“Now this is the life.” She sighed to herself while taking a sip of her deliciously cold lemonade.
She pulled her sunglasses down from her forehead and eased back in her lounge chair. She glanced over at Jason, who sat on the chair next to her reading his copy of Daily Variety. He’d peeled off his T-shirt earlier and now wore only a pair of cargo shorts. And here Taylor had thought the chocolate chip pancakes were yummy . . .
“I’m sorry?” Jason looked over. Taylor started, having momentarily forgotten she’d said anything out loud. She quickly gestured to the pool.
“I was just saying that this is a pretty nice setup you have here.”
Jason nodded, a bit distractedly. In fact, Taylor had noticed he’d seemed a little distracted the entire morning. Every time she’d snuck a peek at him—hey, he was Jason Andrews and he was shirtless, of course she’d snuck in a few peeks—he’d been staring off at nothing. As if something was troubling him.
They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment or two, when Jason turned back to her. “So you like being here, then?” He peered at Taylor through the dark lenses of his sunglasses.
His question caught her off guard. “At this house?”
It was probably just the sun, but she could have sworn she saw Jason’s cheeks blush.
“I meant California,” he said quickly. “You know here,” he waved his hand, referring to their general locale. “Los Angeles.”
Taylor smiled. It was eighty degrees and not a cloud in the sky. “What’s not to like?”
Jason turned back to his paper. “Right, right.” He nodded. A moment passed, then he glanced at Taylor once again.
“So you would consider this then, as a place you could live? You wouldn’t miss Chicago?”
Taylor found his question a bit . . . strange. She could’ve sworn she heard a catch in his voice, as if their conversation had somehow turned into something more than idle chitchat. Too bad those damn sunglasses made it impossible for her to read his expression.
Then she shrugged these thoughts off. She was being too suspicious, she told herself. Too much of a lawyer. This wasn’t a deposition; not every question had a secret purpose or trick behind it. Jason was just being polite. After all, she had been living in Los Angeles for a couple of months by now; it was a natural question for him to ask.
“I suppose I’d consider it, if there was some great opportunity for me in L.A.,” she said. “But I guess I’ve always assumed that Chicago is where I’d live.”
With that said, Taylor put her sunglasses back on top of her head, not wanting to get raccoon marks from the sun. She closed her eyes and eased back in her chair. “Luckily, I don’t need to worry about that for a long time,” she told Jason. “With this trial, it’ll be a couple more months before I have to start thinking about leaving here.”
Enough about Chicago already, she thought, basking in the warm California sun. That world was thousands of miles away for now.
But strangely, when she opened her eyes a few minutes later to take another sip of her lemonade, she noticed that Jason was staring off distractedly once again.
Twenty-seven
AT FIVE O’CLOCK Taylor’s twenty-four hours were up. Her stay in paradise came to a reluctant end.
Jason pulled the Aston Martin up the driveway of her apartment building and shut off the engine. The two of them sat for a moment in his car.
“Back to reality.” Taylor sighed. “Good old apartment living.”
“You know, you could just ask the next time you want to sleep over. You don’t need to crash your car.”
Taylor laughed, relieved to see him joking again. He’d been so quiet all day, she had begun to worry that something was really wrong.
“I’ll remember that,” she told him. She was about to thank him for letting her stay over when it happened again—a shrill ring blared out from her purse. Cellphonus interruptus.
Despite the inconvenience of the moment, Taylor felt obligated to check and make sure it wasn’t Derek with some trial-related crisis. She felt Jason watching her as she pulled the phone out and checked the caller ID. When she saw it was Scott who was calling, she said nothing and tucked the phone back into her purse.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Jason asked.
“I’ll let it go into voice mail.”
But her phone was relentless. It began ringing again, immediately. Taylor smiled, thinking back to another person who had not so long ago similarly persisted in trying to reach her.
“I gotta say, you movie stars sure are tenacious,” she said teasingly over the phone’s ring.
Jason’s face hardened. “I’m nothing like him.”
She had meant the comment as a joke, but she saw that she’d insulted him instead. You’re right, she suddenly felt the urge to say. You are so much more than him.
As her cell phone continued to ring, Jason turned away and stared straight ahead with a stony expression, his eyes fixed on the windshield of the car.
Say it, Taylor heard the voice in her head urging her. At least tell him that. After everything he’s done for you, he deserves to hear it.
But she couldn’t.
Because she knew that those words would lead to more words, and there were things going on between her and Jason that she wasn’t ready to face. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours; she needed time to pull her thoughts together.
So she hesitated. Seeing this, Jason set his jaw angrily and threw the car into drive.
“You should take your call, Taylor,” he said, refusing to look at her.
Nodding, she grabbed her bag and stepped out of the car. She had barely shut the door when Jason threw the car into gear and took off. She stood in the driveway, watching as the Aston Martin sped around the corner of her street. It took her a moment to realize her cell phone was still ringing.
Shit—Scott. She had forgotten about him. Yes, again.
She answered her phone, having a pretty good idea what his first word would be.
“Gorgeous!” he exclaimed enthusiastically as Taylor mouthed along. She instantly felt horrible for doing that. After all, lots of women would be thrilled to have Scott Casey calling them.
“Hey, Scott,” she said, trying to sound normal despite how flustered she was by Jason’s angry departure. She headed up the walkway to her front door and let herself into her apartment.
“I’ve been thinking about you all day, gorgeous,” Scott said.
Taylor suddenly wondered if perhaps he actually didn’t remember her name. “Thanks, really, I’m fine,” she told him. “I would have called, but I didn’t want to bother you.” Lies, lies, lies, she thought. But somehow, “I know we kissed five times but I can’t seem to remember you exist” didn’t have quite the same ring to it.
“You’re not mad at me for not picking you up at the hospital, are you?”
“No, not at all,” Taylor assured him. And this part was true—she of all people understood that work often had to take priority over personal matters.
Which is why she would never forget the moment she heard Jason’s voice and saw him standing in the doorway of the hospital emergency room. In that moment, everything had changed.
Up until that moment, Taylor could’ve at least pretended she’d been doing a passable job of keeping her feelings toward Jason in check. And most of that success was due in large part to her firm belief that his attraction to her was little more than a passing fancy, merely a spoiled movie star’s desire to have something he’d previously been told he couldn’t.
But the emotions she’d seen on his face in the emergency room had been real. And seeing that was something she had not prepared herself for.
She could resist his charm and wit and devilish smile. She could try to ignore the fact that he was the most attractive man she had ever laid eyes on, both on film and in person. But she had no defense against the man Jason was when he wasn’t busy trying to be Jason Andrews the movie star. That man was someone that som
ebody could really fall in love with.
And that thought was so very dangerous.
Falling in love with anyone was a gamble. Falling in love with a known womanizer—well, Taylor had been there, done that, and the results had been disastrous.
But falling in love with the most famous womanizer of all, a celebrity who proudly flaunted his bachelor ways on national television? The thought was sheer lunacy.
Still . . . that didn’t mean the situation between her and Jason needed to end on such a sour note. There were things that needed to be said, she realized.
So distracted was Taylor with these thoughts, she barely paid attention to a word Scott said as he rambled on about his rough week of filming. She finally tuned back in when she heard him mention something about homemade chicken soup, realizing that he was asking if he could come over that evening.
“Oh, that’s sweet,” she said quickly. “But I really need to take it easy tonight and catch up on work.”
The line went silent.
“But we have plans tonight.”
From his sharp tone, Taylor sensed he was less concerned about not seeing her and more annoyed over the fact that he was being blown off. Or maybe that was just the unappreciative bitch in her talking.
“I know, I’m sorry, I’m just so exhausted,” she said dramatically. Lies, lies, lies. “Can we do it some other time?”
Scott paused. “Well, I was planning on asking you about this in person, but since that’s apparently not an option . . .” He paused grumpily before continuing. “Have you heard of the Black and Pink Ball?”
The Black & Pink Ball, he explained, was a black-tie (hence the black) charity benefit thrown every year at the house of Tony Bredstone, head of one of the major studios. The party was one of the most elegant and lavish thrown in Hollywood: a five-course dinner, followed by dancing and a silent raffle. All the proceeds were donated to a breast cancer research foundation (hence the pink).
Scott asked if she would like to go with him.
Taylor hesitated.
Being Scott Casey, he assumed there was only one reason any woman would ever hesitate to go anywhere with him.
“I saw that your friend Jason was on the invite list,” he said pointedly. “Perhaps he already mentioned the party to you?”
Taylor couldn’t help it—she felt a stab of disappointment. “No . . . no, he hadn’t.”
“Well then, gorgeous,” Scott said, his confident tone restored. “How about going with me?”
And so she said yes.
In truth, her agreeing to go had almost nothing to do with Scott and pretty much everything to do with Jason. After the way he had sped off, Taylor wasn’t sure when she would see him again and the Black & Pink Ball provided her with the perfect opportunity.
There were things she needed to say to Jason Andrews.
And next Saturday would be the night.
ACROSS TOWN, PERCHED high above the city in his Hollywood Hills home, Scott hung up the phone having the very same thought as Taylor.
Next Saturday would be the night, he told himself.
Jason Andrews’s Mystery Woman had been the hottest story in every tabloid newspaper, gossip column, and entertainment news program for the past several weeks. It seemed as though the whole world was waiting with bated breath to discover the identity of the elusive dark-haired woman who had so obviously caught the eye of the Sexiest Man Alive.
Scott knew that Saturday night was the perfect time to introduce Taylor to her public. After Saturday, everyone would know who was merely the “Other Contender.” Let the world see that Jason Andrews’s Mystery Woman had moved on to bigger and brighter pastures.
Him.
Landing the lead role in Outback Nights had been one thing. But this was far better—Scott had a feeling that stealing Taylor from Jason would be a much bigger blow to the so-called King of Hollywood’s ego.
True, he didn’t exactly seem to have her eating out of the palm of his hand. Yet. But this soon would change. Of that he was quite certain.
And it all would happen on Saturday night.
The thought put Scott into a great mood as he stepped out onto his deck. The scene hadn’t changed much since he’d left to call Taylor: the three girls he’d picked up earlier at the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf frolicked happily in the pool, splashing each other and drinking frozen margaritas. Off to the side, Rob reclined in a lounge chair, eating Cheetos and using his towel as a napkin.
Scott resumed his place in the lounge chair next to Rob.
“How did it go with what’s-her-name?”
Ignoring Rob’s question, Scott looked pointedly at the Cheetos bag that had started off full just twenty minutes ago and now appeared to be virtually empty.
Rob made a face in response. “They’re baked.”
“Whatever. Just don’t get into my pool with that orange shit all over your hands.” Scott leaned back to watch the girls, who smiled at him in collective invitation. “As for your question, everything’s fine with what’s-her-name. I’m taking her to the Black and Pink Ball next Saturday.”
“That should at least be worth a blow job.”
“You would think so, right? But she needs to ‘rest’ tonight,” Scott said with mocking finger quotes. Then with his arms folded casually behind his head, he eyed the girls in the pool. He wondered how much longer he should let them go on splashing each other before he jumped in and gave them something to really splash about.
“So I’m gonna have Marty make sure she and I are photographed together at the party,” he told Rob. He had officially signed with Marty Shepherd three days ago and was eager to take his new publicist out for a spin. “Then he can leak her name to the press.” He grinned, proud of this plan. “Taylor Donovan—the girl formerly known as the Mystery Woman.”
Rob looked over as he scrunched up the Cheetos bag. “I thought you told me she had issues with the press—something to do with her trial or whatever.”
“She does. But that’s not my problem, is it?”
Scott glanced back at the girls in the pool, who were coyly gesturing for him to join them.
“Ladies . . . how’s the water?”
In response, one of the girls took off her bikini top and smiled. The other two quickly followed suit.
“Looks like it might be a little chilly,” Scott said, enjoying the view. He got up from his lounge chair, glancing at Rob as he walked by. “Now that you’ve finished your snack . . . I assume you know your way out?”
Rob looked at him in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding.” He pointed an orange-tipped finger at the three girls in the water, whose bikini bottoms had now gone the way of their tops. “What about me?”
Scott shook his head with an oh-so-sorry grin. “Sorry, buddy—but this one’s all mine. I told you, you need to lay off the desserts anyway.”
And with that, Scott dove cleanly into the pool. When he surfaced in the midst of the three naked girls, Taylor Donovan was the last thing on his mind.
JASON HAD A meeting with Marty later that week to discuss his promo schedule for Inferno, which opened the following Friday. It was a whirlwind of a lineup that would have him jetting all across the country: press junkets, photo shoots, the Today show, The Tonight Show, The Early Show, The Late Show, Ellen, Oprah, and Barbara Walters on The View. All in the span of four days.
Since Jason would still be in Los Angeles the upcoming weekend, Marty asked if he planned to attend Tony Redstone’s Black & Pink Ball. Jason was just about to caustically reply that indeed he was not so planning—Redstone was the head of the studio that had greenlit Outback Nights and supposedly (according to Jason’s sources) the man who had balked at his salary and decided to go with the far less talented (again, according to Jason’s sources) and less expensive Scott Casey.
But then Marty casually mentioned that if Jason was planning to attend, perhaps he could bring Naomi Cross. Given the fact that Taylor Donovan was already going with Scott Casey.
 
; Hearing this, Jason felt a pit form in his stomach.
He hated the way he’d left things with her last weekend, but he’d been too mad and later, too embarrassed to call her. He had realized over the past couple days, however, that they really needed to talk. And not over the telephone.
So if Saturday night had to be the night, so be it. Fuck Scott Casey—he was a cocky little pissant and Jason could give a crap about the fact that he would be there, too. There were things he needed to say to Taylor. Important things.
So he told Marty to put him down as a yes.
Twenty-eight
TAYLOR PRIDED HERSELF in being a virtual expert in the area of labor and employment law. She had worked hard for this distinction: she subscribed to the various labor and employment trade publications, she kept on top of the case law and legislation and studied the trends and changes in her field, she attended conferences and seminars and was even the cochairwoman of the Young Lawyers Employment Law Committee of the Chicago Bar Association.
In short, when it came to labor and employment law, Taylor had skills.
On the other hand, when it came to the subject of black-tie Hollywood balls, Taylor’s skills were, well . . . not so much. In this area, she needed reinforcements. She needed an expert in the subject of all things Hollywood, someone who worked hard to acquire that knowledge, someone who subscribed to the various trade publications and studied the trends and changes in that particular field.
So she called Valerie.
The woman was apoplectic.
“The Black and Pink Ball!”
Val screamed so loudly, Taylor had to hold the phone away from her ear.