Twenty
TAYLOR WATCHED AS Scott expertly chopped up some asparagus and tossed it into the sauté pan simmering on the stove. He added a dash of olive oil.
“You know, when you invited me to dinner, I didn’t know you were planning to cook it,” she said. She sat across from Scott on the other side of the chef’s counter, sipping the martini he had poured when she first arrived.
“Your rules about not being seen in public don’t leave room for much else,” he grinned teasingly. Taylor noticed that a stray lock of blond hair had fallen across his forehead, nearly into his eyes, as he worked. There was something inherently sexy about a man who knew his way around a kitchen.
“Thanks for being understanding about that,” she told him. “I’m trying to keep a low profile for my trial.”
Scott shrugged this off. “No problem. This isn’t yet the best moment for me to be spotted with the famous Mystery Woman anyway.”
Taylor straightened a little in her chair. That was kind of an odd thing to say. “What do you mean?”
Scott glanced up from his cooking and saw the expression on her face. He smiled reassuringly. “Oh, I just meant you’d probably be hounded even more if the press saw us together.”
Taylor’s nodded, softening. “Oh. Of course.”
Stop being so suspicious, she told herself. Trying to relax, she glanced around what she could see of his house. The kitchen, foyer, and living room suggested that Scott (or his decorator) had ultramodern taste. With stark white walls, metal staircases, slate countertops, and stainless steel cabinets, Taylor found the decor a little . . . cold. In her opinion, the best feature of the house was the deck outside that opened to a spectacular view of downtown Los Angeles.
Deciding to take a closer look, she grabbed her martini and headed over to the sliding glass doors.
“Do you mind?” She gestured outside.
Scott shook his head. “Not at all. Make yourself at home.”
Taylor stepped out onto the deck and felt the cool breeze cutting across the Hollywood Hills. She leaned against the railing and gazed out at the twinkling lights of the city.
For what had to be the hundredth time that week, she wondered what the hell she was doing.
She had debated over and over whether she should cancel her date with Scott. She had a whole list of reasons ready: she was too busy with her trial, she barely knew him, she didn’t want to get involved in a relationship in Los Angeles, et cetera. But none of those reasons had sounded particularly convincing, even to her.
Scott Casey had asked her out on a date.
Scott Casey.
Taylor knew that millions of women would die to be in her position that night. And that had been the clincher: she had realized that if she couldn’t say yes to a date with Scott Casey, then she seriously needed to examine what was stopping her. Or rather, who was stopping her.
And that was something she did not want to think about.
Scott popped his head out onto the deck. “Dinner should be ready in about five minutes. Do you want another drink?”
Taylor glanced down at her empty martini glass. “Sure, that’d be great.”
Determined to have the best night of her life—because that’s what a date with Scott Casey should be—Taylor followed him inside.
“SO WHERE DID you learn how to cook?”
Scott (or his assistant) had elaborately set the dining-room table with dozens of flickering candles. Music—what sounded suspiciously like the Garden State sound track—played throughout the house through unseen speakers.
Scott smiled in response to Taylor’s question about him. “You don’t know this?” He appeared surprised when she shook her head, no.
“Chef’s school,” he told her.
“Really? When did you do that?”
“Back in Sydney. That’s how I got started in acting.” Scott peered at her curiously. “You really don’t know this?”
Taylor shook her head again. Okay, she got it. She lived in a hole.
So he gave her the rundown. “Well, one day this casting director walked into one of my classes, looking for culinary students for a daytime cooking show. I got the job, and I did the show for about a year. But I really got into the acting side of things, so I got an agent who sent me on a few auditions. My first real acting gig was on a prime-time show for that same network, and from there I moved into film, smaller roles at first, then bigger, until finally I got the call about A Viking’s Quest. And then the rest, as they say, is history.”
“That’s a pretty interesting story,” Taylor said, impressed.
Scott grinned. “Thanks.” He reached across the table and laced his fingers through hers. “But enough about me. I want to know all about you, gorgeous.”
Normally, Taylor hated questions like that. They were so interview-y. Good conversation should just flow organically, from the moment.
She quickly tried to think of a topic she and Scott had in common. “Well, I mentioned before that I’m from Chicago. Let me ask you something—was it hard when you first moved to Los Angeles? Did you miss home?”
But Scott waved this off, uninterested. “We can talk about that some other time. What I want to know is how I ever got lucky enough to get a beautiful girl like you to go out with me.”
Taylor burst out laughing. Surely he had to be joking with a line like that. She stopped when she saw the confused look on his face.
“Wait—you’re serious?”
Scott pulled back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, sorry.” Taylor bit her lip and tried to disguise her misunderstanding by gesturing to the windows that ran along the dining-room wall. “So, that’s really some view you have there.”
Scott smiled. “Yes, it is.” He turned back to Taylor with what was presumably a “seductive” look. “But not as good as the one I have right here.”
Taylor laughed again. “All right, now I know you’re joking.”
Scott abruptly sat back in his chair. “I’m just trying to pay you a compliment, Taylor,” he said defensively. “I didn’t realize it was that funny.”
Taylor shut up. Again.
Okay . . . so . . . awkward moment here . . .
It appeared pretty safe to say that Scott didn’t go for the whole dry/sarcastic humor thing. She would just have to come up with some other material. Too bad she really didn’t have any other material.
An uncomfortable silence followed, and Taylor was just thinking that perhaps she might compliment the salt and pepper shakers sitting on the table—they were the loveliest shade of pewter, when—
—thank god, her cell phone rang.
Taylor dove immediately for her purse, which sat on the chair next to her. “Sorry, I have to keep it on for work,” she apologized to Scott. How terrible—she found herself almost hoping it was some kind of work emergency.
She checked the caller ID and instantly recognized the particular 310 area code number that showed up on the phone’s display. A number that just happened to belong to one Mr. Jason Andrews.
Taylor defiantly flung her hair back. Oh, sure—like she was going to take his call right then. She was a little busy.
Seeing Scott’s curious look, Taylor smiled. Suddenly, her date seemed ten times more interesting.
“It’s no one,” she told him. “I’ll just turn it on vibrate.”
She adjusted the phone and set it off to the side of the glass dining table. Then she leaned in toward Scott flirtatiously, peering deep into his light hazel eyes. “So . . . where were we?”
Liking her sudden interest, Scott smiled coyly and leaned in the rest of the way across the table. “I was just about to tell you—”
Right then, Taylor’s phone began vibrating. Loudly.
Glancing over, she saw the same 310 number on the phone’s display. The nerve of that man. Seriously.
When she didn’t immediately pick up, the phone began rattling louder, sliding across the glass table toward her. Apparently, a certain someone refused to be ignored.
Taylor grabbed the phone, stuffed it into her purse, and resolutely zipped it shut. That should take care of that. She smiled apologetically at Scott. “Sorry. You were saying?”
“Are you sure you don’t have to get that?” he asked skeptically.
Taylor waved this off. “Oh no, it’s fine. Anyway, tell me about this movie you’re filming, Outback Nights.”
Scott seemed happy to oblige her. “Well, I play this sort of loner, rebel type . . .”
As Taylor listened while he went on about the film, her cell phone suddenly began to vibrate again, this time from inside her purse. Irate at the prospect of being ignored, the phone rattled around demandingly.
Buzz-buzz!
Buzz-buzz!
Despite herself, Taylor fought back a smile, trying very, very hard to pay attention to Scott’s story.
Buzz-buzz!
Buzz-buzz!
“. . . Of course, the director said he could think of no one other than me for the part from the first moment he read the script ...”
Buzz-buzz!
Buzz-buzz!
Suddenly, it stopped. The phone in her purse lay quiet for a moment, then—
Buzz-buzz!
Buzz-buzz!
Taylor had to stifle her laugh. Ahh . . . if nothing else, the man was persistent. She had to give him that.
Right then, Scott’s cell phone rang, too. She was saved by the proverbial bell.
Scott made a face. “Wow—crazy night, huh?” He pulled his own cell phone out of his pocket, then glanced up at Taylor. “Sorry—it’s my agent. I really should take this.” He stepped out of the room to take the call.
As he left the room, Taylor’s phone vibrated once again. Buzz-buzz! Oh, for heaven’s sake—she reached in, yanked the phone out of her purse, and flipped it open.
“What the hell are you doing??” she whispered furiously.
Jason’s smooth voice came over the other end of the line.
“Well, hello, Ms. Donovan. Goodness, I was starting to get worried. Is everything all right?”
“Why are you calling, Jason?” Taylor hissed. She checked to make sure Scott was still in the other room.
“Hmm? Oh yes—see, I couldn’t remember what time we’re meeting tomorrow to go over the third act of the script. Is it seven or eight o’clock?”
“Jason—” Taylor began warningly.
“—And I also wanted to know whether I should bring dinner to your apartment. Or will you be providing the edibles?”
Part of her wanted to reach through the phone and strangle him. The other part of her couldn’t help but smile.
“Stop being cute. You know this is a bad time for me.”
“Why? Wait—is tonight the night of the big date? Oh . . . I had completely forgotten all about that. Oops.”
“You’re a better actor than that, Jason.”
She heard him chuckled.
“So true. Fine—I just thought I’d see how everything’s going.”
Taylor deflected the question. “Where are you?” She could hear loud voices and music in the background.
“Reilly’s Tavern. Playing darts.” Jason paused for a moment. “But you didn’t answer my question.”
Now it was Taylor’s turn to pause. “The date’s going great,” she said convincingly.
“How nice. And where has Junior taken you to eat?”
“Actually, I’m at his place. He’s cooking for me.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line.
“Really,” he finally said, through what sounded like clenched teeth.
Taylor smiled into the phone. “Why, Jason—that sounds a bit like jealousy, doesn’t it?”
He snorted disdainfully. “Jealous of Scott Casey? Please.” He got a good laugh out of this. “Hey—if you find him interesting, Taylor, more power to you. I also know a nice box of rocks you could cuddle up with, if that’s your thing.”
She glared into the phone. “Yeah, well, maybe I do happen to find him interesting.”
“Really? Then why are you spending your date talking to me?”
“You know, that can easily be fixed.”
She hung up the phone.
Taylor tossed the phone back into her purse, thoroughly annoyed. First he talked about going to Napa Valley with her when he obviously had been planning on going with Naomi Cross just a few days before. As if women were as interchangeable as the parts of a Mr. Potato Head. And now this? Deliberately interrupting her date? The boundaries of the man’s self-centeredness were truly limitless.
Underscoring this point, Taylor’s phone rang again. This time, she didn’t even bother to look before answering.
“You know, if you’re trying to mark your territory, you could’ve just peed on me before I came over here and saved us both a lot of time!”
On the other end, Jason burst out laughing. “I always suspected you were into kinky shit.”
Despite herself, Taylor laughed, too. He somehow always managed to do that—completely infuriate her one moment, then make her smile the next. It was actually quite sneaky.
“Good-bye, Jason. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, amused. Then she hung up the phone and stared at it for a long moment, until she heard someone clear his throat behind her. Taylor glanced up and saw Scott watching her from the doorway.
Looking very displeased.
OVER AT REILLY’S Tavern, Jeremy watched as Jason tucked his cell phone into his pocket.
“Not jealous of Scott Casey, huh?” He glanced pointedly at the dartboard, where Jason had taped Scott Casey’s “Other Contenders” photograph to the bull’s eye. Three darts jutted out prominently from the young actor’s forehead.
Jason ignored the question. He walked over and yanked his darts out of the board.
“He’s cooking for her,” he said disgustedly, as if this were a felony. “Like she’s going to fall for that. It’s so . . . amateur.”
“I cook for my dates,” Jeremy volunteered.
“You have to. You can’t afford to take them anywhere.”
“This is true,” Jeremy conceded good-naturedly. “Although I have also discovered that women really seem to like the taste of macaroni and cheese.”
Not even bothering with a token sarcastic response, Jason stared intensely at the picture of Scott Casey on the dartboard before him.
Suddenly, he vehemently rapid-fired all three darts.
He turned and took a swig of his beer as Jeremy nodded, impressed. Over at the board, a dart pierced right through each of Scott Casey’s eyes. The third jutted out prominently from his throat.
“Not bad,” Jeremy said. “But perhaps this is a good time to discuss your anger management issues.”
Jason sat down at their bar table as Jeremy lined up for his turn at the board. “You don’t think Taylor really likes this guy, do you?”
Jeremy shrugged, about to throw. “I don’t know. I haven’t met too many women who wouldn’t be impressed by Scott Casey.” He pointed the darts at Jason, thinking. “Then again, I haven’t met any other woman who has been so wholly unimpressed by you, so maybe there’s hope yet.”
Jason didn’t even crack a smile. In fact, he looked utterly miserable. Jeremy gave up his position at the dartboard and took a seat.
“Come on, Jason—what’s going on with you and this girl? This isn’t like you.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
“Then what is it?”
Jason sighed. “I don’t know . . .” He looked over at Jeremy, suddenly serious. “All I know is that I can’t stop thinking about her.”
Now it was Jeremy’s turn to sigh. “Ahh . . . the friend zone. Have I been there.”
The two of them sat in dejected silence. Then Jeremy thought of something.
“Hey—you know what you need? You need a real guy’s night out. None of this pansy-ass Hollywood nightclub shit. I heard about this poker game going on tonight. Just a few writers I know, nothing high stakes. We can smoke cigars, drink some Macallan, talk about—”
“Poker?” Jason’s eyes lit up feverishly. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
“Well, I wasn’t sure you’d be interested, given your track record.”
“So I’ve been dealt a few bad hands,” Jason said dismissively. “Who hasn’t?”
Jeremy fought back his grin. The poor guy really had no idea. Any poker player worth his salt picked up on the whole watch thing in two hands or less. That was why he had subtly steered Jason toward craps a few years ago, when they had started going to Vegas and Jason had begun gambling serious money.
Of course, Jeremy supposed, a better man would’ve simply told his friend about his little tell. But as long as Jason never got into any serious trouble—hey, as long as he was still driving friggin’ Aston Martins and living in twenty-five-million-dollar houses—Jeremy saw no harm in keeping quiet. Every once in a while, it came in quite handy to be able to tell when Jason was lying. Like that time, years ago, when he had insisted he’d lost Speed to Keanu because the director had said he was “too tall” for the shots on the bus.
So Jeremy remained quiet this time as well. “Yes, that’s right, Jason,” he said reassuringly. “You’ve been dealt some bad hands. That’s all.”
Jason eagerly rubbed his hands together. “And that means I’m due—I can feel the gods of luck smiling down on me.” He pointed at Jeremy, highly confident. “You better be careful tonight. I’d hate for you to lose all your mac-and-cheese money.”
To keep his mouth shut, Jeremy took a long swig of his beer. After polishing it off, he set the bottle down on the table and gestured to the door. “Should we go then?”
Jason nodded, and Jeremy followed him out the bar.
He had the funniest feeling steak dinners were about to be back on the week’s menu.
LATER THAT NIGHT, Taylor let herself into her apartment. Not in the mood for a sudden flood of light, she turned on just one lamp in the living room. She kicked off her heels and sunk into the couch.
She wasn’t exactly an expert—this having been her first, first date in several years—but she felt that an objective third party would have to say that the night had gone relatively well.
Her thoughts drifted back to what had been the turning point of the evening: the moment when she had hung up the phone with Jason and noticed Scott standing in the doorway. She could immediately tell by the look on his face that he knew who she’d been talking to.
“You should be careful around him,” Scott said flatly.
Taylor tucked her phone into her purse. Yes, well, thanks for the news flash.
“We’re just friends,” she replied.
Scott took a seat next to her at the dining table. “So it’s friends now? I thought you said you and Jason were just business associates.”
Taylor toyed with her wineglass. She wasn’t sure she owed him any further explanation. They had known each other all of what—six days?
“We’re just friends, Scott,” she repeated simply.
Seeming to sense her wariness, Scott took his questioning down a notch. “I’m just worried about you, gorgeous, that’s all. I know plenty of women who have had their hearts broken by Jason Andrews. It’s not a pretty sight.” He paused. “In fact, this friend of mine . . .” He trailed off, waving his hand. “Never mind, you don’t need to hear this stuff.”
Taylor thought about this. Did she? Perhaps whatever Scott had to say was exactly what she needed to hear. The lawyer in her decided it was best to have all the facts.
“No, go on,” she told him. “I’d like to know whatever it was you were going to say.”
Scott looked pained to have to tell the story. “Well . . . Jason once dated this girl I know. She’s a supermodel—”
Of course she was a supermodel.
“—and apparently,” Scott continued, “she and Jason took a trip to London together. For some photo shoot or something she had there. But on their third day together, he left the hotel after breakfast, telling her he was going to get fitted for suits on Savile Row.”
Probably for the legal thriller he was filming, Taylor thought. So this was something that had happened fairly recently.
“But it must’ve been one hell of a long fitting,” Scott marched on, “because your ‘friend’ Jason didn’t come back to the hotel. Ever. He just left the poor girl alone in London, without even saying good-bye. She thought he was dead or had been kidnapped or something, until she saw his picture in the Daily Mirror the next morning. The British paparazzi had caught him at the airport, happily boarding a flight back to Los Angeles.”
Taylor remained silent after Scott finished his story. Frankly, she didn’t know what to say in response. Assuming the story was true, was she surprised to hear that Jason could be so callous? Was she disappointed? Angry?
She stared at her wineglass, feeling Scott’s eyes on her. She knew she had to say something.
“Wow. I guess I don’t know why Jason would do something like that.”
“Because he can.”
Scott took hold of Taylor’s wineglass and set it off to the side, out of their way. He spoke cautiously as he peered at her from across the table.
“You know, Taylor, some people say he can get any woman he wants.”
This struck a nerve with her.
Taylor thought about Scott’s words. Really? Was that what people said? Right then, she knew what she had to do.
She reached over and pulled Scott toward her. And she kissed him—a long, deep kiss. When she pulled back, she stared directly into his eyes.
“You know what, Scott? I think you better start listening to different people.”
SITTING ON HER living room couch, Taylor’s mind drifted back to the present.
Okay, sure, it had been a good kiss. And in the interests of full disclosure, the kiss in the kitchen, when they were cleaning up after dinner, hadn’t been too shabby, either. Nor the two in the foyer by the front door. Nor the really long good-night kiss against her car.
Yes, Taylor decided, all in all it had been a very nice first date. He had cooked for her, complimented her, even said all the right things about calling her the next day, and—for crying out loud, he was Scott Casey.
But.
Something was missing.
Taylor curled up and rested her head against the soft suede pillows of the couch.
She had just gone on a great first date with a handsome international movie star, and she thought something was missing. But she couldn’t deny it, something had indeed been lacking in their date.
Because not a single kiss with Scott Casey had held a candle to her one almost-kiss with Jason.
Taylor closed her eyes in frustration. Hell, she supposed, it didn’t matter that her night with Scott had ended with only a kiss. Because she was as good as fucked anyway.
She needed somebody to talk some sense into her.
She needed somebody to give her a swift smack upside the head and a good, strong kick in the ass.
She needed Val and Kate.
Quickly.