Poppy Harmon and the Pillow Talk Killer by Lee Hollis (most read book in the world .txt) 📕

to Poppy. She picked up the drink, toasted him, and took a sip. The bartender scooted off to attend to several people who clustered around his serving station wanting to order something.

Poppy never knew what to do in these kinds of situations. The man continued smiling at her, perhaps psyching himself up to get up and walk over and introduce himself. She prayed he would not. She was not in the right frame of mind for idle chitchat. She simply wanted to grab her purse and get out of there and drive home, silently cursing Rod Harper the whole way.

The blond man swallowed the rest of his beer, slammed the mug down on top of the bar, and hopped off his stool.

Poppy hoped he was just going to the men’s room or leaving the bar altogether, but no such luck. He circled around and walked right up to her.

“I probably shouldn’t have stopped and just kept going,” he said sheepishly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, I can tell by the sense of dread on your face that you do not have the slightest interest in talking to me.”

“That’s not true,” Poppy lied.

“Really? I’m pretty good at reading faces.”

“It’s not you . . .”

“Yeah, usually when a woman tells you that, you can be sure it most definitely is.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. . . .”

“Translation, please go away before I reach for my pepper spray,” the man joked.

Poppy smiled.

“Oh my God . . .” the man gasped.

“What?”

“That smile of yours . . . it’s breathtaking.”

Poppy found herself rolling her eyes.

“I know, my wife says I could fill a book with all my cornball clichés that fail to impress women.”

A wave of relief washed over Poppy.

He was married.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Poppy said, looking at him for the first time.

He was more handsome up close. Piercing green eyes. A cute pair of dimples. Perfect white teeth. And again, married. So no threat. Why not invite him to join her while she nursed the drink he had just bought for her. And so she did.

He seized the opportunity to slide onto the stool next to her and continue their conversation.

“Don,” he said extending a hand.

“Poppy, Poppy Harmon,” she said taking it.

Don proved to be a talker. The wife he referred to turned out to be his ex-wife so Poppy’s guard went up again. She also found it odd that he never provided a last name. But he was engaging and pleasant and definitely eye-catching enough that Poppy didn’t worry about it too much. He was a salesman from Phoenix, in town on business hocking some kind of medical device he described in detail, but unfortunately Poppy’s mind wandered through most of it. She sipped her drink, successfully enlisting her acting skills to pretend she was interested and he seemed to buy her performance.

Don had not been aware Poppy was an actress by trade, nor had he ever watched Jack Colt since he spent most of the time on the road for his job and not watching much television. A lot of men told her they had never heard of Jack Colt when, of course, they had and probably seen a number of episodes. They didn’t want her believing they were chasing after her just because she was famous and had some money to her name. But Poppy actually believed Don, he seemed genuine in his surprise that she was in a network TV show.

Still, there was something off about him and she could not pinpoint exactly what was bothering her.

He was exceedingly polite, respectful, and again, strikingly attractive. And so she did not immediately shut him down when he suggested they take their conversation up to his room and have another drink.

Poppy had no doubt that Don was on the hunt for more than just having a nightcap with her. And she was feeling so low, now two hours after she was supposed to meet Rod here, that she briefly considered accepting his invitation. But she knew she could not make a rash decision to basically have a sexual encounter with a complete stranger based on her faltering self-esteem in this particular moment. That would be a disaster.

And so she calmly downed the rest of her cocktail, put the empty glass down on the coaster in front of her, and smiled at Don. “Thank you, Don, but I think it’s time for me to go home.”

His eyes could not conceal his disappointment, but he was enough of a gentleman to accept the rejection gracefully. “Poppy, it has been a pleasure. . . .” He took her hand and kissed the top of it.

“Good night,” she said, smiling. She nodded to the bartender and was heading for the exit when she noticed a boozy, bleary-eyed, buxom woman at the opposite end of the bar. She had obviously been there for some time. She recognized her as an actress she had seen at a few casting offices around town when they were both auditioning for the same part, but Poppy could not remember her name.

Poppy acknowledged the woman with a brief smile, but the woman did not return it. She was too busy zeroing in on Don. Poppy glanced back to see Don returning the woman’s gaze, and as Poppy turned the corner, she saw Don get up and join the woman.

Don was clearly on the prowl, determined to get lucky. And if it was not going to be Poppy, he would find someone else.

She had clearly made the right choice.

However, at the time she had no clue that it was a choice that possibly saved her life.

Chapter 19

There was no call from Rod on Poppy’s answering machine when she got home, and no word from him when her alarm went off early the next morning. She hastily dressed and hurried out to her car in order to make her call time at the studio. When she arrived, parking in her usual space, she spotted Rod leaning against his Corvette,