Page 24 of I Think He Knows
CARTER
When I step onto the sunlit patio of the breezy Santa Monica beach restaurant on Saturday afternoon, I’m surprised to find Freya already waiting for me. She’s sitting at a corner booth, wearing a brightly patterned short dress and huge wedge heels, and sipping on a glass of sparkling water.
“Hey, you.” She looks up as I approach. “Surprised I made it here first?”
“Sure am. You finally master the art of teleporting or what?”
Freya laughs as she lifts her face, and I give her a kiss on the cheek in greeting before sliding into the chair across from her. It’s already become a running joke between us that Freya is notoriously late for everything.
I reach for the sparkling water carafe and pour myself a glass. “I don’t know if I’m more shocked that you made it here before me or that I made it here before Elena.”
Freya crosses one long leg over the other and laughs. “First time for everything. It’s just Elena we’re waiting for, by the way—Marc’s busy dealing with another client who just checked into rehab, so Elena’s going to update us both on some circumstances.”
Marc is Freya’s manager. Nice guy, but a bit schmoozy for my liking. I met him last week after the initial not-a-date, and he complimented my hair—which was a mess—and my socks—which were regular old white socks from Fruit of the Loom. A lot of people in this business in LA seem to communicate this way. I chose to work with Elena because she says things like “you’re looking a bit tired” in a tone of voice that conveys, plain as day: “you look like crap.”
“Oh yeah, it’s probably my fault that your afternoon has been taken up with this.”
Freya lifts a delicate brow.
“She wants me to take you to the premiere of my latest movie,” I elaborate. “An action thriller that comes out at the start of the summer. Dunno why this had to be an in-person discussion, if I’m honest. I could have just texted you about it.”
“Maybe she wants today to be another photo opp now that everyone’s shipping us and nobody’s talking about your weird barfight anymore.”
“Nothing like photos of me stuffing my face with burrata to make me look good,” I joke, then glance down at the menu in front of me. “Speaking of burrata, should we order some appetizers?”
“What happened with that, if you don’t mind me asking?” Freya runs a critical eye over me, totally ignoring my hunger plea. “The barfight, I mean. You never talk about it, and you don’t seem like a coked up, angry drunk kinda guy. And believe me, I know plenty of those.”
Poor girl needs new acquaintances.
“I’m not,” I reply honestly. “And it was exactly like they reported: a stupid fight.”
“Over what?”
My fist involuntarily clenches under the table. “Some guy was heckling me, and I was drunk and reactive,” I lie.
Freya pauses thoughtfully, like she’s about to ask more questions, and I seize my opportunity to swiftly redirect the conversation.
“Anyhow, enough about me and my misendeavours. How’s your new man?”
Freya claps a hand to her cheek and squeaks dramatically. “Oh my gosh, Carter. What a joke that’s turned into.”
Success.
I relax into my chair as Freya talks about how her new male model “friend”—the guy she’sactuallyjust started dating—is Derek Zoolander levels of vain. He even has the same habit of checking himself out in the backs of spoons.
I laugh. "Did it make you wonder if there was more to life than being really, really ridiculously good looking?”
Freya grins and quotesZoolanderright back at me. “Nope, but it made me realize that a male model’s life is a precious, precious commodity.”
We’re both cracking up when Elena arrives in a click-clack of heels. She elegantly slides into an empty seat, smoothing down her gunmetal gray blazer. Everything about Elena screamspower—her slicked-back hair, her pants with their razor sharp creases, her fierce expression behind large, black-rimmed glasses as she summons a waitress. The woman’s not even our server, but she’s by our table in an instant.
“Grey Goose martini, three olives,” Elena barks, then places her pointy elbows on the table and scrutinizes my face. “Carter, you look tired. Have you been using the herbal supplements I sent over?”
No.
“Yes.”
“Good.” She turns her attention away from me. “Freya, stunning as ever.”