Despite her nerves, this felt right. Listening to Rhiannon and Katrina was good, but her gut’s first instinct was usually what she needed. She didn’t want to leave this alone. She wanted this confrontation. She deserved it, damn it.
Confirmation. Closure.
“I assure you, no. It was not me. Since my brother’s death, I’ve been busy wrapping up his estate and focusing on my niece and our move to America. I have had no time to be texting anyone, let alone someone I’ve never met.”
She swallowed. She wanted to keep believing that he was lying, that he had been a malicious cruel prankster, and that she hadn’t been catfished. For some reason, the latter was so much worse.
Yet . . . his bewilderment rang too true, even over the phone, and this was one of the two plausible scenarios she’d considered.
“Wait a minute,” he murmured. “That’s why you looked so sad.”
Her cheeks flushed, but she was too tongue-tied to confirm it or deny it.
“You thought I was rejecting you. I was not.”
She nodded, though he couldn’t see her. Her throat was too clogged up to speak. So who had it been? “Are you sure it wasn’t you?” She was dismayed at how plaintive she sounded, a far cry from the forceful demands she’d made a few moments ago.
If it wasn’t him, that left a whole world of suspects who could have taken advantage of her. And if she never knew who it was, then how would she ever trust anyone again?
Dev’s voice gentled. “It was not. Do you have the messages? Can I see them?”
Her first instinct was to say no, but this wasn’t some sacred relationship to be preserved now, was it? Jia put her phone on speaker, opened the app, and scrolled back through her DMs. “I do. This is the first one you sent, from what appears to be your official account.” Hello. I’m sorry to bother you, but I merely wanted to tell you that dress is gorgeous. You look like you were dipped in gold.
She took a screenshot and texted it. “There.”
His long silence made her squirm. “Hello?”
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I’m in a bit of shock. I’m trying to think who . . . others handle my social media, you see. I didn’t even have any of these apps on my phone until recently.”
It was exactly what Rhiannon had suggested then. Jia hugged her knees to her chest. Her outrage was leaving her in slow waves, and grief was setting in. It was harder to maintain anger when she couldn’t visualize a clear target for it. “Oh.” She should have known she wasn’t talking to the real Dev. In the span of a few minutes, he’d already mentioned his niece. Fake Dev had never talked about her.
You should have thought that was weird then. You knew his brother and grandfather had passed away. Of course he would talk about his family.
“The date on this . . . it’s over a year ago.”
“We chatted for a while then, but it fizzled out. We reconnected a couple months ago.”
“May I see the more recent texts as well?”
Jia was a little more hesitant to send those over. They felt vaguely personal, on her part, at least. She had been sick, and tired, and vulnerable.
When she didn’t respond, he filled the silence. “I only want to see if I can recognize anything in the language that would explain who did this.”
Didn’t she want to know? “I can send you a few screenshots.” She cherry-picked a couple that felt the least vulnerable and sent them over. Unable to think of him reading the beautiful words Fake Dev had sent her, she stared out the window, the sight of the city calming her. She’d shot footage up on the rooftop here more than once.
She didn’t know how long he quietly read, but she knew it was a while. That made sense. Dev—or whoever—really had sent her mininovels.
Dev drew in a deep breath, and she shifted. “So?”
“If you don’t mind, I need to speak with some people.” His voice was hoarse. “I’m being called right now, I’m sorry, I have to go. I’m on set. Do you think we could have dinner tonight, Jia?”
Something warm exploded in her belly. To counteract the good feeling, she dug her nails into her palm. No. They could not have dinner. They could settle this formally, without ever having to see each other again.
Closure. Don’t you want it? “We can have drinks,” she found herself saying. Drinks was an acceptable compromise. Dinner was too intimate for what was essentially a . . . well, she didn’t even know what this was.
“Very well. You can pick the place. I’m happy to travel anywhere.”
As far as offers went, that was princely behavior in L.A., actually. He’s not your prince. Of course he wasn’t. She barely knew who he was.
Another fresh wave of grief went through her. “I’ll text you a spot.”
“Excellent, you can use this number.” Another voice came from behind him, more urgent, and he said something muffled, then came back to her. “I look forward to seeing you, Jia.”
A burst of warmth shot through her. She was so startled, she slapped her hand over her lower belly and hung up without saying goodbye.
It was her name that was the culprit. He’d switched from using a Ms. without warning. She repeated her name in her head, in his voice, as she stood and moved to her camera gear in a daze.
Yup, there was that heat. It was such a simple, utilitarian name, easy for her viewers to remember. Jia. Two syllables. How did he twist those two syllables into something so damn sexy with that accent?
Doesn’t matter. Get over it. Tonight’s about solving a mystery, not a romance.
Chapter Six
DEV HAD never liked suspense or betrayal arcs, but he liked them less when he was living them.
He was always a careful driver when he had to sit on the wrong side of the car—it would always be the wrong side, foolish to have a steering wheel on the left—but this time he was extra careful as he drove his rental back to his family’s flat from the studio lot. He allowed others ample time to merge and he triple-checked every traffic signal before he hit the accelerator, didn’t even make a face when someone cut him off.
When I hear your laugh, it’s like a thousand angels. I can’t wait to hear it in person.
My life has been nothing but a cycle of despair and joy, but no joy quite like the moment I saw your face.
I cannot wait to be in your arms. I’m dying to hold your hand and living to see you.
Dev slammed his hand on the steering wheel. Bloody fucking bastard.
He’d gone into his phone conversation with Jia vaguely optimistic that he’d misread the signs of her upset last night. A tiny part of his brain, the part that held his softest feelings, had even fantasized of her being happy to hear from him.
He had not anticipated there being baggage between them from the start. Baggage he hadn’t even been a part of!
Thank God none of his scenes had been difficult today. While he’d smiled and recited his lines, his brain had been millions of miles away.
He’d left messages for his agent in India. As far as he knew, only his agency had access to his social media accounts, and until this very minute, he would have said he trusted Chandu and his employees with his life.
Jia had seemed reluctant to send him the additional texts, or he would have requested their whole chat transcript. Had this person plagiarized every text they sent Jia?