And how rude!
“We should go,” he mutters. He doesn’t look happy about it. Well, I’m not happy about it either, but I stick out my hand anyway.
“Iris Adams.” And then because I’m an actor, I take a breath and deliver a line. “Nice to meet you.”
He glances at my offered hand and then back into my eyes with a dubious expression. Yeah, maybe I’m not winning a Golden Globe today.
“I know who you are,” he says, and the way he says it so flat, I have no idea how to take it. “Beau Landry.”
And then I nearly jump when his hand closes around mine. Because it’s a real handshake. His big hand surrounds mine and squeezes. Not tight and painful like some of those Hollywood execs who use a handshake like a power play, but snug. And heavy.
Like a weighted blanket.
It startles me, and I pull away a little too quickly. He’s handsome. Crazy handsome. And I thought so before I touched his hand, but I have to remember that this guy doesn’t like me. And he isn’t particularly nice.
I take a deep breath and let it out inwhoosh.“Ready when you are.”
Without a word, Beau turns and heads back toward the dance studio. He locks the back door and lets the screen slam behind him.
“Allons,”he says with a head-jerk toward the remaining truck in the parking lot. I follow him, chafing at the terse French expression.
“Does everyone here speak French?” I ask, and maybe my tone is a little sour.
He snorts. “Not by a long way.” Beau pops the locks on his truck, and I walk to the passenger side. As I climb in, I lose my footing and bark my shin on the running board, but instead of crying out or cursing like I want to, I swallow a whimper and heft myself inside. Because he didn’t see. At least, I hope he didn’t see. And I’ve already made myself look like a walking disaster.
But, Holy God, it hurts so bad, I almost choke. I’m going to have a bruise that’ll probably require makeup if we shoot any scenes with me in a skirt for the next week. It hurts so bad, all I can do is breathe in barely controlled puffs and pants.
It hurts so bad, I don’t even notice that Beau Landry has climbed into the truck and is seated next to me—staring at me—until he speaks.
“You okay?”
I nod. But it’s not good enough. He keeps staring.
“Yeah.” The word rasps out of me, making it sound like I’m being strangled. “Good.”
His eyes narrow. “You sure?”
I nod again.
“Because it looked like you fell getting into the truck.” His frown is about as welcoming as a barbed wire fence. “Are you high or something?”
“What?”It’s hard to sound indignant when you’re in agony. I sound more like I’ve been stepped on.
“Are youhigh?” he asks again as though I’m stupid. Or high. This guy is starting to piss me off.
“No, I’m not high,” I snap. I’ve never been high in my life. Moira would lose her mind.
His focus doesn’t leave my eyes. In fact, he looks like he’s searching. Checking them out. And not in the good way.
“Hey. My eyes aren’t bloodshot and they’re not glassy because I’mnot high,okay? Jesus.” I shake my head, unable to believe this jerk. “What happened with your uncle was an accident, understand?An accident.”
He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t yield a thing. “And what about just now? Getting into the truck?”
“Islipped.”Fuck this shit. I don’t have to take this. “You know what? I think I’ll call an Uber. You can just go.”
I open the truck’s door and look down. It would be great if I could just bounce out of this thing with a huff and storm off, but I’m not that graceful. I’m not graceful at all, and I don’t want to end up on my ass. I stick my right leg out and plant it firmly on the gravel drive before letting my left follow.
I grab the edge of the door and brace to swing it closed.
