Just the Sexiest Man Alive

  Linda considered this. “Well then, I guess you better find a way to keep him from doing a lot of talking.” She threw Taylor a wicked grin. “How big is your shower?”

  The secretaries burst into tittering giggles.

  Taylor found herself oddly flustered by Linda’s words. It had to be the temperature in the office, she thought with annoyance, which had suddenly become ridiculously hot again. All that money, and the firm couldn’t even afford damn decent air-conditioning.

  Realizing she had been fanning herself—and that everyone was watching—Taylor stopped and pretended to be waving off the group’s giggles.

  “Don’t you people have any work to do?”

  The secretaries exchanged amused looks at her tone. With a dismissive flick of her hand—figuring she’d wasted more than enough time on nonsense that morning—Taylor abruptly turned back toward her office.

  And stumbled most ungracefully over a file box sitting in the hallway.

  After an ungainly balancing act, Taylor managed to right herself. She looked down in annoyance. Stupid stinking box. She kicked it with her heel.

  Behind her, the secretaries giggled even louder.

  Taylor straightened her suit and pulled herself together, then hurried off to the sanctity of her office. On her way, she gestured to the object of everyone’s fascination.

  “And why do we have a television in here, anyway?” she demanded in an attempt to at least get the last word in. “This is a law office!”

  Linda shrugged this off nonchalantly.

  “This is L.A.”

  Three

  TAYLOR CHECKED THE clock on her desk for what had to be the tenth time that morning. 11:07. She tapped her pen impatiently.

  He was late.

  She should have been in court that very moment, arguing her motions to compel. As it turned out, Derek had nothing to worry about—if they lost on one single issue, she would hold Jason Andrews entirely responsible.

  She glanced up hopefully when Linda stopped in the doorway.

  “Any word?”

  Linda sadly shook her head. A deep depression had begun to creep over the office at the actor’s failure to appear thus far. “None.”

  They went through this routine for the rest of the morning, and then the afternoon, too. Assuming Jason Andrews would eventually show up at some point, and having cleared her schedule for the entire day, Taylor found it difficult to concentrate on any meaningful task. So when six o’clock rolled around, she began the futile task of filling in her daily time sheet with a whole lot of nothing.

  Great, she thought—say hello to another Saturday in the office.

  But then she was interrupted by a frantic knock at her office door. She looked up to see Linda, flushed with excitement and out of breath, as if she had run to Taylor’s office the moment she had received whatever news she was about to convey.

  “His assistant just called. She said there was a mix-up, but that Mr. Andrews will be here first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Tomorrow?” Taylor repeated. Then she frowned. “Perfect,” she muttered in annoyance. Say hello to Sunday in the office, too.

  “Did his assistant at least apologize?” she asked.

  Linda put a finger to her chin and paused, as if trying to remember. “Hmmm . . . now that would be a ‘no.’ ”

  Taylor rolled her eyes. Now there’s a fucking surprise.

  BUT BY THE next day, Taylor could definitively say that she had gotten over the issue of Jason Andrews’s lateness.

  Because being late was no longer the problem.

  The jerk had completely blown her off. No phone calls, no apologies, and no explanations.

  So by late Friday afternoon, after a second day spent mumbling obscenities, pacing through the hallways, and generally huffing about, Taylor decided she was not going to waste one more minute of her life on Jason Andrews.

  She shoved a stack of files into her briefcase, grabbed her suit coat off the back of her chair, and resolutely strode out into the hallway, past Linda’s desk.

  “I’m going home. And I will be unavailable for the rest of the afternoon if, by some miracle, a certain person should happen to show up.” The haughty way she said this left Linda no doubt as to who the “certain person” might be. “For anyone else, I can of course be reached on my cell phone or at home.”

  Linda panicked. She leaned over her desk and shouted frantically to Taylor, who was already halfway down the hall by that point. “But what am I supposed to say if Jason Andrews shows up?”

  Ten responses inappropriate for the workplace came to Taylor’s mind.

  Not bothering to stop, she called back a simple message for Linda to relay.

  “Tell him I hope his movie bombs.”

  SATURDAY AND SUNDAY thankfully passed by without further needless (and highly inconsiderate) delays. Taylor used the weekend hours to get back on track in terms of her pretrial schedule. Derek had informed her that the judge had continued one of their motions—the one most critical to their case—until Monday morning. Although neither mentioned it, both of them were quietly relieved that she would be able to cover the motion after all. Derek, a little on the shy side, had always been slightly uncomfortable with the subject matter.

  Come Sunday afternoon, having billed almost fifteen hours over the weekend, Taylor decided to reward herself with some shopping at Fred Segal. As she left the mall a mere hour after getting there, she tried to figure out why she felt good about dropping almost $500 on one pair of jeans and a small black velvet clutch. Then it hit her: she had just had her first “L.A.” experience.

  As Taylor cut across the parking lot, she reached into her purse for her cell phone. She knew Valerie would be proud of this moment.

  “Guess where I am right now,” she said as soon as Val answered on the other end of the line. She didn’t bother with an introduction, as Val had carefully selected a different ring tone for each of her friends. For Taylor, she had chosen the Darth Vader theme music.

  Val quickly threw out a few guesses. “Lying on the beach. Hiking in the mountains. Matt Damon’s bedroom.”

  Taylor juggled her phone as she took her Chanel sunglasses out of her purse and slid them on. It had been warm and sunny every day since she’d come to Los Angeles. She’d have to concede the fact that the city certainly had the advantage of weather over Chicago, which could be a miserable fifty degrees and rainy even in June.

  “If I was in Matt Damon’s bedroom, I’d hardly be taking a telephone break,” Taylor joked.

  “I thought you said you liked him for his intellect.”

  “I caught a few minutes of The Bourne Ultimatum on cable the other night. My feelings for Matt now extend far beyond his Harvard education. Like how he looks in a fitted T-shirt.”

  “Good. Because I used to think your attraction was pretty shallow.”

  They both laughed. Their conversation quickly turned to Val and Kate’s visit, which was only a few weeks away. As Taylor listened to Val rattle on about hanging poolside at Chateau Marmont and dinners at Les Deux, she kept silent about the whole Jason Andrews debacle. She had decided, for now at least, not to mention it to anyone back home. At this point, she figured, it was a nonstarter of a story. What could she say, really? I was supposed to work with Jason Andrews, but he never showed up? Wow, that was exciting. Plus, she didn’t particularly feel the need to share with everyone the fact that she’d been blown off by the man.

  He may have been Jason Andrews, but she still had her pride.

  ON MONDAY MORNING, Taylor rushed around her apartment getting ready for work. She had the television on in her living room, hoping to catch the traffic report. Although from what she had observed in the past couple of weeks, this was a meaningless exercise. Like the weather, the traffic in L.A. was always the same. Everywhere took twenty minutes.

  Having traveled fairly extensively across the country for depositions and trials, she’d had the opportunity to observe that local morning shows kept
to certain schedules. L.A.’s version—appropriately named L.A. Mornings—was no exception. National news followed by local news, with weather and traffic on the “sixes.” And at precisely 7:20, Sarah Stevens, the show’s exuberant entertainment correspondent, treated Los Angeles viewers to the day’s “Hollywood Minute.”

  And so it was on that particular Monday morning, as the clock struck 7:20, that Taylor happened to be in the kitchen pouring coffee into her portable mug when she heard the anchorwoman’s telltale introduction coming from the television.

  “And now, Los Angeles, it’s time for Sarah Stevens and the day’s Hollywood Minute.”

  Taylor had a view of the television from the kitchen, so she peered over with mild interest. She would generally watch “Hollywood Minute” if she happened to be in range when the segment came on, but it was hardly something she ran out of the bathroom with a mouth full of toothpaste for.

  She watched as the television cut to Sarah Stevens greeting her public with excitement.

  “Good morning, everyone! Today I have a treat for all you viewers—at least the female ones, that is.” The reporter lowered her voice conspiratorially. “This weekend, Hollywood Minute caught up with someone special as he enjoyed a four-day gambling spree in Las Vegas—none other than our favorite leading man, Jason Andrews!”

  The coffee mug fell from Taylor’s hand and tumbled loudly into the sink.

  She stood there and watched in disbelief as the television cut to footage of Sarah Stevens holding a microphone outside the Bellagio hotel. Just then, Jason Andrews exited through the revolving door, with some grungy-looking guy who appeared wholly uninterested in the mob of fans and paparazzi that immediately swarmed them.

  The reporter pushed her way through the crowd and called out eagerly.

  “Jason! Hi! Sarah Stevens with L.A. Mornings.” She barreled over to him, cameraman in tow. “Do you have a minute to say hello to our viewers?” She immediately shoved the microphone in his face.

  For the quickest second, Jason appeared annoyed. But then he flashed Sarah Stevens one of his perfect-teeth smiles.

  “Of course. I always have time for fans.”

  “Have you been enjoying Las Vegas?” The reporter asked breathlessly.

  “I always enjoy Las Vegas.”

  Taylor noticed how the reporter glowed, positively basking in Jason’s presence. Or maybe it was just the blinding white light of his teeth.

  “You know I have to ask,” Sarah continued coyly. “Who are you here with?”

  Jason gestured to the grungy guy, who stood somewhat uncomfortably on the outskirts of the crowd.

  “Sorry, no gossip to report this time. We decided to come out here on Thursday, sort of a last-minute guy’s trip. You know how it is—sometimes, the tables just call you.”

  Taylor’s mouth fell open as she glared incredulously at the twenty-seven-inch prick in her living room.

  A last-minute guy’s trip? That was the reason she had to work all weekend?

  But that wasn’t enough. Oh no, far from it.

  “I hear you’re about to start production on a new film—a legal thriller,” Sarah Stevens said. “That must be keeping you awfully busy.”

  Jason shrugged this off with a breezy smile and delivered the final blow.

  “Obviously not busy with anything important enough to tempt me to miss a weekend in Vegas.” He and Sarah Stevens shared a hearty laugh over this.

  But back in her kitchen, Taylor Donovan was not laughing.

  Jason Andrews had just insulted her in front of the entire world.

  Well, fine—maybe only the people who were watching “Hollywood Minute” on that particular morning. And really only those people who actually knew he had been scheduled to meet with her last week.

  Jason Andrews had just insulted her in front of at least fourteen people.

  And suddenly, Taylor’s feelings toward the actor were no longer very cordial.

  She grabbed the remote control and with a satisfactory push of the button, made Jason Andrews disappear.

  “Asshole!”

  It was the only word she could manage.

  Four

  GIVEN HER FOUL mood, when Taylor walked into Judge Fowler’s courtroom that morning to argue her motion in limine, she was ready to kick some serious ass.

  She and Derek took their seats at the defendant’s table. Her opposing counsel, Frank, was already waiting at the table opposite them. Seeing that all parties were present, the clerk of court called the room to order as the judge entered.

  “All rise! This court is now in session, the Honorable Arlander Fowler presiding.” The clerk, judge, and court reporter all sat. Taylor and Frank approached the podium as the judge sifted through his papers.

  “Frank Siedlecki, representing the EEOC, Your Honor.”

  “Good morning, Your Honor. Taylor Donovan, for the defendant.”

  And then the most extraordinary thing happened in that courtroom that morning, at the very moment when Taylor stated her name for the record.

  Jason Andrews walked in.

  Hearing Taylor introduce herself, Jason looked over curiously. Without being noticed, he took a seat in the empty back row of the galley as the judge, Taylor, and Frank continued on with their business.

  The judge pulled Taylor’s motion out from the stack of papers in front of him. “All right, we are here today on a continuance of defendant’s final motion in limine.” He peered down from the bench at Taylor. “Counselor, why don’t you tell me what this is all about?”

  Taylor addressed the judge from the podium, fully aware that this motion was crucial to the success of their case.

  “Your Honor, the EEOC intends to have several witnesses testify about non-gender-based profanity they allegedly heard in the workplace. We’re moving to prohibit all such testimony.”

  Frank jumped in. “Your Honor, this is a sexual harassment case—”

  And Taylor promptly cut him off. “That’s right. This is a sexual harassment case, and we are moving to prohibit testimony about language that, while profane, certainly is not sex-based. I apologize for my language, Your Honor, but I just don’t see what the word ‘shit’ has to do with sexual harassment.”

  Over in the gallery, Jason smiled at this.

  Up at the podium, Frank tried to regain control over the argument. “But these plaintiffs are women, Your Honor, and the EEOC can establish that they often heard that particular word and others like it in the workplace, and that they found such language to be harassing.”

  Taylor quickly responded. “The EEOC’s problem is that everyone in the workplace heard this kind of profanity—both men and women.”

  “Your Honor, our position is that the defendant should have been aware that women as a whole, as a gender, would be more . . . sensitive to these types of words,” Frank said in his most self-righteous tone.

  At that, Taylor held up a hand with disdain.

  “I’m sorry, Judge. But that kind of paternalistic view is more offensive than anything my client is accused of. The purpose of the Civil Rights Act is not to turn our workplaces into Sunday school; it’s meant to prevent discrimination. The EEOC might not like the word ‘shit,’ but too bad. It’s not discriminatory.”

  Considering the argument finished, Taylor folded her arms over her chest and waited for the ruling.

  Up at his bench, the judge peered down at the parties as he debated the merits of each position. After a moment, he spoke.

  “I have to agree with Ms. Donovan on this one. There are a lot of things that all of us have to put up with at work, things we don’t particularly like, but that doesn’t make those things discriminatory. Defendant’s motion in limine is granted.”

  The judge banged his gavel as the clerk of court stamped the motion. “I think that wraps us up for today, counselors. Submit your joint pretrial order to me by Friday. This court stands in recess.”

  As the judge stood to leave, everyone in the courtroom rose. Satisfied wi
th the ruling, Taylor turned pleasantly to Frank.

  “So, should we plan to talk tomorrow about the pretrial order?” Arguing was like a sport to Taylor and like all professionals, she left the game on the field.

  Frank, however, did not appear to be of a similar mind-set. Ignoring her, he grabbed his briefcase and stormed off without saying one word.

  Taylor shrugged this off. Oh well. He probably was just pissed he didn’t get to swear in court, too.

  She returned to the defendant’s table and began packing files into her briefcase. Suddenly, she felt Derek nudge her hip.

  “Isn’t that Jason Andrews?” he asked in a low, excited whisper.

  Taylor glanced up and saw a man heading over from the galley, walking up the aisle toward her.

  It was indeed Jason Andrews.

  The twenty-five-million-dollar-per-picture star paused for a brief moment when she first looked up. Then he flashed her that famous smile.

  “You must be Taylor.”

  Taylor maintained her even stare. Well, well, well. His Exalted High-and-Mightiness had finally decided to drop in after all.

  As Jason Andrews strolled over in his black button-down shirt and charcoal-gray pin-striped pants (both of which fit so perfectly they appeared to have been hand-tailored just for him), two thoughts crossed Taylor’s mind.

  One—he wasn’t wearing a suit and tie in court.

  Two—he was unbelievably gorgeous in person.

  She quickly obliterated this second, wholly irrelevant, thought from her mind. She managed to keep her face a mask of steady indifference as the actor sauntered up to her.

  “Your office said you would be here,” he said easily, explaining his presence. “Looks like I got here just in time for the fireworks.” He winked as if they were in on some joke together.

  Taylor glared at him. So deadly was her look, a lesser man would’ve been out the courtroom door in two seconds flat.

  But Jason was undaunted. He smiled amiably. “You’re right—where are my manners? I haven’t properly introduced myself.” He held out his hand in introduction. “I’m Jason—”