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“Right, so my schedule will be getting a little lighter in a couple of weeks as we should finish filming for this current season of the show.” Astrid was pleased with how professional she sounded, even though her insides were as wobbly as the jelly her grandma used to make her when she was sick.
“We can talk about that in a minute. I want to go back to your earlier question.”
Astrid shifted so she was facing him, but also pushed the chair back a fraction so there was more distance between them.
Should she feign ignorance that she didn’t know what he was talking about?
Somehow she didn’t think that would work—case in point, the fact he’d brought it up right now. Better to give in and deal with it, then they could move on to working out a plan for her security detail.
“Fine,” she huffed out. “I asked if that was how you got your nickname.”
Growler looked at her. It was intense, and she had to stop herself from leaning toward him. “I feel like something is missing. Your question suggests I did something that had you wondering about the origin of my nickname. But from memory, I don’t think I said or did anything to warrant you wanting to know.”
Astrid blinked, taking in the very long, wordy response to her question. As she’d decided to be nothing but honest with him, she was going to have to suck it up and deal with the embarrassment. “Your voice. It gets growly sometimes. I was wondering if that’s how you got your nickname.”
She looked away, studying the piece of art on the wall. It was a mass of different colored swirls. It didn’t make sense to her, but it must have made sense to others.
“You think my voice is growly?” Amusement laced his tone.
When will I learn not to put my foot in my mouth all the time?
“Look, can we move on, please? I have to be at the studio in a few hours.” And she needed to make sure everything was prepared. Today she was making gnocchi, an item that was a little more complicated than what she usually made for her viewers. But it was a favorite of hers, and her father had loved it. Before he’d gotten to the stage where he couldn’t eat at all, the Italian dish had been one of the only things he could stomach.
Astrid attempted to push thoughts of her father and his illness away. It had been three years since he’d passed, and it still hurt. It had been the two of them for so long that she felt as though a part of her had died when he had.
“Astrid, you okay?”
A light touch on her hand had the fog she’d fallen into dissipating, and she became aware of her surroundings. Of the man right next to her. This close, she could see that there were tiny gold flecks in his brown irises. The dark scruff on his face tempted her to reach out and place her hand against it, the small bristles teasing her palm.
Her mouth dried, and she licked her lips to moisten them. Growler’s nostrils flared and, if possible, his eyes seemed to darken even more. His mouth parted a fraction. The distance between them seemed to shrink. All she had to do was lean forward and then… she did.
Growler reared back, putting space between them, and heat bloomed in her cheeks again.
What was it about this man that made her blush? Not to mention do things she wouldn’t normally do—like attempt to kiss him.
What is wrong with me?
He’d asked her something, hadn’t he?
“I—uh—I.” She stammered and then stopped, hoping that Growler would take over the conversation so that she could get her thoughts coalescing into something sensible.
Growler cleared his throat and stood, pacing over to lean against the sideboard that rested beneath the windows. “You mentioned you had to go to the studio. How long will you be there? Will I need to be cleared by the studio to be able to get onto set with you?”
Thankfully, he’d heard her silent plea to take the lead. These questions, though, she could answer one but not the other. “I’ll be at the studio for at least six or seven hours today. The recipe I’m making is involved, so shooting will take longer than it normally does.” If Growler was anywhere near her during filming, she suspected that she would be having to do numerous takes. “As for being cleared, I don’t know the answer, but I’m guessing so.”
Growler nodded. “I thought as much. If you can give me the number of the studio or your producer, I’ll get Yolanda to call them, and we’ll proceed from there.”
That was something she could do. Astrid grabbed her phone, unlocked it, and found her director’s number. “Here are Basil’s details. He’s the director and should be able to help you.”
Growler’s fingers brushed hers as he took the phone from her outstretched hand. Shivers of need flared to life again, and it took everything she had not to snatch her hand away.
Falling for her bodyguard was so clichéd, and she wasn’t going to do it.
Growler stood in the shadows of the set, watching as Astrid came alive beneath the harsh studio lighting. Initially, she’d been nervous, and he hoped it wasn’t due to his presence. All it had taken was a couple of phone calls and he had the necessary clearance to be on set with her.
Having watched some snippets of her show, he’d been surprised that the kitchen was quite large and not the shell he’d imagined it would be. The smell emanating from the spicy tomato sauce she’d made to top the gnocchi had his stomach rumbling. They’d broken for a break about an hour ago, but instead of eating, he’d taken a walk outside to not only clear his head, but to get the lay of the land.
He would speak to Cass to see if she could pull the blueprints of the complex, and he would study them. Determine if there were any weak points where someone could slip in.
