If the Boot Fits (Cowboys of California #2) - Rebekah Weatherspoon Page 0,2

expertise. Not while her boss Dru Anastasia was still employed in the world of teen paranormal dramas. It took a few clicks and swipes, but she managed to find it. John Coffey at TCA. He shared an agency with Helene. Great. She swiped over to JackRabbit, the courier app she used at least twice a day, and scheduled a pickup for right outside Dru’s apartment building on Sunset. Hopefully, Sam was a late sleeper and the missing statue would be back in the right hands before he wondered where she’d gone.

With the pickup confirmed, she packed her bag for the day, making sure she didn’t forget Sam’s swag bag or his award, and hurried out to her midsize SUV parked out on the street.

Traffic and the parking gods were on her side. She made it to Delightly, Dru’s favorite restaurant, and found an empty meter right in front. She ducked in and grabbed Dru’s breakfast, then booked it over to her apartment building on the west end of the Sunset Strip. She had to park two blocks away, but if she power walked at just the right speed she would be two minutes early. Dru didn’t like to see her sweat.

She made it to the front door just as the JackRabbit driver pulled up. She handed off the heavy swag bag as soon as he rolled down the window of the white Prius.

“Please, please, please. Get this to the receptionist and tell her it’s for John Coffey. Samuel Pleasant’s Oscar statue is in there. He lost it last night. He needs to get it back,” she said, giving him a meaningful look. There was no room for error in this delivery or both their heads would roll.

“Oh shit,” he said, his eyes popping wide with horror. “Okay, got it. I’ll make sure I walk it right into her. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she gets it.”

“Thank you.”

A smile forced her panic away as she watched him buckle the bag into the passenger seat beside him. He nodded to her with a little salute of his fingers and then pulled a U-turn back on to the street. She sent up a prayer for a safe delivery, then snapped back into work mode.

She headed to the front door and waved at the handsome face she saw through the thick glass doors. Francesco, the doorman, buzzed her in.

“Good morning, my Amanda,” he said with his warm accent as she nudged her way inside with her elbow. He was from New Jersey and his real name was Eric, but the tenants didn’t need to know that. The Italian lie seemed fancier. His secret was safe with her though.

“Good morning, my love. What’s the news?” she asked as she walked to the elevator. It was their little game. Fake headlines by Francesco.

“Hollywood starlet plummets to her death after heated affair ends in tragedy.”

“Oh no!” Amanda said dramatically. “Give me something more upbeat tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry, my dear. Only sunshine for you from now on.”

Amanda winked at him just as the elevator chimed. Five stories above, she quietly let herself into Dru Anastasia’s apartment. As she made her way into the kitchen, Gus, Dru’s woefully neglected Ragdoll cat, emerged from behind the island and wove his way between her feet.

“Hello, my precious. I didn’t forget about you.” She grabbed a can of wet food from under the counter and fed the sweet creature whose body mass was 90 percent fur.

When Amanda moved to LA five years ago she was determined to make it as a screenwriter, but that’s the thing about dreams. They rarely work out the way you want them to. She tried to work her way into a writers’ room, but something was always off. A job promised suddenly taken away, a project canceled. She’d gotten work as a production assistant and after a particularly bad day on set had her reconsidering her whole West Coast adventure, she’d met Kaidence Kener. She’d remembered her vaguely from her own brief run on the nineties beach drama Bay Guards. Her acting days were long behind her, but her daughter Dru was just getting started and Dru needed an assistant.

Amanda had told herself the job would just be temporary, a paycheck to keep a roof over her head and food in her stomach. She made a promise to herself that she wouldn’t give up on her writing. And she hadn’t. She stole whatever moments she could, jotting down bits and pieces on her phone and on her tablet.