Текст книги "Just the Sexiest Man Alive"

Автор книги: Julie James

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Eleven

THE NEXT TWO days flew by quickly with the trial and before Taylor knew it, she was standing in front of her closet on Friday evening. The night was not off to a good start—court had gone on longer than expected, so she was running late for dinner. And now she had the most pressing concern to deal with: what to wear.

Her suits were stylish enough—for suits. But this was Mr. Chow’s in Beverly Hills, and her first official dinner out in Los Angeles. She didn’t want to look like some jackass from out of town.

On the other hand, she also didn’t want to look like she thought she was on a date. And most important, she didn’t want Jason to think she looked like she thought she was on a date.

Taylor finally settled on jeans, heels, and a white button-down shirt. But even that had its issues: two buttons open, or three? Two or three? She went back and forth in the bathroom mirror at least ten times.

Twenty minutes later, Taylor pulled in front of the restaurant and handed over the keys to the PT Cruiser. The valet gave her the same appalled look that Jason had two nights ago.

Taylor smiled charmingly at him. “You’re going to leave this baby out front, right?”

As the valet stammered some horrified response, Taylor stepped inside the restaurant, where she was greeted by a hostess with an aloof smile.

“Yes, can I help you, miss?”

“I’m meeting someone here,” Taylor said. She paused, suddenly stuck in one of her “realizations.” The whole thing was just so ridiculous. “I’m . . . um . . . meeting a Mr. Andrews here,” she continued, attempting a casual tone. Then she wondered if he used a fake name when making reservations. She’d once heard that Brad Pitt checked into hotels under the pseudonym “Bryce Pilaf.” Cute.

But from the look on the hostess’s face, no secret password or code name was required. The woman straightened up immediately, and her entire demeanor changed.

“Of course,” the hostess said in an awed voice. “You must be Ms. Donovan. It would be my pleasure to show you to your table.” She led Taylor through the restaurant, to a private staircase in back. Upstairs, there were only a few tables. Jason sat at one of them, waiting.

“Sorry I’m late,” Taylor told him when she got to the table.

“Court ran longer than I had expected.”

“It’s fine,” Jason said with an easy smile. “I’m just glad you could make it.”

Taylor watched as his eyes skimmed over her shirt with an appreciative look.

Dammit. She knew she shouldn’t have gone with the three buttons.

TAYLOR SCRUTINIZED THE script that was open on the table in front of her. Now immersed in the project (albeit very reluctantly) she took the job as seriously as any other.

“Then we just need to take out this line here, where you yell at opposing counsel in court . . .” She gave Jason a look, letting him know this was a big lawyer no-no.

The waiter refilled their wineglasses as she continued her lecture. “Remember—you have triangle conversations in court. You speak to the judge, they speak to the judge, but you never speak to each other.”

She turned back to the script and finished reviewing the scene they were working on. After a moment, she pushed the script away, satisfied. “Yep—I think that scene is finished.”

“Do you think it’s good?” Jason asked.

Taylor considered her answer, sensing he wanted more than a meaningless stamp of approval. “I think some of the legal aspects still need to be refined, but it has a good story that should connect with the audience.”

Jason grinned. “You just sounded so Hollywood.”

Taylor smiled guiltily. “I did, didn’t I? See—one evening with you and I’m already corrupted.” She gestured casually to her half-empty glass. “Or maybe the wine’s affecting me.”

“So you approve of my selection?”

“I doubt there’s anyone who wouldn’t,” Taylor quipped. She was hardly about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’d somehow managed to pick the one label she’d been wanting to try since getting her first issue of Wine Spectator.

“But your approval is harder to earn and therefore worth more than the others,” Jason returned.

Taylor couldn’t help but smile at that. “Yes, I approve,” she said. “At seven hundred dollars a bottle, I’d better.” She was about to say something else, but decided to bite her tongue.

“Go ahead.” Jason laughed. “I can tell there’s more.”

Taylor grinned. He thought he knew her so well. “I was just thinking that you really do lead a charmed life.”

“Ahhh . . . good, we get it out in the open. My fame and fortune.” Jason leaned in toward her. “Look—I’ll save you the bullshit speech about how I don’t like it, about the lack of privacy, all that. But there are some trade-offs.” He shrugged. “I guess I’ve just accepted those things as part of the package.”

“Trade-offs beyond the lack of privacy?”

Jason waved this off. “That doesn’t bother me as much as it used to.”

“Then what?”

He thought about this. When he finally answered, Taylor thought she heard something in his voice. Something . . . genuine.

“People think they know you because the magazines portray you a certain way, or because you’ve played a particular part in a movie. And most of the people who supposedly are close to you don’t care about who you really are anyway, because to them you’re just a product, a commodity to sell. So it’s not real. None of it’s real.”

He glanced over at Taylor cautiously, as if expecting her to laugh. She didn’t.

“Jeremy seems real,” she said in a gentler voice than usual.

This made Jason smile. “Jeremy and I have been friends a long time. He is as real as they get. Also cocky, condescending, and sarcastic—”

“How do you two ever get along?”

Jason grinned at her sarcasm. He eased back, swirling his wineglass. “You can throw all the little barbs you want, Taylor Donovan. It doesn’t bother me one bit. Because secretly, I think you like spending time with me.” He winked at her. “It’s okay, you can admit it—I already know.”

Taylor rolled her eyes disdainfully. “You’re way too confident.”

“Do you know that the average American woman between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five has seen each of my movies six times?”

Taylor scoffed at this. “Who told you that bullshit statistic?”

“Okay then, how many times have you thrown down ten dollars to see me on the big screen?”

“Not six.”

“How many times?”

She shrugged nonchalantly, trying to think of a way to lawyer herself out of the question.

Jason’s eyes widened at her gesture. “Oh, I’m sorry, Ms. Donovan, but your answers need to be audible for the court reporter.”

Taylor glared at him. “Do you have a point somewhere in this?”

“The point is,” Jason said, “that you say I’m too confident. But I say the odds are heavily in my favor that you’re attracted to me.”

There it was, all the cards laid out on the table.

“But you said it yourself,” Taylor told him, “that’s just the part you play. Your image. But what about the women who see behind the curtain to the real you? Are they just as infatuated?”

Something about her question seemed to strike a nerve, and Jason fell oddly silent. Realizing she was onto something, Taylor’s eyes probed his from across the low glow of the table’s candlelight.

“Maybe they never have a chance to see behind the curtain,” she said. “Maybe you’re always gone too quickly for that.”

Jason’s eyes met hers, and for a moment neither of them said anything. Without all the ridiculous bravado, Taylor thought, he actually seemed kind of human.

Then he tossed his napkin onto the table.

“That’s it—you’re paying for dinner tonight,” he declared.

Jason gestured to the waiter hovering attentively off to the side. “Bring us another bottle of the Screaming Eagle.” He lowered his voice to a whisper and pointed at Taylor. “The lady’s paying.”

“Of course, sir,” the waiter replied. With a flash, he was off to the restaurant’s private cellar.

Satisfied, Jason turned back to Taylor, his arms folded across his chest. “Seven hundred dollars per bottle, counselor. Let’s see how sassy you are when you’re back in the kitchen, washing dishes.” He paused, giving her a second look. “Not that your feminist ass knows what to do in there.”

At this, Taylor couldn’t help but smile. There was something about that sarcastic sense of humor of his. Sometimes, she liked it very much.

LATER THAT EVENING, Jason turned to Taylor as they were leaving the restaurant, eager to hear her verdict.

“So? What did you think of your first official Los Angeles dining experience?”

She grinned in acknowledgment. “This by far takes the award for the best place I’ve gone on a business dinner.”

Jason stopped abruptly.

“Wait—are you billing your time for this dinner?

Taylor stopped, too, seemingly surprised that he was surprised by this. “Well, yes. At least the part we spent talking about the script.”

Her answer bothered Jason. Quite a bit, actually.

Taylor shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry—is there a problem with that?”

What could he say in response? Jason tried to keep his words from sounding terse. “No, of course not—this was a work dinner for you. I’m sorry I kept you so long.”

He held the door open for Taylor, hoping to get them out of the restaurant and off this topic as quickly as possible.

She looked at him, confused. “Jason, I hope you didn’t—”

She suddenly was cut off by the blinding flash of a hundred cameras. She jumped in surprise, as Jason turned and saw an enormous mob of paparazzi gathered on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. At the sight of him, the photographers screamed his name and clamored to get closer.

Instinctively, Jason pushed Taylor back into the restaurant and slammed the door behind them. He took a peek through the window at the circus that had gathered outside. To him, it was a pretty typical sight.

Taylor, on the other hand, appeared to be seriously freaking out. While she paced, she stayed as far from the windows as possible, as if they were dealing with sniper rifles outside instead of cameras.

“This is . . . not good,” she said worriedly. “Really, really not good.” She turned to Jason with a hopeful look. “We were only outside for a second. Maybe they didn’t get a picture of us?”

Glancing out at the multitude of perfectly aimed cameras held by men with hair-trigger reflexes, Jason shook his head.

“At this point, I think the best you can hope for is that they didn’t get one like this . . . ” He made a shocked, oh-my-god-who-the-fuck-are-all-these-people face, trying to make her laugh.

It didn’t work.

Taylor sank miserably into a nearby chair. “I am so going to get kicked off my case.” She despondently rested her chin in her hands. “I’m under a court order,” she explained. “I can’t be seen in the media.”

As he walked over to her, Jason couldn’t help but notice again how much she wanted not to be seen with him. “I’m sure the judge wasn’t referring to this type of publicity.”

Taylor shook her head. “No, he was very clear on the issue—no press attention. Period.” She looked down at the ground.

Seeing her upset, Jason felt that strange feeling tugging at him again. He knelt before her and started to reach out to take her hands in his. But then, something instinctively stopped him from touching her. He rested his arms on his knees instead.

“I can fix this,” he said gently.

Taylor peered up at him hopefully. “Really?”

“But I want something in return.”

Her green eyes narrowed. She folded her arms over her chest. “What might that be?”

Jason’s gaze was unwavering.

“One night.”

Taylor’s eyes widened.

Jason smiled and spoke quickly, before she slapped him. “I meant one evening that’s not work-related. You let me take you somewhere fun.”

She shook her head definitively. “No.”

Jason stood up reluctantly. “Okay—have it your way.” He pointed to the front of the restaurant. “There’s the door. Don’t let the paparazzi hit you on the ass on your way out.”

Taylor peeked at the mob outside. Apparently finding this option unappealing, she turned back to Jason.

“If I agree to this, there would have to be certain parameters.”

Jason shook his head. “This isn’t a negotiation, Ms. Donovan. You have my offer—take it or leave it.”

Taylor glanced outside one last time, then sighed dramatically. Jason bit back a smile. All women should have such problems.

“Does anyone ever say ‘no’ to you?” she asked him resignedly.

“No. But if it makes you feel any better, you try a lot harder than anyone else. So we have a deal?”

“Fine. Whatever. Just fix this.”

With that, Jason whipped out his cell phone. He hit the speed dial, slipping into crisis mode.

“Marty!” he exclaimed affectionately into the phone. Never mind that it was almost midnight on a Friday. “Listen—I need you to do something for me. I’m at Mr. Chow’s with a bunch of paparazzi outside. They just got some photographs that I would appreciate they not publish. I don’t care about me, but tell these guys that if anyone prints the name of the woman I’m with, or a picture of her face, they won’t get one word from me ever again.”

Jason waved off all his publicist’s protests. “It’s your job to make sure they understand,” he said firmly. “Tell the editors, the publishers, whoever you need to talk to, that this comes directly from me.”

He paused at Marty’s next question.

“Do I at least have a comment on the mystery woman?” Jason’s eyes darted over to Taylor as he summed her up succinctly.

“Yes. Difficult. ”

Twelve

IT WAS ALL over the front page the following Monday.

“Jason’s Mystery Woman!”

Of course, Taylor—apparently the only person in Los Angeles who did not have a subscription to Us Weekly—had no knowledge of this until she got to work and found Linda and the secretarial cohorts camped outside her office. Because of Taylor’s connection to one Mr. Jason Andrews, her secretary had become the queen bee of the administrative staff.

Linda was agog. In her whole life, that word had never come to Taylor’s mind, but it really was the only way to describe her secretary on that particular morning.

“Have you seen it?” she asked as soon as Taylor walked in.

Taylor thought perhaps the judge had sua sponte granted summary judgment in her case. “Seen what?” she asked excitedly.

Linda held up a copy of Us Weekly. Taylor stared at it, confused. Strangely, she recognized the white shirt and jeans before she realized that the woman in the picture was her.

But there it was.

Beneath the screaming headline—“Jason’s Mystery Woman!”—was a photograph of the two of them stepping out the front door of Mr. Chow’s. Per Jason’s instructions, the photo showed Taylor only from the back, hiding her identity.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Linda asked breathlessly.

It was indeed her. Right there on the cover of a national gossip magazine with the biggest star in Hollywood. For Taylor, the moment went beyond surreal.

She peered up from the magazine and saw Linda and ten other pairs of eyes staring at her.

“It’s not what you think,” she said quickly.

“You had dinner with Jason Andrews,” Linda replied in awe.

Taylor shook a finger at her. “No, no. I had a meeting with Jason Andrews that happened to take place over dinner. There’s a big difference.” She braced herself for more interrogation.

But instead, Linda surprised her.

“Okay,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “If that’s what you say, then that’s all it was.”

Taylor stood by and watched as Linda shooed the other secretaries back to work. That was far easier than she had expected.

“Oh. Okay—great.” Taylor couldn’t help but be a bit surprised by Linda’s sudden indifference. “I’m glad that’s settled, then.” She waited for another moment. When no one said anything further, she turned and headed into her office. Once inside, Taylor took a seat at her desk.

Wow. That was the fastest fifteen minutes of fame she’d ever seen.

Not that she cared about such things, of course.

A FEW DAYS later, Taylor returned early to the office. Court had unexpectedly finished ahead of schedule when one of the plaintiffs’ witnesses had failed to show up to testify.

Linda called out from her desk as Taylor walked by. “How was court?”

Taylor grinned proudly. The trial was going even better than expected. If she wasn’t such a modest person, she would have to say she was utterly destroying the plaintiffs’ witnesses on cross-examination. She doubted it was coincidence that one of them hadn’t shown up today.

Taylor was fully aware that she had flaws—lots of them, in fact. But the one thing she knew beyond any doubt was that she was a damn good lawyer.

“The plaintiffs are struggling,” she told Linda, thinking that was a more than generous description of her opponent’s position. “But we still have a long way to go—you never know what a jury’s going to do.”

Linda nodded in agreement. “True, true. Oh—by the way,” she added casually, “Mr. Andrews called. He said to tell you that he’ll pick you up tomorrow after work. He said he’s keeping it a surprise where he’s taking you, except that I should warn you that he’ll be the one teaching you something for a change.”

After relaying the message, Linda waited expectantly for any instructions. Taylor shifted uneasily. Somebody had some ’splaining to do.

“Linda, it’s not—”

Her secretary held up her hand. “No need to say anything. I got it, this is purely business. Just like you said—we will handle the Andrews Project with the highest degree of professionalism.”

Linda moved on to other matters. “Also, a Ms. Foster called for you. She said you could reach her at her work number.” She turned back to her typing.

The office was quiet, unconcerned, as everyone went about their normal course of business. This gave Taylor an opportunity to ponder Jason’s cryptic message. She spun around toward her office, wondering what he meant by—

She gasped in shock at the sight before her eyes.

A solid wall of Jasons grinned out at her.

Her entire office door had been wallpapered with the latest cover of People magazine. It was the “Sexiest Man Alive” edition and apparently, the votes were in.

The smiling Jasons all stared at her, mocking her with their smug little the-odds-are-heavily-in-my-favor-that-you’re attracted-to-me grins. “This will do wonders for his ego,” Taylor muttered dryly under her breath.

The cover photo had captured him perfectly. He looked amused, and devilishly so. He wore his usual confident look—the look that said he knew something you didn’t and wasn’t quite ready to tell. And those damn blue eyes . . . despite the fact that it was merely a photograph, they seemed to bore straight through her.

As she took in the photo, she heard giggling behind her. “Very funny, guys,” she called over her shoulder, to the secretaries she knew were watching. “Very cute.”

Linda appeared at Taylor’s side. “You mean ‘sexy,’ don’t you?” she asked innocently, gesturing to the pictures. Then she couldn’t resist any longer—she burst into laughter.

As the other secretaries joined in, Taylor stood there, trying to hold back her smile. Finally, she gave in and laughed along with them.

Okay, fine. She probably deserved that.

DUE TO HER unexpected afternoon off from trial, Taylor had a few free minutes to return Valerie’s call. She answered the phone just as Taylor was taking a seat at her desk.

“Hey, it’s me,” Taylor said. “I got your message—what the hell—”

Apparently, Linda and the cohorts had stuck an extra copy of People magazine on her chair—just in case she had somehow missed the fifty plastered on her door.

“Something wrong?” Valerie asked, amused by this intro.

Taylor pulled the magazine out from under her. “Nothing—I just realized I was sitting on Jason Andrews’s face.”

“Yum. Call me back in an hour and let me know if it’s every bit as fantastic as I imagined.”

Taylor laughed. “My secretary left People magazine on my chair,” she explained.

“I just bought a copy this morning on my way to work,” Val said breathlessly. “You know this is the third time they’ve named him the Sexiest Man Alive? That’s more than anyone else.”

“You’re a music professor at an Ivy League university. How do you have time to keep up with all this stuff?”

“Are you kidding? We’re talking about Jason Andrews. I’ve seen all of his movies. Like six times.”

Taylor’s smile quickly changed into a frown. That stupid statistic.

She glared at the picture of Jason for being right. It was then that a second photograph in the lower right corner of the magazine cover caught her eye.

“Hey—I like the picture of Scott Casey,” she said appreciatively. Under the caption “Other Contenders” was a photo of the actor in his A Viking’s Quest costume.

“He’s so beautiful, isn’t he?” Valerie sighed wistfully. “I mean, I know you don’t usually say that to describe a man, but Scott Casey really is just the very definition of the word.”

“Do you think he’s almost too pretty?” Taylor examined the picture. She sighed, adopting a melodramatic air. “I suppose I could deal with it if I had to,” she said. She laughed at the very thought. As if.

“Speaking of dealing with things . . .” Valerie treaded lightly at first, then came right out with it. “Kate tells me you’ve been wasting your days away, hiding out in that office of yours.”

The comment instantly put Taylor on the defensive. “Doesn’t anybody understand that I’m on trial?”

“I don’t know who else you’re referring to, but Kate and I are your friends. We wouldn’t be doing our jobs during this posttraumatic period if we weren’t encouraging you to get on with your life.”

Taylor scoffed at this. “I’m not going through any ‘posttraumatic period.’ I promise you, I’ve moved on with my life.” And as she said the words, she realized just how true they were. She hadn’t thought once about Daniel since the day she had received his flowers. She’d been preoccupied with other things . . .

“And if it makes you feel better,” she continued, “I’m even going out tomorrow night. But don’t get too excited,” she added quickly. “It’s just a business”—she searched for the right word—“related event.”

Val sounded somewhat appeased by this. “Is there at least a man involved?”

Taylor considered how to answer this question. She was tempted to tell Val all about Jason. But she had decided it was better to do it in person, when she and Kate came to visit. She needed to exercise some spin control, particularly where Valerie was concerned. Taylor loved the girl to death, but keeping information on the down low was not one of her strong points.

“A man is sponsoring this event, yes.” Taylor figured at least that answer was true. Sort of.

“And by any chance is this a good-looking man?” Valerie asked hopefully.

Taylor glanced down at the picture of Jason on the cover of People. Oh, not really, she thought. Just the Sexiest Man Alive.

“I suppose some ‘people’ might say he’s attractive.” She giggled at her own joke.

Then immediately covered her mouth.

Oh god.

Valerie echoed this exact sentiment. “Holy shit.” She paused. “Did you just giggle?”

Taylor shook her head. “No,” she mumbled innocently from behind the palm of her hand. “Definitely not.”

“Because you never giggle,” Val continued. “That’s not the Taylor Donovan way.”

Taylor nodded resolutely. “That’s right. I don’t. I was just, um . . . coughing.”

Lame.

Valerie was highly suspicious. “I’m going to get to the bottom of whatever’s going on with you as soon as I get out there, you know.”

Taylor smiled. “Two weeks, Val. I promise—I’ll tell you everything.”

SCOTT CASEY GLANCED again at the copy of People that his now ex-publicist, Leslie, had just dropped off.

“Other Contenders.”

To say he was not pleased with this distinction would be an understatement.

It was the second time in less than two weeks that he had been promised the cover, only to see it go up in smoke on account of Jason fucking Andrews. It was enough to make a movie star—Hollywood’s It Guy, no less—want to fire his publicist.

Which is precisely what he had done, three minutes after arriving at Chateau Marmont and seeing the magazine Leslie had brought to their lunch meeting. What else was an It Guy supposed to do?

He certainly didn’t have time to bother with her tired excuses that she’d only promised he would be “on the cover” not “be the cover.” Whatever. He had waved her and her tired excuses off with a flick of his hand.

Scott knew that his time was now—he was hotter than hot coming off the success of A Viking’s Quest and landing the coveted lead role in Outback Nights. He needed someone who could deliver the best publicity 5 percent of all gross earnings could buy.

So now, sitting at one of the hotel’s poolside tables, Scott needed to come up with a strategy. He looked over at Rob, who had joined him for lunch once Leslie’s chair had opened up.

“I need Marty Shepherd,” Scott declared resolutely.

Rob nodded his agreement as he took another bite of his cheeseburger. “You should have Adam set it up,” he said while he chewed, referring to Scott’s manager. “Tell Shepherd that next year, you’ll settle for nothing less than Sexiest Man Alive and Most Beautiful Person of the Year.”

Scott glared at him. “That’s not what this is about.”

Rob eyed him skeptically, mumbling with a mouth full of food. “No? What’s it about, then?”

“Making sure I don’t end up a paunchy actor on some CW show whose biggest film break is Guy Whose Ass Gets Eaten in Anaconda 4.”

Rob looked hurt. “Hey—I’m on hiatus. So I’ve gained a few pounds . . . I’ll lose it by fall.” He pointed his burger at Scott. “And don’t take your Jason Andrews angst out on me.”

“I don’t have any angst,” Scott retorted. He held up the other magazine Leslie had dropped off, the most recent issue of Us Weekly. Jason’s so-called Mystery Woman.

“I’m just sick of hearing about the guy all the time. And I’m sure everyone else is, too.”

“Angst,” Rob whispered under his breath.

Scott rolled his eyes. “Never mind.”

Seeing Scott’s frustration, Rob adopted a more sympathetic air. Scott was higher then he on the celebrity food chain, so this meant that occasional ass-kissing, placating, and general ego-stroking was required.

“Look—you’re gonna call Marty Shepherd. The guy’s the master of publicity.” Rob grinned. “Even slightly round but cuddly character actors on CW shows whose biggest film break is a small but pivotal part in the newest Ocean’s sequel know that.” He proudly grabbed a french fry off his plate and bit down with relish.

Scott was surprised. “You got the part?”

“I’ll be filming in Vegas this Friday.”

“One day? That is a small part.”

Rob chose to ignore this. “Anyway, with Marty Shepherd, in a few weeks, that”—he pointed to the Us Weekly cover—“will be you.”

Scott set the magazine on the table in front of them. “So you think this whole thing with the Mystery Woman is just a publicity stunt?”

Rob shrugged nonchalantly, taking in the two bikini-clad pretty young things that passed by their table. It was the fourth lap of their not-so-subtle attempt to get Scott’s attention. He gave them one more walk-by before they finally gave up and said something.

“Isn’t everything these days?” Rob answered, eying the ass of the larger girl, who he guessed was pushing a size 6. If things went down with these two, this was the ass he’d be getting. “Jason Andrews has a movie coming out soon, doesn’t he?”

Scott nodded. “Inferno. Next month.”

“This sure would be a convenient way to get everyone in a frenzy over him before the film’s release.”

Scott saw the truth in this. He studied the photograph of Jason coming out of Mr. Chow’s with the so-called Mystery Woman. The woman, a brunette, had her face turned away from the cameras.

“Who do you think she is?” he asked.

Rob tore his eyes away from the pretty young things—who now were halfway around the pool—and leaned in for a better look. “I don’t know . . . she kind of looks like Kate Beckinsale. No wait—Eva Green.” He whistled his appreciation. “Definitely the best Bond girl yet. No doubt.”

Scott agreed with Rob’s guesses. The long, dark hair and body, from what he could see, definitively resembled either actress’s features. “Maybe it’s one of them . . . I can’t tell,” he mused. “She sure looks pretty fucking hot though.”

“She wouldn’t be with Jason Andrews if she wasn’t.”

When Scott glanced up sharply, Rob shrugged. “Sorry. But it’s true.”

“Who said she’s ‘with’ Jason Andrews?” Scott pointed to the photograph. “All I see are two people coming out of a restaurant.”

Rob humored this with a look. “I don’t think Jason Andrews does a lot of platonic entertaining.”

Before Scott could respond, the two pretty young things stopped in front of their table.

“Oh my god,” the size 2 exclaimed gleefully to Scott. “I was right—I told her it was you.” She gestured to the size 6, who also stared all dreamy-eyed. “We’re totally your biggest fans.”

Scott checked the women out, looking them up and down. Feeling a little generous that afternoon, he grinned and glanced over at Rob and his nearly finished cheeseburger.

“Well, my friend, did you save any room for dessert?”