As I stare at Brad, who has made himself comfortable in my director’s chair, my nerve cells tingle ever so slightly. He certainly is a bit of eye candy. Nothing wrong with looking, I tell myself before I open my lunch pack.

Since starting on this project, I order my lunch from the same place every day. I’m almost sorry Brad brought it in today as I always enjoy the little banter young JD and I have. Of course, I know his name is not really JD; I just call him that because he does remind me a little of the legendary actor of the same initial.

And, of course, I love the way the young man turns bright red whenever I call him JD.

“A penny for your thoughts?”

Brad’s voice brings me back to reality.

I hope I’m not blushing now. There’s no way I’m going to confess I was just thinking about the young delivery boy. LOL.

Ah, hell, now I’m thinking in acronyms.

“Work.” I’m not a very good liar, so being vague is the best way to deal with it. I was sort of thinking about work.

“That bad?”

For a second, I think I can hear real concern in Brad’s voice. I revel in it.

I can’t recall the last time someone was concerned for me.

I weigh up my answer. Should I be truthful? Some people believe you have to maintain a professional relationship with the actors, and therefore you never confide too much in them…or anybody for that matter.

“Sort of.” I’m still not sure how much I should tell him.

I wonder what the reason was for his appearance today with my lunch. And what exactly has he done to persuade JD not to come up and deliver lunch himself?

“It’s a tough gig, isn’t it?” Brad prods. “Writing, I mean. It must be hard.”

I sigh. I so want to talk about this with someone.

To stall, I busy myself with my lunch. I spread out the serviette before I put the tub of salad on top of it. Occasionally, I glance at Brad, who has one leg crossed over the other.

Briefly, I imagine running my hands over the muscles in his chest before letting them wander down his back.

I must really stop my imagination from running away with me. I’m at work, not at home.

“Can be,” I eventually answer and take a forkful of quinoa salad.

“I reckon it must even be harder if you are woman.” There’s a deliberate pause, and I feel my heartbeat quicken as I wait for what else he’s going to say. “Particularly such an attractive and sexy woman as you.”

Despite my best effort, I’m sure my cheeks are a little red.

“I bet you say that to all the women,” I say before I can stop myself.

What is wrong with me? Where’s my word filter? I never say these things.

Brad chuckles. The sound of his warm, hearty laughter provokes a longing in me I haven’t felt in a long time. If I’m honest, I can’t ever recall feeling something quite like this before.

I study his rugged features. He really is a spunk. And he’s got muscles too.

“I’m not shallow,” he replies and winks at me. “I mean what I say. Nothing wrong telling a woman she’s beautiful when she is.” He pauses, and my breathing has increased a little as if I’ve jogged up and down the hallway.

“And,” he continues, now leaning a little toward me, “nothing wrong in telling her she’s sexy, if she is. And you are sexy.”

Now my nerve endings are tingling in anticipation. It takes all my self-control not to go and rip his shirt open and start kissing his chest.

Stay cool, I think to myself and smile. I nod in a graceful thank-you gesture, like one of those old-fashioned movie divas. At least I hope that’s what my gesture looks like.

I take another forkful of my salad.

“It’s a good show, you know.” Brad is leaning back in the director’s chair again, with his right leg now at an angle over his left one. He’s the picture of relaxation.

If I were an artist, I would paint him in this posture, naked.

I try not to smile from ear to ear. Brad has paid me another compliment. None of the other ac-tors have done so.

“Do you really think so?” I search in his eyes for mocking, but can’t see it.

“I do, Kayla. I’ve worked on a few shows, but I’m really enjoying this one. I enjoy working with you.”

I swallow the lump that has suddenly appeared in the back of my throat. He could just be saying this because he’s worried about being killed off.

“And I’m not just saying it to get you to keep me in the show.” He winks at me as if he can read my mind. “Although, you know, I would do what it takes…” He leaves the sentence unfinished, a delicious grin on his lips.

It’s my turn to laugh. He really is a very good actor, or a real charmer.

“I have to say, so far I have enjoyed writing the episodes.” I decide to open up just a little.

Brad’s brow furrows just a little.

“So far? Something changed?”

Not only is he good-looking, charming, and entertaining, he is also perceptive.

My left hand brushes through my hair as I sigh.

“I suppose every job has its good and bad days, and today’s a bit of a bad day.”

His left eyebrow rises just a little, but he says nothing.

“I love writing. I’ve always wanted to be a writer, and I think this could be my big break into the screen world.” I pause and take a sip of my coffee.

Boy, this is good. “And I don’t want to stuff it up,” I add.

When I finish my little unburdening, it’s as if a weight has been lifted off my chest.

“Who says you’re going to stuff up?” Brad sounds genuinely concerned.

I decided he’s not acting. He sounds too interested.

“No one yet. But this killing off scene has me worried. It doesn’t feel right, and I see a different potential in the show. I think it needs to go in a different direction.”

Brad studies me. As his eyes slowly travel over my face and down to my chest, I feel as if he is undressing me, slowly, deliberately.

Part of me is tempted to check if my blouse is still buttoned up to the second button from the top, but I resist the urge. It feels incredibly sensual.

Desire sweeps through me like a wildfire.

His eyes find mine again. He smiles at me.

“I think you’re a good writer.” He holds up his hand. “No, I think you’re a great writer. And I think you are good for the show. You have written fantastic stuff for all of us. You even managed to write lines Ian couldn’t stuff up.”

At the mention of Ian, Ed’s words come back:” Ian’s off-limits.”

I toy with the idea of sharing Ed’s words with Brad, but I decide against it. I barely know him, or his intentions. Although I wouldn’t mind betting his intentions right now were only on one thing.

And strangely, I don’t mind.

“Thanks,” I mumble, not sure what else to say.

“Kayla.” His voice sounds a little more serious. “Whatever happens, this show won’t ruin you. Even if you don’t agree with what is being asked of you, I know you’ll turn it into something great. That’s what great writers do—they turn ordinary stuff into extraordinary things.”

For a few minutes—okay, maybe seconds—we stare at each other. I lick my lips, thinking that if he was to rip my clothes off here and now, I wouldn’t stop him.

“Of course, I still don’t think you should kill me.” Brad breaks the silence first. “Kill Ian,” he quips, and I cannot help but laugh.

A glance at the time signals I must get back to work. I pack my half-finished lunch back into the bag. Leftovers for dinner.

Brad watches my every move. I like his eyes. They are intense, sincere, and truthful.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I reply and make sure my voice has a playful undertone.

“I’m just kidding, Kayla.” Brad is getting ready to leave. “I didn’t come here to beg. I just wanted to enjoy the company of the talented, gorgeous, and sexy head writer of the show.”

I smile. He makes his way to leave my office.

“Pity you didn’t get to eat anything,” I say, and my eyes are downcast as I speak, emphasis on eat.

It takes Brad less than two steps before he has his hands on my hips, and his lips are searching for mine.

Our mouths melt together. He pushes his tongue past my lips and searches for mine. I respond and lean into him.

His hands travel to my back. They briefly rest just above the dimples I have there, and they go for my ass.

What am I doing?