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Silence fell. Elizabeth lowered her head to the tablet, but for some reason Darcy wanted her attention on him. “How are you feeling?” She shot him a wary look. “I mean, with the concussion and everything.” He pointed to his head as if she had forgotten where a concussion occurs.
“I still get headaches occasionally, but the doctor thinks they’ll stop soon.”
Her eyes made him think of windswept beaches and long sea voyages. “Good.”
When her eyebrows lifted, he rewound the last seconds of their conversation in his head. “I mean, not good that you get headaches,” he clarified. “But good that they’ll get better soon.”
“Yeah.” After a moment she returned her attention to the tablet. He was losing the battle for her attention to a hunk of plastic and wiring. The mere thought made him hot and itchy.
It was a shame she wasn’t more attractive, although she was prettier than he had noticed at first. Those thick dark curls that tumbled down her shoulders framed her pale face so nicely. But she’d never be a leading lady. Did she recognize that reality? His heart ached for her. If I have a chance, I’ll assure her that she could have a decent career as a character actress.
“I’m glad you’re back on your feet,” he said, mainly so that her eyes would flick up in his direction again.
He hated being ignored, particularly by…by... Well, he didn’t want Elizabeth to ignore him. For reasons he chose not to examine too closely, he needed her to focus on him. So when her eyes met his, he unleashed his killer smile, the one that had sold millions of movie tickets and graced the cover of People.
“Thank you,” she said in a dazed and distant voice. Her hands had gone slack, and the tablet was in danger of sliding off her lap. Her eyes were fixated on his lips. Bingo.
But she was still staring a few seconds later. Uh-oh. Maybe he’d hit her too hard with his smile whammy. She wore that expression—the one on so many fans’ faces—which suggested more than simple attraction. It suggested that she was constructing elaborate fantasies in which he invited her on dates, told her she was the only one for him, proposed, and took her to live with him in his mansion.
He remembered his mother telling him to watch out for that look. With more than thirty films under her belt, she had dealt with some obsessed fans. “They think they know you. You’ve been on the big screen. You’ve been in their house on television. They’ve built a fantasy of the ‘real’ you, and they think they’re in love with it.”
Five minutes ago, Elizabeth had said some intelligent things about the differences between fantasy and reality. But she was a red-blooded American woman, and he had deployed the killer smile.
Gah.
He didn’t want to see that expression on Elizabeth’s face. She was his assistant; having her follow him around the set like a lovelorn puppy would be…inconvenient—and worse, subtly wrong somehow. He didn’t want adulation. Not from his personal assistant. Not from her. Not Elizabeth.
Darcy’s heart raced, and his breathing quickened. He had to nip it in the bud. Now. Before it took root. He had to discourage any romantic feelings she might nurture. And quickly.
It was a shame, he thought. When she had stopped being difficult and sarcastic, she was really quite interesting. He might have enjoyed her company. But he couldn’t take the risk that a full-fledged crush would set in. That wou
ld be disastrous. The only thing he could do was be distant, reserved, unfriendly—stop the crush before it blossomed.
“You know, I would like a coffee,” he said brusquely, thinking up the most ridiculously complex order he could imagine. “I need a half caff, no whip, double-foam latte.” She blinked at the abrupt change in topic. “Now.”
Her spine stiffened. “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” She slid off the stool and gave him a mocking salute as she marched out of the room.
Chapter Four
Elizabeth slammed out the door to Building 4, ignoring the mostly female crowd of gawkers who clustered around the entrance hoping that William Darcy might happen to venture out. It was sickening. These people worked at the studio! They were grown women. Did they have to act like pre-teens at a boy band concert? Surely they had jobs to do.
She wanted to shout at them, to tell them that their idol was a bastard, incapable of human decency, barely competent at holding up his end of a conversation—even when you tried to be interested in and sensitive about his life. That being his assistant was like working for Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
One minute he would give her a smile that could charm the panties off any woman, and she’d begin to think that a human heart might beat inside that mannequin-perfect body. The next minute he was dishing out a coffee order like she was a particularly slow Starbucks employee.
Hello whiplash.
But the women outside the soundstage door didn’t want to hear it and wouldn’t listen even if she yelled it through a megaphone. All they could think about was that lustrous, wavy dark hair and the intense sky-blue eyes. Or the way he smiled as though you were the only person who mattered in the world…
Okay, so she had gotten a little—a lot—mesmerized by him for a few seconds—or minutes—back there in the makeup room. But it had been purely aesthetic appreciation. Like looking at Michelangelo’s David or—okay, better if she didn’t think of muscular, naked men. Like looking at Monet’s Water Lilies or listening to Rhapsody in Blue. She could appreciate his face the way she could enjoy a great work of art.
She powered her way toward the coffee shop with a speed and determination that made other people get out of her way. Her sneakers slammed onto the asphalt as if it were personally responsible for his condescending attitude.
The guy had given her a concussion and hadn’t apologized, but she’d tried to start the job with a good attitude. To be friendly and show him she understood some of the challenges he faced. For a moment she thought she’d gotten through to him, but then he’d slammed her back into her place. That would teach her to be nice to jerkwad movie stars.
Why do I even want to be friendly to him? Maybe it was as simple as physical attraction. I’m not immune to the lure of a handsome face…and that body: sculpted muscles, lean build, lightly tanned skin…
She heard herself sigh.
