by Marie Force
“I do love my work. I wasn’t sure I would, but it’s amazing to feel like I’m really making a difference for my kids. At times I wonder how I’ll ever let them go when the school year ends. I’ve gotten rather attached.”
“They’re lucky to have such a devoted teacher.”
“I’m the lucky one. So many of the teachers I was in college with have gotten awful kids and worse parents. Mine are all so great. I’m told to enjoy it because no one gets that every year, but for now, there’s nothing not to love.”
“I bet all the little boys have mad crushes on Miss Bryant.”
“Whatever,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“I had the worst crush on my second-grade teacher, Mrs. Carole. She was so hot.”
“You’ve been a ladies’ man since you were seven, huh?”
“I like to think I have discerning taste,” I say with a wink that makes her laugh.
The intercom buzzing stops me from staring at her. I like when she laughs. I like it a lot. “Excuse me.” I cross the room to the elevator, where the intercom is located. “Yes?”
“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Godfrey. We have a delivery downstairs for you.”
“Send it up. Thank you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
While I wait by the elevator, I catch her looking at me. She seems embarrassed to have been caught and diverts her gaze. The elevator dings and opens to reveal a delivery woman I haven’t seen before. She must be new. She stares at me, agape, until I reach for the bags she’s carrying. I hand her a twenty-dollar tip and step back, letting the elevator close before she has time to recover.
The episode amuses me, but not as much as it amuses Natalie.
“That poor girl had no idea what hit her when those doors opened and you were standing there.”
“It happens.” I have absolutely no desire to talk about my fame or the weirdness that goes with it. In the kitchen, I plate the food and serve it to her at the bar. On a whim, I light a couple of candles and place them between our plates. “There. Almost as good as a five-star restaurant, but without the inevitable disruptions.”
“It’s very nice. Thank you.”
“Thank you for not making me eat alone.”
“Like you don’t have a million people you could call on a moment’s notice.”
“There you go believing everything you read again.” I refill our wineglasses before I settle on the stool next to hers. “Just because I know a lot of people doesn’t mean I want to eat dinner with them.”
“I don’t mean to make assumptions.” She takes a sip of her wine. “On the surface, your life seems so… glamorous and exciting.”
“It can be at times. And I’d never want anyone to think I’m complaining about what’s been an embarrassment of riches, but it’s also a lot of twenty-hour days in less than ideal circumstances. I once spent eight hours in freezing water while filming and ended up in the hospital with hypothermia. It took two days to feel warm again. Another time, our entire crew got hit with food poisoning in Mexico. That was fun. I’ve broken bones while filming. I’ve torn ligaments and blown out my knee—twice. Best of all was spending two days, all but naked, in bed filming a love scene with the woman who cheated on me and ruined our marriage. That was awesome.” Of course, that’s not the full story, but the rest isn’t something I wish to share with Natalie.
She stares at me, her eyes wide. “Wow.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to go off on a rant. My life is extremely fun and often very exciting and sometimes even glamorous. But there are times when it’s bloody miserable, too. The press doesn’t report on that part of it, because who wants to hear about food poisoning?”
She takes a delicate bite of her chicken and winces. “Not me.”
“Exactly. It’s much more fun to show us in tuxedos and ball gowns, going to one award show after another where we pat ourselves on the back for jobs spectacularly well done.”
“You are awfully good at that, as an industry.”
I howl with laughter. “Yes, we are. We’re brilliant at it.”
“I’m ashamed to admit I’ve never once considered what you go through to make the movies.”
“Don’t be ashamed. If you’re not in the business, how would you be expected to know what it’s like? And again, I want to say emphatically I’m not complaining. I’ve been blessed beyond all imagination with the career I’ve been lucky enough to have. It’s just that sometimes I wish the public at large knew there’s a lot more to it than tuxedos and champagne.”
I put down my fork and take a sip of my wine, surprised to discover I’m nervous about what I want to say next. “Speaking of tuxedos and champagne, next weekend is the Golden Globes, and I seem to be a nominee. I’d love to take you with me if you’re not busy.” I wish I’d had the forethought to record her reaction to my invitation. It’s priceless and precious.
“You… You want…”
I cover her hand with mine and wait for her to look at me. “I’d like to take you to California as my date to the Golden Globes. If you’d like to come.”
“I… That’s very nice of you, but I have work. School. I… I have nothing to wear.”
“We can fix you up with something. The designers would go crazy over you. You’d have them standing in line to outfit you. And you might have to take one day away from school. Do you have any personal days?”
“Three, but…”
“Maybe you could take one? We could fly out on Friday night and get you a dress on Saturday. See some sights, visit my parents and the rest of the family. The show is on Sunday, so we’d fly home on Monday. Back to school on Tuesday.”
“You’re serious.”
If only she knew how serious I am about her. “Very much so.”
“You just met me today! You can’t give me the key to your apartment and invite me to the Golden Globes after knowing me for twelve hours!”
I glance at my watch. “Is that all? Seems like I’ve known you longer than that.” More like forever. She’s blown into my life and my soul like a tornado and left me permanently changed. Why and how that’s possible, I can’t say. It just is. “Think about the trip. You don’t have to decide anything tonight.” I nudge her and redirect her attention to the food. “Finish your dinner.”
“I don’t know if I can eat any more.”
“Did I upset you?”
“No. You surprised me.”
“I’m two for two on the surprise front.”
“What I don’t understand…” She shakes her head as if she’s reconsidering what she’d planned to say.
“What don’t you understand, Natalie?” I’m desperate to know, but I keep my expression neutral, hoping she’ll tell me without me having to beg her.
“I… I said I won’t sleep with you.”
“And?”
“And nothing. Why do you want to take me away for the weekend when you know nothing will happen?”
“How can you say nothing will happen? I’ll get to spend three whole days with you. I’ll have the chance to introduce you to my family and show you the house where I grew up as well as my home in LA. I’ll get to take you to one of the most exciting events of the year in Hollywood. I’ll see your eyes light up with delight every time you meet someone you’ve admired from afar for years. I’ll have you by my side to talk to when the show gets long and boring, which it always does. Maybe you’ll hold my hand when my category is announced? And afterward, I’ll have the most beautiful date at all the parties. How can you call that nothing?”
After a long pause, she says, “Why me?”
“Why not you? I like you, Natalie. I like being with you and talking to you. I’m not asking for anything other than the pleasure of your company for three days, during which you’ll have your own room with a lock on the door to keep me out. And I fully intend to see you as often as you’ll allow me to before we go anywhere together. I asked you now because tomorrow is the last day I can request an additional seat at the
awards ceremony, and because I need some time to make arrangements.”
“Oh. I see.”
“What do you see?”
“You aren’t rushing things between us. You’re being practical.”
“Yes,” I say, once again dazzled and amused, “I suppose I am.”
“So if I ask for some time to think about it, you won’t be able to get an extra seat.”
“Right. And if I ask for an extra seat and then you tell me you can’t make it, I’ll look like a loser who couldn’t get a date on national television when the seat next to me is empty. You wouldn’t want that for me, would you?”
“You’re making that up! You could get a date in two seconds flat if I can’t go.”
“It’s you or no one. I’m not going to ask anyone else.”
“This is a lot of pressure for a first date.”
“I know, and I’m sorry about that. I really am.”
“Somehow I don’t think you’re sorry at all.”
I laugh again. I’ve laughed more with her in the little time I’ve spent with her than I did in the first month with the last woman I dated, a model obsessed with her looks and her weight and her work. I lasted six weeks with her before I ended it. Unfortunately, it took a restraining order to make her go away. I shake off those unpleasant thoughts to concentrate on the lovely Natalie.
“How do you feel about dessert?” I ask her.
“Generally or specifically?”
“Both.”
“In general, I’m a big fan of dessert, but I have rules.”
“Oh do tell.”
“First of all, there must not be fruit or vegetables of any kind involved.”
“That excludes the entire carrot cake family of desserts as well as strawberry shortcake, a personal favorite.”
“Carrot cake is disgusting. Carrots have no business in cake. However, I will make an occasional exception for strawberry shortcake, as long as it’s covered in whipped cream.”
The thought of Natalie and whipped cream does crazy things to my raging libido. Figures I’m wildly attracted to a woman for the first time in longer than I can remember, and she’s already let me know there’s no chance of sex. I’m fairly confident I could convince her to change her mind. I’m almost certain I could. But I won’t. I’d rather know why a sweet, gorgeous woman would make such rigid rules for herself. There has to be a reason, and I want to know what it is. Of course it could be a religious thing, but I sense it’s more complicated than that.
“Earth to Flynn.”
Her comment draws me out of my thoughts. “Sorry.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Whipped cream. It gave me ideas.”
Her blush is nearly as adorable as the rest of her. “What are your rules in the area of ice cream?”
“What kind are we talking?”
“I have coffee chocolate chip, strawberry, which is probably out due to your rules, and French vanilla.”
“Coffee chocolate chip is my favorite.”
“You’re making that up,” I say, echoing her earlier claim.
She laughs. “No, I’m not!”
“Whatever you say.” I take our plates to the sink and leave them to deal with later. I don’t want to waste one second of the time I have with her doing dishes. I make bowls of coffee chocolate chip for both of us and return to the bar where I get to enjoy the supreme pleasure of watching Natalie enjoy ice cream.
“Mmm, so good.”
My throat tightens around the cold blast of ice cream as I wonder if she might react similarly to my hands on her skin. I quash those thoughts before they can lead to an embarrassing reaction. I take another bite, hoping the ice cream will cool me off.
She lifts the spoon to her mouth, and I’m transfixed by the slide of her lips on the metal. “Did you really ask me to go to the Golden Globes with you?”
“I really did.”
“You’re crazy. You know that, don’t you?”
“I’ve been called worse things.”
“You can’t take someone you just met today to one of your most important events of the year.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
I tip my head and raise my brows, letting her know she’ll have to do better.
“It’s not done.”
“Sweetheart, let me tell you the upside of celebrity. Everything is done. We’re a bunch of self-indulgent sloths. I’d think, with all the reading you do, you’d know that about my people. If I want to take someone I just met to the Golden Globes, no one is going to stop me. Except you, of course.”
She shakes her head. “This whole thing is nuts. I feel like the clock is going to strike midnight and your Bugatti will turn into a pumpkin.”
I stare at her, horrified. “If my Bugatti turns into a pumpkin, I’ll never forgive you. I love that car.”
“You know what I mean. This entire day is right out of Cinderella or something.”
“Do you have an awful stepmother? Terrible stepsisters?”
She pauses long enough for me to wonder what she’s thinking. “No.”
I put down my spoon, push my bowl aside and reach for her hand. “It may be hard for you to believe this, but underneath all the hoopla and attention, I’m just a guy. I eat and sleep and breathe the same way everyone else does. I’m just a guy who met a woman who interests him. I’d like to spend more time with her. I’d like to take her with me when I go to LA for the Globes because I’m kind of nervous. They’re saying I’m going to win this time, and if I do, I want to celebrate with you. If I don’t, I want you to make me feel better just by being there. That’s why I asked you to come.”
“You’re totally serious.”
“Dead serious.”
Chapter 5
Nothing about this night has gone the way I expected it to. I’ve been surprised and caught off guard from the minute he picked me up in a car he drove himself and brought me to his lovely but small apartment where he clearly gets by without household help.
And when he asked me to go with him to LA for the Golden Globes, he blew my mind. It’s all I can think about… What would it be like to walk the red carpet on the arm of the biggest movie star in the world? It’s right out of a fantasy, thus my correlation to Cinderella.
Strangely enough, I want to go. I want to be part of his big night. I want to see Los Angeles and Hollywood for the first time with him as my tour guide. The thought of meeting Max Godfrey and Estelle Flynn nearly makes me swoon, but not nearly as much as the idea of spending three days with this charming, handsome, utterly beguiling man who says he’s just a regular guy and enjoys the same food I do.
“I’d like to go,” I say tentatively, “but nothing has changed in regard to how I feel about a relationship with you.”
“I understand that, and I respect it.”
“So you, who could have any woman on the planet, are choosing to spend time with the one woman who won’t fall into bed with you at the snap of your fingers?”
He goes strangely still as he contemplates my question. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would you want to be with me when you could have anyone? Why would any sane man want to be with a woman who won’t sleep with him when he could have his pick of women who would?”
“Despite what you may believe, not every guy lets his little brain do the thinking for his big brain.”
“Really. Hmm, that hasn’t been my experience.”
“Then you’ve been hanging out with the wrong guys.” Once again he takes hold of my hand. Every time he does that, my skin tingles and my nipples tighten. I’ve never had that kind of reaction to anyone else. Not that I’ve let any other man get close enough to test my reactions. “Let’s take care of this concern of yours once and for all, okay?”
“Okay…”
“I like you. From the first minute I laid eyes on you, on the ground, the wind knocked out of you, your adorable littl
e beast of a dog hovering over you, I wanted to know you. My first thoughts about you weren’t, ‘Damn, I need to get this woman in my bed.’ They were more along the lines of, ‘Don’t be an idiot and let this incredible woman walk away without getting to know her.’”
I’m finding it difficult to swallow all of a sudden. I clear my throat and meet his intense gaze. “So you don’t think… that way… about me?”
“What way?”
“You know.”
Suddenly he gets exactly what I mean. “Oh! That way… Yes, I’ve definitely had a few thoughts about what it would be like to get you naked and into my bed. I won’t lie to you about that. I think it would be amazing, unbelievable, off the charts, spectacular—”
Smiling, I press my fingers to his lips to make him stop talking.
His eyes light up with silent laughter. He brings his free hand up to cover the fingers I’ve placed on his lips, and the next thing I know, he’s nibbling on my finger. The charge of heat that travels through my body sears me and collects in an insistent throb between my legs.
Overwhelmed by my reaction, I pull my hand free.
“Sorry,” he says, “I couldn’t resist.”
I’m undone and confused by the way my body responds to him. I’ve never experienced these particular reactions before, and I’m not sure what they mean. Am I reacting to Flynn the man, or Flynn the movie star? Even as I ask myself the question, I know it’s the former, and I’d be lying to myself if I said otherwise.
He has my full attention again when he runs his finger over the furrow between my brows. “Don’t overthink it, sweetheart.”
That makes me want to laugh. I overthink everything. I haven’t had a choice about that. When you leave your home and family at fifteen, overthinking becomes a way of life.
“I should go home—”
“Do you want to watch a movie?” he asks at the same time.
“Oh, um…” I check my watch. It’s only nine, and I don’t really want to leave, but I need a moment to get my emotions under control without his overpowering presence distracting me. “May I use your restroom?”