L.A. Confidential Read Online Free PDF

knew more about what Winston needed, but Greg had only left a note on the refrigerator. Though they shared an apartment, they were hardly ever home at the same time, and since he was in the middle of rehearsing for an off-off-off-off Broadway show, she’d been unable to catch him before the interview.
    She shot a glance toward the receptionist, who didn’t even look her way. So Lisa spent the next thirty minutes doodling and making anagrams out of her name, until she’d wasted so much time she was beginning to get irritated. Trying for haughty, she stood up, tucked her planner under her arm, and marched toward the anorexic receptionist.
    The woman blinked, but didn’t say a word.
    â€œIt’s been almost an hour,” Lisa said, trying to remain polite. “I have other meetings that I really can’t—”
    â€œNo problem.”
    â€œGreat. Thanks.”
    The girl poised her pen over the open appointment book. “When would you like to reschedule?”
    â€œOh, uh,” Lisa stammered. “I guess I’ll have to check my schedule.”
    The girl raised an eyebrow and waited, and Lisa knew perfectly well that Miller’s receptionist wasn’t buying it. The question now was, did she keep her pride and walk out, or did she fall to her knees and beg?
    â€œWell?” the girl asked, the end of her pen tapping the appointment book.
    â€œRight.” Lisa started flipping pages. She’d reschedule for tomorrow. That way she’d lose twenty-four hours inher job hunt, but she’d save a tiny bit of pride. “How about tomorrow?”
    â€œNo go.” The girl trailed the tip of the pen down the page, then flipped over a few days. “I can squeeze you in next Tuesday.”
    So much for pride. Time for some serious begging. “Um, listen—”
    â€œMiss Neal!”
    She spun toward the source of the nasal voice, thrilled to be getting a reprieve from her fib.
    â€œCome in, come in.” Winston Miller practically bounded toward her, shook her hand heartily, then led her back into his office. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Been on the phone with Los Angeles all morning.”
    Lisa stifled a smile. As far as she knew, there were several million people in L.A.; she doubted Miller had been chatting with all of them.
    â€œSo, Greg tells me you’re the man for this job.” He motioned her toward a cushy chair as he slid behind his desk. “I understand you’ve got quite a range of experience.”
    â€œThat’s true,” she said, wondering how much her friend had told him. She’d known Greg for almost five years, ever since he’d had a bit part in a Drake Tyrell film that she’d associate produced. Flamboyant and opinionated, Greg had a wicked sense of humor that got her through some rough times during filming, and they’d spent hours eating bad food at the craft services table. By the time the shoot was over, they’d become fast friends and roommates.
    Only Greg knew how scattershot her production experience had been. Certainly, she’d never told her family how bad times had become. From script supervisor to artdirector to property master, she’d held all sorts of jobs she’d never expected and didn’t want. Hardly what she’d anticipated five years ago when she’d followed Tyrell to New York with delusions of producing award-winning films. Still, the odd jobs paid the bills—at least until recently when work had seemed to dry up. Now, though, she couldn’t imagine which aspect of her background Greg thought was worthy of Miller’s attention.
    Miller leaned back, his leather chair squeaking. “What did Greg tell you about the job?”
    â€œHe told me you’re producing a sequel to The Velvet Bed and that you’ve got some key positions to fill.” The erotic adventure, set in Manhattan’s hot spots, had been a surprise hit, solidifying Avenue