Imposter Read Online Free Page A

blue suit and white shirt and hangs it from the top of the closet door. Ryder has left a note on the jacket:
WEAR THIS.
    Ten minutes later, I emerge from the en suite bathroom in my new outfit. Gant and Dad exchange critical glances, like judges grading a contestant. “N-nice,” says Dad.
    â€œIf you’re into suits,” adds Gant.
    â€œWhich I’m not,” I remind them.
    Dad points to the closet and laughs. “Th-th-think again.”
    We drive to a house in the Hills, where a large guy with a shaved head and a Bluetooth earpiece stands by the door, eyes scanning the horizon suspiciously. I say good-bye to Dad and Gant in the car, but they continue to watch as I approach the guy. He seems to look right through me.
    I raise a hand—the kind of lame greeting that ought to get me kicked off the grounds. “Hi.”
    He flicks his head in response.
    â€œCan I come in?”
    The corner of his mouth twists into a smile. “Hell, yeah. You’re the star of the show now, Mr. Crane.” He nods to himself. “The
star
.”
    I can’t tell if he’s serious.
    He pulls open the door and ushers me inside the largest home I’ve ever seen. Everything but the bedrooms and bathrooms is open-plan. The kitchen, dining room, living room, media room, and library all flow together. Recessed spotlights in the ceiling cast rings of light around the cavernous room like daubs of color on a monochrome painting. People avoid them, preferring the view from the shadows.
    There must be a hundred guests here. A few of them languish on leather furniture, while more spill onto the outdoor patio, where women in stylish dresses sip cocktails in the glow from the swimming pool’s underwater light. Guys laugh too loudly, wanting to be heard having fun.
    I’m a half-hour car ride from the Valley, but I’ve landed in a different galaxy.
    Eyes turn at my arrival. I hug the perimeter and head for an unpopulated corner. There’s a bathroom, so I slip inside and lock the door.
    Marble countertops and sinks. A mirror that covers an entire wall. Soothing music piped in through hidden speakers. A row of scented candles on a shelf. The only thing missing is a personal masseur.
    I take in my reflection. Hair, artfully disheveled. Dark blue slim-fit suit, courtesy of Ryder. I look less like me than ever before, but hey—it might be fun to impersonate a movie star.
    When I unlock the bathroom door, Ryder’s waiting for me.
    â€œConstipated?” He pauses a moment and erupts in laughter. “I’m just messing with you, Seth. You need a moment to calm the nerves. I get it. Everyone’ll get it. It’s natural.”
    He wraps an arm around me and leads me to the center of the room. “How’s the hotel?”
    â€œAmazing.”
    â€œGood. Brian complained that there’s a perfectly good, cheap motel on the interstate, but at the Beverly Wilshire they appreciate their guests’ privacy. You’re going to be grateful for that, soon enough. Talking of money”—he taps the shoulder of an older guy with wild hair and horn-rimmed glasses—“Seth, this is Curt Barrett. He’s our financier.”
    â€œOur leading man!” Curt takes my hand and pumps it up and down mechanically. “Talk about culture shock, eh?”
    â€œYou could say that.”
    He gives an understanding nod. “Well, between you and me, I think you’re going to fit right in. Just be yourself. Have fun. If you can’t let your hair down, then what’s the point, you know?”
    I can’t tell if he expects an answer. “Is this your house?”
    â€œYes. Funny things, these houses. All this glass for maximum transparency. But then we hire security teams, and put up ten-foot fences and trees so no one can see us. I think that’s Hollywood in a nutshell. Appear to show everything, but always control the view.” Ryder clears his throat, and