He might be right but, “Still shitty,” I say.
“You work for the foreign news desk at the LA Times and had no idea who I was, and I’m supposed to feel sorry for not telling you?”
My jaw drops. “You’re an actor, not a diplomat,” I say. “Is your ego really so huge?”
He groans, tilting his face to the ceiling. “Come on, you know that isn’t what I mean. I just—either be angry that I didn’t tell you, or be glad we had the night we had, but you can’t be both.”
“I can absolutely be both. But it’s moot anyway: what we had two nights ago was bullshit.”
He weathers this as if I’ve physically shoved him, and a thread of guilt tugs at my chest. “Why would I think I should clarify for you who I am?” he asks. “Why would it matter, at least at first? You were my sister’s childhood best friend. I let you use my shower. I figured that would be it, and if you didn’t recognize me as someone other than Sunny’s brother, it made no difference to either of us. But then we started talking, and then we were having drinks, and then we were holding hands, and the longer I didn’t tell you, the more I didn’t want to.”
“You asked me all about my life and then were deliberately vague about yourself,” I say. “At least tell me, ‘I want a night off from my reality,’ or, ‘I don’t feel like getting into it.’ Don’t give me half-truths that make me feel like we’re being equally forthcoming.”
“I liked that I could just be a man with you,” he says. “That I didn’t have to live up to some expectation and that you weren’t nervous with me. I liked that you were real. I never get real, ever.” He stares at me for several tense seconds. “But I’m sorry I lied to you.”
I don’t know where we can possibly go from here. “Did you really bring me here to talk about what happened between us? You don’t have anything to tell me about Jupiter?”
He takes a few seconds to answer this, and in the quiet, I watch his jaw clench and relax. “No,” he says finally. “I had information to tell you.”
Immediately, my brain changes tracks. “Wait. You do know something?”
This story is a powder keg. My UK colleague Ian and I spent the last two weeks scrambling to unearth what’s really happening inside Jupiter. We found some bombshells, but without sources willing to speak to us, we also met a frustrating number of dead ends.
And Alec knows something important enough for him to call Billy and have me sent here? Stunned, I feel my jaw open and then close.
He reads my reaction in the silence. “I wasn’t sure I could talk about it at the hotel.” Alec doesn’t break eye contact but winces very slightly. “Unfortunately, my source is having second thoughts.”
An incredulous laugh bursts free. “You are so full of shit.”
“I’m not. There’s so much I want to tell you, but the story isn’t mine to share. I really can’t talk about it without this person’s go-ahead.”
The words slice out from between my gritted teeth: “If you end up somehow being involved in this disgusting—”
“Gigi!” Alec cuts in. Horror washes him out. “Are—are you kidding? That’s not—” He closes his eyes, taking a steadying breath. “I’m not involved with Jupiter in any way—not as an investor or patron. That’s not at all what I wanted to share with you.”
Either he’s an even better actor than I imagined or this one landed on an incredibly tender target. “Good,” I say, more gently now. “That is a huge relief.”
He opens his eyes and looks at me steadily. “I thought I had information to give you that could help you expose someone, but I don’t.”
The adrenaline drains in a cold flush, leaving me numb. “Okay, then we’re done here.”
I make my way to the door, but Alec cuts out a sharp, “Wait.” I pause but don’t turn to face him. “I… also realize we forgot to exchange numbers.”
Now I turn to gape. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Come on. I’m trying to make things right.”
Unexpectedly, my heart tightens in a painful pinch. “Why?”
“Because I’ve thought of nothing but you for the past thirty-six hours.”
His words drop a black curtain in front of every other thought. I forget about the story and—for a scattered few seconds—I forget to be mad. All I see is his posture, with hands tucked tightly into his pockets and the heavy bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows again. I see his tongue as he licks his lips, anxious for my reply.
My “Why?” comes out much quieter this time.
“It…” He seems unsure how to answer this. “I needed to see you again.”
Apparently I only know one word anymore. “Why?”