The Director's Cut by Js Taylor (if you give a mouse a cookie read aloud txt) 📕

sweeping view of the city square outside.

I turn back to where James is still sleeping. And it’s then I notice a stack of documents on a writing desk at the other side of the room.

I remember James telling me there had been a press report given to him. Could it be with this paperwork?

I can’t help but be curious, and I move over to where the documents lay.

“Issy?” James’s sleepy voice echoes across the bedroom, and I freeze guiltily, halfway towards the desk.

“Come back to bed,” he says.

I pad back over to the bed and slip in beside him.

“Mmmm,” he says, pulling me close and kissing me. “I like how you look in my T-shirt.”

“Thanks,” I giggle, nuzzling into him.

“But I think I’d like you a little better if you were out of it,” he adds, sliding a hand underneath it and stroking the edge of my nipples.

Mmmmm. I feel my body leap to life under his touch.

Then his phone beeps, and he frowns.

“Hold on a moment,” he says. “This could be important.”

Something about his tone makes me anxious. The beep from his phone wasn’t like his regular ringtone. Could this be the tone he’s assigned to his press team?

James slides out of bed and strides out of the room, grabbing a sheet to cover himself.

I feel my stomach lurch. Something must be wrong if he doesn’t want me to hear this phone call.

From the next room of the suite, I hear his voice, deep and urgent.

Another leak. It must be. I crawl miserably out of bed, wondering what’s going to happen. And for the second time, the pile of documents catch my attention.

Surely it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick look?

Before I can change my mind, I step towards the desk and leaf through the pile.

There’s all kinds of filming documents here, and pages of script, annotated in red pen. But I can’t see anything which looks like a press report.

Then, halfway through the pile, my fingers close on a manila folder. It’s stamped with an official-looking logo and has ‘report’ stamped on the front.

This must be it.

I take a guilty glance over my shoulder. I can still hear James in the other room, talking on the phone.

I pause for a second, and then I flip open the file.

And as my eyes make out the words, they widen in shock.

Inside is not what I was expecting. Not what I was expecting at all.

Three familiar words swim before my eyes. Words I’d hoped never to see again.

The Lipstick Stalker.

I hear myself gasp. Why is this here? I scan the first page in confusion.

It’s a report which has been compiled on the Lipstick Stalker.

I thought that was all over with.

I leaf through the papers in fascinated horror. All the details on the Lipstick Stalker case are here, but there are surprisingly few details on the man himself.

I shut the documents with a snap, my heart racing.

What in the hell?

“Isabella.”

I turn to see James, standing in the doorway.

I’m still holding the documents. James walks towards me and slowly edges them out of my fingers. I realise my hands are shaking.

I stare at him for a moment.

“What is this all about?” I ask finally. “Why do you have this report, on your desk?”

James rubs his forehead. He looks tired. “It’s really nothing, Issy,” he says.

When my face shows a complete lack of belief, he sighs.

“Honestly,” he says. “It really is nothing for you to worry about.”

“Then why is it here?” Terrifying memories of my brief capture are tunnelling back into my brain. And my voice comes out partway hysterical.

“Shhh.” James pulls me close, and then takes me by the shoulders.

“The police sent me that report,” he says after a moment. “They seem to think that the stalker was fascinated with Berkeley Studios for a long time.”

“What do you mean?”

“They uncovered a place they think the stalker stayed. It shows plans around my studios, going back years.”

I try to compute this.

“So why have you been sent the report?” I demand.

“The police want my help in piecing together some of the evidence they found. The stalker has remained very tight-lipped, and they’re trying to build a full picture.”

I assess how I feel about this. From what we knew before, the stalker was obsessed with fame and celebrity. It makes sense he would have targeted James’s studio from the beginning.

“So you’ll have to go visit with the police?” I ask.

“Yes. But not for some time,” he adds. “It really is nothing for you to worry about.”

Isn’t it? Suddenly, I don’t know anymore.

“Issy.” James strokes my cheek. “You have been through so much in the last few weeks. I didn’t tell you about this because I thought it better you forgot all about it. This doesn’t concern you, Issy. The stalker is locked away and you’re safe. I’m just helping the police with their investigations.”

That makes sense, I guess.

I sigh out loud. “It’s just with the press leak and everything,” I say, trying to keep the tears from my eyes. “I feel as though everything is against us. I wanted the stalker thing to be done with. Buried.”

“It is,” James reassures me. He pulls me tight. “It is,” he repeats, murmuring into my hair. “I would never let anyone hurt you, Issy.”

“What about the press?” I insist, my mind flying to his last phone call. “Are we going to be hiding from them forever?”

I feel James shakes his head. He pulls away, so his eyes are on mine.

“I just got some good news,” he says. “About the press leak.”

“Did you find out who’s been leaking?” The words come out more urgently than I mean them to.

“No. But I found a way to find out who’s doing it.”

“Really? How?”

“I can’t tell you exactly,” he says. “But it involves relocating, later today.”

Relocating? Again?

I’m confused. That sounds like running away. Is James telling me the whole truth about the leak situation?

“Why can’t you tell me exactly?” I am challenging him. “You said before you would try and include me in