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“Tell him it's important.”
She shoots me a pained smile and pops her head into Ryan's office. I hear them exchange a few words—he's clearly annoyed—and the assistant returns to me.
“Mr. Knight will call you at 7:00, as usual.”
“I can wait here until he's done.”
“You should wait at home,” she says with a glare that couldn't mean anything but you don't look like you belong here. I guess it could just as easily mean what does Ryan see in someone as pathetic as you? Or Ryan would be so much better off with a smart, sensible, professional woman like me.
“Fine,” I say. “Do you have any idea when he'll be finished?”
“He has a lot to do,” she says.
I grit my teeth. I will not snap at this woman. I will not roll my eyes. I will not tell her to go fuck herself. It won't help my case.
I only say, “Fine,” and squeeze my purse on my way to the door. Ryan could easily step out to have a conversation with me, but no, he has work, precious, important work.
What difference does it make? He's going to say no. There's no way he'll let me do this. There's no way I'm ready for this kind of freedom.
I hear footsteps behind me. Could it be Ryan? Is it possible he changed his mind and tried to grab me before I left? No. It's not possible. Not in a million years.
“Fancy seeing you here.” It's Luke. I turn around and I take a long look at him. He's in jeans and a V-neck, his t-shirt hanging perfectly off his shoulders. Jesus, did he become more attractive since I saw him last?
“Hi,” I say, and I try my best to keep my eyes on his eyes. Only his big, brown eyes are as appealing as his chest and shoulders. My heart beats louder. My mouth goes dry. But it's nothing. It's only because I used him as a trigger in my scene. I don't really want him like that. I don't really want to fuck him. Right?
“I meant to tell you the other night—you were also amazing in Surrender.”
“You watch a lot of pretentious indie crap,” I say.
“Miss Summers, you underestimate me. My mother was a film historian. I watched some of the most pretentious crap ever put on screen.”
“Is that so?”
“Are you familiar with French new wave?”
“Vaguely.”
“It makes Citizen Kane look like Transformers.”
“And you'd rather watch su
perheroes save the world?”
“No,” he says. “I like mysteries. And,” he laughs at himself, “court room dramas.” His eyes connect with mine. Jesus, his eyes are amazing—the darkest of browns, big and full of life.
“Are you heading home?” I ask.
“I was,” he says. “But seeing as how we're both free… Ryan's an asshole for ignoring you, by the way.”
“I can't argue with that.”
“Maybe we could have dinner.”
“I don't know if that's a good idea.” No, I know it's an awful idea. I'm still keyed up from my scene. If he so much as kisses me on the cheek…
“Come on, it's on me. Well, on Lawrence and Knight.”
“Maybe.”
