by Force, Marie
“My instincts are telling me you can be trusted with that key. My gut is telling me I won’t regret sharing my bathtub with you, since I never use it, and it’s a shame to let it go to waste if it could bring you pleasure.”
Once again her cheeks flush, this time at the word “pleasure.”
“You never use that tub? Seriously?”
“I’m ashamed to confess I’ve never used it.”
“And how long have you owned this place?”
I have to think about that for a second. “It’ll be ten years in March.”
“That’s tragic.”
“What can I say? I’m a shower kind of guy.”
All at once, she seems to realize we’re having a somewhat intimate conversation within the confines of my bedroom. “Does this place have a kitchen?”
“Right this way.”
I turn on the lights in the kitchen as a smile stretches across her face. “Wow. Now I have kitchen envy, too.”
“You have the key. Feel free to use it. This is another room that gets very little attention from me, other than the fridge where you can always find a cold beer.”
“Such a guy.”
“Guilty as charged. Speaking of my utter inability to cook, I thought about hiring a woman I know who cooks for our production team whenever we’re in town to come over and make something for us tonight, but that seemed too pretentious.” I open a drawer, withdraw a stack of takeout menus and lay them out on the counter before her.
She presses two fingers to her lips, seeming to suppress a laugh.
“Are you laughing at me?” I ask her, mocking outrage.
Pinching her index finger and thumb together, she says, “Just a little.”
“That’s not very nice of you. Here I am, laying myself bare, admitting my failings, and you’re laughing at me.” I shake my head, delighted when a gurgle of laughter erupts from her, making me feel like I’ve won something precious. My stomach lets out a loud growl, which only makes her laugh harder. “Yes, I’m starving, so if you wouldn’t mind telling me what you’d like to eat, I’ll make the call.”
She rolls her lips adorably and studies the menus with the same intensity I suspect she gives everything. It’s a little unsettling to admit how much I want to be on the receiving end of that intensity.
“This,” she says, handing over the menu for a nearby Italian place that delivers.
“My favorite. What’s your pleasure?”
“Chicken piccata and a Caesar salad, please.”
I stare at her for a brief moment. “You won’t believe me when I tell you this, but that’s my regular order.”
“You’re right. I don’t believe you.”
Shaking my head in amusement, I withdraw my phone from my pocket and dial the number from memory. “This is Flynn Godfrey. Two of my regular, please.” I smile at her as I place the order. “Thanks.”
“That doesn’t prove anything, you know,” she says after I end the call.
“Yes, because I really could’ve set that up in advance.” She laughs, and I’m captivated all over again. She’s adorable and sassy and funny and easy to be with. I’m Flynn Godfrey, regular Joe, with her, and I like how that feels. I get so fucking tired of being Flynn Godfrey, Movie Star, with other women.
“You surprise me,” she says.
I’d been reaching for wineglasses, but I stop to turn to her. She’s taken a seat at the bar that separates the living area from the kitchen. “How so?”
“I figured you’d have… people. Driving you, cooking for you, tending to you.”
“Are you disappointed that I don’t?”
“To the contrary. I’m pleasantly surprised.”
“You can’t believe everything you read, you know.” I hold up a bottle of pinot noir and another of chardonnay.
She points to the white, and I get busy uncorking it.
“I can believe some of it, though, right?”
“Very little. Most of it is utter bullshit.”
“If they print lies, why don’t you sue them?”
Shrugging, I tell her, “Because I have better uses for my time and money. If I sued over every lie they publish, that’s all I’d do.”
“But if you sue every time they lie, maybe they’d stop lying.”
“As long as their lies sell papers and magazines and bring people to their websites and TV shows, they’ll keep doing it.”
“I can’t imagine what that must be like, to constantly have to read lies about yourself in the media.” She takes a sip of the wine and makes a satisfied noise that has everything male in me standing up to take notice. “Wow, that’s good.”
“I’m glad you like it.” I don’t mention that my partners and I own the vineyard. It had better be good. “And as for the lies, I mostly ignore them. I have lawyers on retainer to keep an eye out for particularly egregious lies, but for the most part, I don’t give them any of my time or energy.”
“What counts as a particularly egregious lie?”
“Last year, I sued a tabloid in the UK for insinuating that my nephew—my sister’s son—is actually my child because he looks like I did as a kid.”
She stares at me, her mouth agape. “Are you serious?”
“Afraid so.”
“I hope you sued their asses off.”
I laugh at her indignant reply and fall a little deeper into what’s happening between us. “I sued them and so did my sister and her husband. It was ugly, but we made it go away before Ian, my nephew, ever caught wind of it. Thank God for small favors. The settlement will pay his way to any college he wishes to attend.”
“It’s so disgusting and invasive. I’m sorry that happened to you and your family.”
“Thank you. I hate to say that we’re sort of used to it, but when you grow up with parents like ours, it seems to come with the territory. It’s gotten a lot worse in recent years. My mom says all the time that she would’ve lost her mind if it had been like it is now when she was starting out in the business.”
Natalie props her chin on her upturned fist. “Is she as fabulous as she seems?”
“More so.” My smile is genuine when I think of my feisty, funny, wonderful mother. “She’d like you.”
That seems to please her. “Really? How come?”
I take a seat on the stool beside hers, careful to make sure that no part of me is touching any part of her. “Because you’re passionate about your work and you have true purpose. She appreciates those qualities in people.”
“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?”