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She yanked a drawer open, pulled out a stack of manila folders, and threw them down on the desktop. “I have folders packed with pictures of men. Their lips, eyes, smiles, torsos . . .” She pointed at each folder as she named it. “This is what I do. I’m a writer. I use all of this for my writing, you stupid, self-centered jerk!”
Reece’s entire countenance changed in an instant. He stepped toward her. “Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious. You’re a self-centered jerk.”
“No, I mean . . .” Speechless, he ran his hand through his hair.
Nicole rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Do you honestly believe I liked having my face slammed into the ground or my foot nearly ripped from my body? I’m not a masochist, Reece. I don’t enjoy pain. I had no idea you were going to be on that flight. The only reason I was late is because I have a serious problem with procrastination.” She crossed her arms in a defensive position. She was so angry, she wanted to hit something—him mostly.
“Nicole, I . . .”
Her lips were pursed. “I think you should go now.” She wouldn’t look at him.
He could see she was angry. “I’m sorry. I suppose I overreacted.”
She snorted. “Understatement.”
He chuckled. “Yeah.” He glanced around the room with new eyes and a new perspective. It wasn’t as bad as he’d first thought. “It’s just . . . I’ve met people like that—people who’ll contrive a way to meet me. I’m surrounded by fame suckers, so to think that someone I thought was genuine turned out to be just as phony, well, it threw me.”
Nicole rubbed her chin against her shoulder, still managing to avoid looking his way. “Do you know I met a lady at the pub today who said she’d love to be knocked down by you? I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing at her.” She finally glanced at him. “I’m not like that, Reece,” she said, her voice calmer. “I wouldn’t objectify you that way. Despite my initial reaction on the plane, I think I’ve treated you pretty normal.” She shrugged. “I thought you were a great, down to earth guy. I really liked you.”
“Thank you,” he said sincerely.
Her eyes widened. “Why are you thanking me?”
“Because you treat me like a normal person and call me a jackass.”
Her brow furrowed. “I didn’t call you a jackass.”
“No, but you wanted to. Admit it.” He grinned his one-sided grin.
She couldn’t resist, the last of her anger draining away. She smiled back at him. “How do you do that?”
“What?”
“Get me to stop being mad at you?”
His grin widened. “It’s a talent.” He bent down, retrieving the poster from the floor. “Do you want me to hang this back up for you?”
“That would be great.” She watched as he leaned across the desk and stretched to put the poster back, enjoying the view of his butt.
He studied the picture. “I don’t know why you like this one.”
She raised her eyes from his backside. “Have you ever looked in a mirror? You’re freakin’ gorgeous. Face it, my friend, you’re eye candy for all females between the ages of thirteen and eighty.”
“Does that include you?”
“Well, duh.”
He was still staring at the poster. “It’s not even one of my best roles.”
She opened the desk drawer, returning the folders to their proper place. “You’re right. The movie sucked, but you were great.” She began to blush. “Besides getting to see your body, you did a wonderful job of portraying the character. Watching you was like living the part, experiencing everything you were feeling. I think that’s the mark of a good actor.”
He turned to her. “And a writer too, don’t you think?”
She nodded. “Absolutely. There’s nothing worse than opening a book and finding the characters have no depth or feeling. It would be like reading an accident report—just the plain hard facts.”
“Well, lucky for us, you don’t write that way.”
