Unforgettable 2 (Hollywood Love Story #2) by Nelle L'Amour Read Free Book Online Page B

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