Poppy Harmon and the Pillow Talk Killer by Lee Hollis (famous ebook reader .txt) 📗

name. Poppy and Matt both perked up, assuming it was Greta calling from somewhere in the building. “Yes, what can I do for you?” Chrissy asked stiffly.

Poppy hoped that Chrissy was not one of the thousands of aspiring actresses working similar jobs in Los Angeles waiting for their big break to arrive because this pretty girl’s acting skills were wanting.

Chrissy eyed Poppy and Matt nervously as she spoke to the caller. “Uh-huh . . . That’s what I told them, but . . .” Chrissy lowered her voice to a whisper and mumbled into her mouthpiece, “. . . they won’t leave. Should I call security?” Chrissy darted her eyes back and forth as she listened to her instructions. “Okay, I’ll tell them.” She ended the call and then addressed Poppy and Matt. “That was Ms. Van Damm. . . .”

“We never would’ve guessed,” Poppy cracked.

The sarcasm flew right over Chrissy’s head. “Anyway,” she said breathlessly, “she told me to tell you that she will not be coming back to the office today after her meetings so there is no point in waiting around for her.”

“Did you tell her just how important it is for us to speak to her?” Poppy huffed.

Chrissy nodded. “Yes. But I’m afraid she’s very busy. You might want to try calling tomorrow.”

Matt and Poppy had started to stand up when the elevator dinged, the door opened, and Hal Greenwood blew into the reception area, clutching a Starbucks cup, berating a wiry, young male assistant who chased behind him. “You’re a useless moron, do you know that? I asked for sugar-free vanilla in my latte, this is regular vanilla. I’m not an idiot, I can taste the difference.”

“I asked for sugar-free vanilla, the mistake must have happened on their end. . . .”

Hal hurled his cup at the male assistant, drenching his blue oxford shirt with hot coffee. The assistant had to bite down on his tongue to keep from yelping in pain. The cup bounced off the floor, splashing the rest of the contents all over the area rug. “Clean that up!” he barked at the assistant.

Chrissy Teigen sat upright, panicked, checking to make sure her desk was spotless, and then croaked, “Good afternoon, Mr. Greenwood, I hope you had a nice lunch.”

He stopped, his ugly demeanor instantly melting away, and broke into a wolfish grin as he looked his receptionist up and down. “Why are you wearing that outfit, Julia? Are you trying to make me fall in love with you?”

Julia—the receptionist had a real name.

Before she could even respond, Hal was behind her and massaging her neck with his thick, pudgy, hairy-knuckled paws. She fought not to cringe at his touch.

Poppy could not help but audibly sigh with disgust.

Hal immediately glanced up to see where the sound was coming from. His face flushed with anger at the sight of Poppy and Matt. “What the hell are you two doing here?”

Matt jumped to his feet, never one to be intimidated. “Actually, we’re here to see—”

“Forget it! I don’t care! I want you two out of here!” Hal bellowed before spinning Julia around in her rolling chair and shouting down at her as she quite literally shrunk in her seat. “Why did you let them in here?”

“I d-d-didn’t,” she stammered. “They wouldn’t leave and—”

“The last thing I need is a couple of private eyes poking around my business trying to dig up dirt on me or my people!” Hal pointed a fat finger at the phone on her desk. “Call security! If they don’t leave voluntarily right now, I want them thrown out!”

“Yes, sir,” Julia cried, her hands shaking as she frantically searched for the right number to press on her phone.

“We just want to talk to you and Greta about Lulu,” Poppy said calmly.

Hal appeared genuinely perplexed. “Who?”

“You don’t remember her name?” Poppy scoffed.

“Lucy?” Hal asked, sweat slowly forming on his furrowed brow.

“Lulu,” Matt reiterated. “She was an extra on the set of Palm Springs Weekend.”

“I don’t know any Lulu!” Hal screamed before whirling back around to Julia again. “Did you call security yet? What’s taking so long?”

“I-I am working on it,” Julia said unsteadily, finally finding the correct button on her phone.

Hal barreled toward the door leading from the reception area to the production offices. When he tried the handle, it was locked.

“What are you waiting for, buzz me in! What the hell’s wrong with you?” Hal shouted at the frazzled receptionist whom he had been shamelessly flirting with just two minutes earlier.

“I-I was calling security, wait, I will—” Julia murmured, her trembling hands finally managing to press the button to open the door.

“What? You can’t do two things at once?” Hal barked.

Mercifully there was a buzz indicating the door was unlocked and Hal shoved it open and bustled into the back, the door slamming shut behind him.

Julia, who was now near tears, spoke in a jittery voice into her mouthpiece. “Yes, this is Julia on twelve. I need security up here immediately.”

Poppy climbed to her feet and joined Matt. “You can relax, Julia. We’re leaving.”

Matt called for the elevator, which was already on the twelfth floor, and he and Poppy casually stepped inside. As the doors closed, Matt called out to Julia, “If you’re not getting any combat pay for this war zone, I’d seriously consider finding a new job.”

It was the best advice he could have given anyone working at Hal Greenwood Productions, especially an attractive young woman with admirable physical assets.

Poppy and Matt rode the elevator down to the parking garage where they spotted Greta Van Damm’s car still parked in her reserved space. There was an empty visitor parking space at the end of the same row. Matt went to bring around his rental car and claim it so they could watch to see if and when Greta Van Damm believed they had finally gone and that it was safe to come down to her car and drive home unaccosted.

It was a long wait.

Matt slurped what was left of