I’m just learning this. She tells me it happened last minute—on her way over here.

“I don’t think I can make it. I’m shooting all next week.”
And I don’t want to leave Zoey alone.

“Make it work. And be sure to bring Gucci with you.”

I deconstruct her words. “What are you saying?”

“I’m leaving Gucci with you. As much as I would love to take him with me, it’s way too cold in New York for my little boy to be running around from show to show. And I just haven’t had the time to buy him a winter coat and booties.” She turns to the stoic livery. “I’ve packed all his LA outfits, his favorite toys, and his special dietary needs. He prefers home-cooked meals and is especially fond of poached eggs with smoked salmon.”

“What about his bed?” I stammer.

“Darling, Gucci only sleeps in real beds. So, he’ll be sleeping with you. Get used to it.” She smiles smugly while the menacing dog growls at me again.

“Oh, and by the way, while I’m here, can I please have my birthday present? Scott told me you bought me a bauble.”

Balls. I totally forgot about it. And have no idea what Zoey purchased with my credit card. Hopefully, it’s in her car, which is still parked at The Farmer’s Market.

Zoey covers for me. “Katrina, it hasn’t arrived yet. Brandon special ordered something for you online from Tiffany’s. It should be here any day.” She pauses, taking a long breath. “It’s beautiful.”

God, I love my assistant! She’s the one who deserves something special from Tiffany’s.

Katrina flashes a smile before her catty green eyes narrow. “Follow up on it, Zoey. And Brandon, be sure to bring whatever it is to New York. I want to show it off on
Letterman
.”

“I will,” I mutter, making a mental note to have Zoey arrange for a PA from the show to pick up her car later today. Taking her back to The Farmer’s Market so soon might upset her. I’m also going to call Scott and tell him to cancel my appearance. If Katrina wants to go on
Letterman
and tell the world about our relationship—or lack of one—fine. I’ll just FedEx the bauble to her.

Katrina cuts into my thoughts. “Now, Brandy-Poo, take Gucci from me.”

Is she kidding? The last thing I want to do is hold that nasty, finger-biting beast. Snarling, it bears those tiny razor-sharp teeth and eyes me hungrily. The painful memory of being bit on the toe by the vicious canine flashes into my head.

“Um, uh…” This is pathetic. Seriously? Me, Kurt Kussler, TV’s most fearless action hero, is afraid of an itsy bitsy, teeny-weeny little dog.

Thank God, Zoey steps in. “I’ll take him.” Standing up, she gathers the little white furball from Katrina and holds him in her arms. Wagging his tail, the dog seems to like her.

“Very well. And Zoey, since you’re the live-in maid around this place, don’t forget to walk him three times a day. His walking schedule is in the suitcase along with his pooper scooper and leash.” Katrina eyes Zoey with scorn. “I just hope with your condition and weight, you can keep up with him.”

I mentally growl at my fiancée. It’s time for her to stop insulting my priceless assistant. “Katrina, please apologize to Zoey. There was no need to say that.”

Katrina shoots me a dirty look before my assistant responds.

“Katrina, I don’t need your apology. And just FYI, I’m in great shape.”

I can confirm that. Every luscious curve of her body drives me crazy with desire. And it’s not just her body. Or her adorable face. Over the last forty-eight hours, I’ve grown connected to her in ways I never imagined. And it’s not just because her mother’s murder and my hit and run may be connected. Or the fact that she saved my life. It’s more than that. She makes me laugh and lets me be myself. I feel comfortable opening up to her and she listens. And I love how she believes in me despite my own insecurities. Maybe my amnesia has released feelings I previously suppressed.

Katrina rolls her eyes and then kisses Gucci on the head. “Be a good boy for Mommy.”

Afterward, she gives me a peck on my cheek. “Goodbye, darling, I’ve got a plane to catch. See you on Thursday night.”

“Right.”
Wrong.

She snaps her fingers at the livery guy. “Chop chop. We don’t want to be late.” She parades out of my living room with the chauffeur trailing behind her.

“Zoey, what are we going to do with this beast?” I ask after I hear their car pull away.

“We’re going to take care of him.” Smiling, she lifts the mutt up to her face. “Hi, sweetie pie. Say hello to your
new
mommy.”

To my astonishment, the fluffy little dog wags his tail again and laps her face.

“He really likes you.”

Zoey giggles as Gucci continues to lavish her with kisses. I have to admit…it’s so damn cute.

“Mr. Taylor, if you don’t already know, I’m very likeable.”

And very kissable.

Maybe dog sitting will be fun. Just the thing we need to get our minds off of Frank fucking Donatelli. And my mind off of Katrina.

Gucci follows Zoey everywhere. The little white dog is a boundless bundle of energy and spins circles around the house. At noon, before I head over to the set, Zoey tells me she’s going to walk him.

“Are you going to put on one of his outfits?”

“No way. Gucci’s a boy and all his outfits are pink. Katrina has him totally confused. Poor thing.”

I laugh. My connection to my loveable assistant can’t be denied and grows closer by the minute. She’s like my soul mate. We both come from loving, hard-working middle-class families, have suffered personal tragedies that are strangely related, and share a sense of humor. Plus, a passion for James Bond. There’s nothing I have in common with spoiled “It girl” Katrina, except for the celebrity factor. She and her controlling mother only royally piss me off. Whatever I once felt for her is not coming back. Maybe my accident and amnesia have made me a changed man—changed what attracts me to a woman.

“Gooch, come here,” Zoey calls out, breaking into my thoughts. The high-energy canine scampers up to her.

“Now, sit,” she orders with a firm hand gesture.

I can’t believe my eyes. At her command, the dog instantly sits and patiently lets her attach his leash to his pink rhinestone-studded collar.

“Good boy! Ready for a walk?”

The dog wags his fuzzy little tail and whimpers, knowing what’s in store.

Holding the leash, Zoey heads toward the front door.

“Wait. I’m coming with you. With your concussion, you can’t walk alone.”

And besides a long walk in the fresh air will do us both good given the mind-bending events that have gone down in the last twenty-four hours. I tell her we shouldn’t think or talk about Frank Donatelli. She agrees.

It’s been a long time since I’ve taken a walk in my neighborhood. I live at the top of a long, private winding road. There are no other houses along it. Just dirt, brush, and assorted wildflowers. While I’ve driven up and down this road numerous times since returning home, walking down it makes me really appreciate the beauty. And the beauty of my companion. Her lustrous chestnut hair shimmers beneath the early afternoon sun and her ponytail dances with the Spring-like breeze. Gucci sniffs everything and is enjoying every minute of his walk.

Halfway down the hill, I stop. A rush of déjà vu surges in my head. My eyelids flutter.

“Zo, stop for a minute.”

She does as asked. “What’s the matter?”

I tug at my lower lip in deep thought. “I remember something…I was here. This is where I had my accident.”