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“Yes,” Caroline drawled.
Alarm bells started to sound in Elizabeth’s head. This wouldn’t end well for Jane. Her sister dropped her head into her hands. “Jeez, Charlie. I was away on a business trip; I didn’t move to Morocco.”
Charlie glared at his sister, apparently contemplating how many different ways he could kill her. “It wasn’t really like a date. Caroline just thought I would like her, and so we had dinner. That’s all.”
Caroline leaned back in her chair, watching Jane with hooded eyes. “Were you under the illusion that you two were exclusive? Because I’m not sure monogamy is within Charlie’s wheelhouse.”
Charlie leaned across the table. “Goddamn it, Caroline, will you just shut up?”
Jane’s eyes blazed. “You said I was your girlfriend.”
Charlie spluttered. “You are. You are my girlfriend. This was just a friendly, get-to-know-you dinner…In case…In the future….” Jane just glared at him. “We never said we were exclusive…”
“I didn’t think we had to!” Jane’s fist banged on the table. Her anger was completely understandable, Elizabeth thought. At that moment even she wanted to punch Charlie.
He gave a feeble chuckle. “Let’s chalk it up to a misunderstanding, then.”
Jane stood and pushed away from the table. “I don’t…I can’t even—” She fixed her attention on Elizabeth. “Did you drive here?”
“Yes.” Elizabeth’s phone pinged, and she pulled it out.
“Could I drive your car home now? After thinking it over, I’ve decided I’m too tired to film today.”
Elizabeth scanned her text message and then stood as well. “Sure. I have to take Will a sandwich, and I’ll probably be home late.” Which was a damned shame; Jane obviously could use a shoulder to cry on.
“Jane, don’t be like this.” Charlie’s voice was pleading.
“Like what?”
“Don’t break up with me over this.”
She gave him a level look. “According to you, we weren’t really together.”
Charlie opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. Jane took advantage of his momentary silence to stalk into the building.
***
Elizabeth threaded her way through the pack of trailers on the set. Will’s was one of the more opulent ones, with a sleek gold-and-black paint job. Juggling a plate and soda can, she knocked on the door and braced herself for Darcy’s brand of unpleasantness. She had only visited his trailer a few times and never alone.
Even by Hollywood standards, it was quite opulent, with mahogany wood details and high-end appliances in the kitchen. An enormous leather sectional faced a fifty-inch flat screen attached to a sophisticated gaming system—the dream man cave. The whole thing was significantly bigger—and far better furnished—than Elizabeth’s apartment.
She knocked again. Will had been needed for an early scene and would shoot one later. God knew what he was doing in the meantime; probably napping. Out of the blue he’d texted her a request for sandwiches, presumably because Garrett was away or busy.
She could think of seventeen more productive things to be doing at that minute, and three urgent tasks had cropped up while she had been collecting Will’s food. But, no, she had to drop everything to personally deliver Mr. Darcy’s sandwich. Was this some kind of silly revenge because she had quit as his personal assistant? Or maybe he’d fired Garrett. That would probably be better for the poor kid, who would end up with a warped view of reality from hanging with William Darcy.
She knocked again. Maybe this was some stupid prank, and he wasn’t actually in his trailer. Finally, the door drifted open, and Elizabeth pushed her way in.
And stopped, frozen in the doorway.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Will Darcy wasn’t wearing a shirt.
And his chest was…
Right.
There.
Somehow it was bigger than on any movie screen. He really was that cut, part of her brain noticed, while another part just drooled. Muscles so well-defined you could use them to open envelopes.
