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“Okay, we’ll talk soon.”
When Cecelia and Deacon walked off to their own table, Naomi sat down again and watched Toby as he reached for the check folder.
Cecelia was in love and lucky enough to have Deacon love her back. Naomi shot a sidelong glance at Toby as he tucked several bills into the folder for their waiter. He loved her, she knew. But he wasn’t in love with her, and that was the difference between her relationship and her friend’s. Still, Naomi was lucky, too. Toby was here. With her. He’d changed his life around to be there for her.
And they’d had that kiss that had stirred up feelings she’d never suspected she had for him. Was there something more than friendship between them? Was it worth the risk of losing him to find out?
* * *
Los Angeles was big and noisy and crowded, and Naomi loved it. From the packed freeways to the mobs of tourists wandering down Hollywood Boulevard, everything was so different from what she knew that Naomi felt energized. Of course, being with Toby had that effect on her, too.
From flying on Wes Jackson’s private jet to their penthouse suite at the Chateau Marmont in West Hollywood, it was as if she and Toby were wrapped up in some fantasy together. The two-bedroom suite was decorated in pale grays, with hardwood floors, beamed ceilings and glass tables. There was a tiled terrace off the living room and a waist-high concrete balcony railing. The gas fireplace in the main room flickered with dancing flames, because though it was June, it was also Southern California. The damp air coming in off the ocean meant the fire was welcome as well as beautiful.
Naomi spent that first night alone in her bedroom, unable to sleep—not just because she was nervous about her meeting with the producer the following morning. But because Toby was right there with her and still so far away.
He’d been as good as his word, making small, affectionate gestures in front of Rebecca and the hands who worked for him. But when they were alone, he was careful to be...careful. He didn’t seem to be having any difficulties keeping his distance from her. So maybe she was wrong about all this, she told herself. Maybe she was the only one who couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss. Who couldn’t help wondering what more might be like.
“How’d the meeting go?” Toby sat across from her, a sea breeze ruffling his hair as he watched her, waiting. He’d loosened the dark red tie at his neck and left off his steel-gray suit jacket. The long sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled back to the elbows, and his long legs were stretched out, crossed at the ankle. Toby was probably the only man she knew who could pull off black cowboy boots in Los Angeles.
They were on the terrace of the penthouse suite, and evening was settling in. On the glass-topped table between them was a pitcher of iced tea and two tall glasses provided by room service. It had been a long day. Naomi’d had her meeting with the producer, and Toby had taken care of some business with his patent attorneys. This was really the first chance they’d had to talk since breakfast in the restaurant that morning.
Naomi took a breath and sighed it out. How did she explain what it had been like to hear Tamara Stiles praising Fashion Sense? All her life, she’d been striving to matter. Maybe it had started out as an effort to finally earn her parents’ pride, but at some point her motivation had shifted. It wasn’t only about them anymore, but about Naomi herself. She’d wanted to prove to everyone—including herself—that she was more than a rich man’s daughter. That she had more to offer.
Okay, a cable television show about fashion wasn’t curing cancer or ending nuclear war, but she was helping people, she told herself silently. Giving them ideas on how to improve not only their looks, but their lives. Looking your best meant that you felt your best. Sure, she enjoyed what she did, but knowing that other people did, too, was what made it all so good.
Now, here in Hollywood, she’d reached the very thing she’d been aiming for. There were people here who wanted to produce her, make the show bigger, get a larger audience, really help Naomi be heard. And she wasn’t thrilled. She should be. This was the pot of gold at the end of her own personal rainbow. This was the X marks the spot on her private treasure map.
Looking at Toby, she tried to tell him what she was feeling, but she couldn’t explain it, since she wasn’t sure herself yet. Maybe she just needed time to think. Distance to put it all in perspective.
“Naomi?” His features reflected concern. “It didn’t go well?”
“No,” she answered quickly with a shake of her head. “It went fine. She loves the show—said it has great potential.”
He frowned a little at that. “Potential? What’s that supposed to mean? It’s already a hit in Texas. Hell, it’s why she wanted you to come talk to her.”
“Thanks. That’s what I thought, too.” Naomi tried to settle and couldn’t, so she stood up and walked the length of the private terrace. He was right when he’d once said she needed room to pace when she was thinkin
g. But this time, she felt as though she could walk all the way back to Texas and things still wouldn’t be clear.
When she came back up to the table, she didn’t look at Toby, but instead turned to face the valley view, her hands flat atop the wide concrete rail. “Tamara says for the show to go national we’d naturally have to make changes. To the sets, the kind of shows we do, pretty much everything.”
“If she loves it, why does she want to change it?”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Funny, I asked myself that same question.”
“You should.” He stood up, too, and joined her at the railing.
A sea breeze drifted through Hollywood and brushed past them like a damp caress. Naomi pushed her hair back and lifted her face into that soft wind before looking up at Toby.
He was so steady. So strong. And she was so grateful he’d come with her. She was out of her element here. In Royal, even in Houston, she was fairly well-known. But here she was just one of a crowd of supplicants trying to take that next step up on a Hollywood ladder.
Resting one hip against the balcony rail, she said, “Tamara says the show had something on its own—and that the Maverick video and all the hype that happened after on social media really gave it the kind of push they need to bring up a local show.”
“Okay...”
“But,” she said, shifting her gaze again, out to the valley and the smudge of ocean she could see in the distance, “to go national, the show has to be polished, have less of a small-town feel, so that it will appeal to everyone.”
“Small town?” he asked. “Houston, Dallas—they’ve signed on already. They’re not exactly small town, and it works for them just as it is.”
