No Greater Love than Mine by Harper Bliss

Author:Harper Bliss [Bliss, Harper]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance
ISBN: 9789887801474
Publisher: Ladylit Publishing
Published: 2018-07-02T23:00:00+00:00

Angela is dressed a bit more casually when she appears on my doorstep, beige linen pants with a pale-blue blouse on top. She offers me a bottle of Sonoma Pinot Noir and I’m pleasantly surprised by her choice.

When I’ve escorted her from the hallway into the living room, she says, “Divorcing the commissioner must be lucrative.” She casts her gaze about the room. It lands on an artwork of a near-naked woman sprawling over the city of Los Angeles. “I’ve seen this before.” She walks toward the wall.

It surprises me that the artwork sparks a memory in her, although perhaps it shouldn’t. I resist the temptation to jog her memory further. At some point, I’d like her to come to her own conclusion about it.

She stares at the artwork intently while tapping a finger against her lips. “Why is this so familiar?” She turns to me.

“It’ll come to you.” I give her nothing else but a crooked grin. “Drink?”

“Whatever you’re offering.”

“Shall we sit outside? It’s a lovely, smoggy Los Angeles evening.”

She quirks up her eyebrows and follows me to the patio outside.

“Remind me to never invite you to my place,” she says. “I couldn’t bear the disappointment on your face.”

I pour us each a glass of white wine from an ice bucket next to the teak table. “Lest you think I bled the esteemed police commissioner of this city dry, rest assured I made my own money over the years.”

Angela sits down and, as soon as she does, kicks off her sandals. “By unearthing the depths of people’s souls?”

I snicker and shake my head. “By making the most of my proximity to Hollywood.”

She tilts her head. “You sold your soul to the devil?”

“Kind of.” I hold up my glass. “You might have heard of a little TV show called Criminal Intent.”

She nods. “The one where every single week a woman gets brutally murdered, if she’s lucky. If she’s not, she gets raped as well,” she deadpans.

“If you put it like that.” I can’t help but chuckle.

“I never really watched it,” she says. “What’s your involvement?”

“Together with a friend, I came up with it. My friend’s still an executive producer, while I sold my stake in the whole business a few years ago.”

“Selling your soul’s a lucrative business, indeed.”

“Let’s just say I wasn’t very happy with the direction the network wanted to take the show.”

“So, in the end, you did the right thing.” She peers at the glittering water of the pool, then back at me. “If you’ve made all this money, what are you doing replacing the likes of Roger Bradley?”

“Helping out where I can.”

“Atonement,” she says, “for inflicting that awful show on humankind.”

“Ouch.” It doesn’t really hurt my feelings. I know the show’s reputation and nobody remembers the first two seasons, when the storylines were far less grim, and I still had a say.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t judge like that. I’ve really never watched it. If I’d known, though.” She sips from her wine.

“Would you have watched?”

“With great interest.” Her gaze wanders again.

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