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“Just take the one from that bag,” I said. “You keep your naan and rice and give me my chicken.”
“Even though I touched it?”
I swallowed. Did he not realize I could probably get online and sell this tikka masala to the highest bidder? Okay, that might be taking it a little too far, but really. This was Rhett Myers we were talking about. I couldn’t kiss a man who ate a ballpark-floor hotdog, but I would lick this bowl clean even if it had been tampered with byRhett Myers.
Obsessed? Not exactly. I liked to think of it as dedication to my soulmate. To date, Rhett was the only man who hadn’t let me down.
“Yes,” I said, squaring my shoulders. “That chicken is worth the minor yuck factor of one finger dip.”
Rhett narrowed his eyes. “You’re calling my finger yucky?”
Definitely not. “I’m calling the sauce amazing.”
“I have to agree with you there.”
That surprised me. I didn’t realize he came to San Francisco often enough to have a favorite here. “You like Indian food? Or the Torch of India specifically?”
Rhett paused, as if he’d suddenly remembered where he was and who he was talking to: a strange woman in neon-pink joggers who he believed had invited him back to her room. I was really not doing myself any favors tonight. The elevator dinged, signaling the arrival at the fourth floor. Rhett gave me a brief smile before reaching into his bag and taking out the mild tikka masala and handing it to me. He kept everything else, and I stepped into the hallway, disappointed that our fingers hadn’t brushedat all.
“Thanks,” I said, suddenly feeling like I was wasting this opportunity. Wasn’t this the point where I said something witty and impressed him, and he invited me to eat our dinner together on the roof, and we spent the night gazing into each other’s eyes and falling madly in love? That’s what happened in the movies.
Rhett should know. He’d starred in plenty of them.
Where was our instant chemistry? Ourmoment? I faced the elevator. The doors began to close, and my heart fell a little. Rhett stared at me, his blue eyes trained on mine. Should I have warned the guy that I was going to see him again in the morning? Nah. He was in for a fun surprise.
Just before the doors closed all the way, his eyebrows rose, and he spoke. “I didn’t actually touch your sauce.”
For some weird reason, I was disappointed.
***
This was it. Meet-cute, round two. I wasn’t entirely sure if I was going to give Rhett a solid second impression, but it had to beat my hot-pink joggers and lazy ponytail from the evening before. I surveyed myself in the window of the black car that Sunny Nash’s people sent for me and her assistant. The long black romper I chose was classy and simple, and my hair was again in a ponytail, but sleek this time and not thrown up like I was trying to style and drive at the same time. I had an Ariana Grande vibe going, and I was pleased with the effect. This was my one shot, after all.
Well, mysecondshot. Rhett hadn’t swooned last night like I’d hoped, but that was just the warm-up. This was the actual game.
The sun was barely beginning to peek over the horizon somewhere beyond the hills of tall buildings, and my eyes were gritty from a mostly sleepless night replaying my elevator conversation in my head. I hadn’t brought a jacket, and despite it being May, San Francisco was cold this early in the morning.
“Are you nervous?” asked Jackie, the blonde beside me, before taking a sip of her coffee. It was moments like this that I wished I drank caffeine just to wake me up a little, but I was pretty strict when it came to my beverages. I could thank my mom for my weird water habit. I did indulge in the rare Diet Coke when I needed it, but this was not one of those moments.
We stood on the street outside of the Ritz, my cases tucked safely in the trunk of the black car idling beside us, waiting for the other assistant or something.
“Super nervous,” I said.
Jackie nodded in understanding. “It’s weird being around celebrities in the beginning, but you get used to seeing Sunny’s face in real life instead of on a movie screen, and it becomes normal.” She shrugged, and I could have hugged her for being so nice. Why had I expected everyone associated with the movie stars to be horribly full of themselves?
A flurry of heel clicks on concrete came our way, and another woman with a sleek topknot and a deep groove between her eyebrows came toward us. “Sorry, Jackie!” she said. “I am in such a jam. You”—she pointed at me—“you’re the stylist?”
“Yes, for Sunny Nash.”
Her eyes widened hopefully. “Can you take care of Rhett Myers too?”
A confetti-glitter cannon went off in my brain. Had the heavens opened and smiled upon me? “Sure, yes. I can absolutely do that.” I nodded like a bobblehead that had been whacked by a three-year-old.
“Fantastic.” Top Knot Girl stuck out her hand for a shake. “I’m Rhett’s assistant, Adalyn. Gosh, I’m so grateful for your help.”
I shook her hand and stepped back as she opened the car door and slid into the back seat. Jackie followed her and shut the door behind herself, and I stood on the sidewalk, stunned for a second before letting myself into the front seat.
Jackie frowned. “What happened?”
