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Paul stood at her side, her hand resting lightly on the sleeve of his tuxedo. Having her father escort her down the staircase wasn’t part of the plan, and the expression on their faces as they smiled at each other disconcerted him. He knew Paul had been hanging around a lot lately, but Bram had been working such long hours that he had no idea what had happened to improve their relationship.
Paul and Georgie began descending the staircase. Bram couldn’t take his eyes off her. She wasn’t considered beautiful by Hollywood standards, but the problem lay with the standards, not with her. She was something far more interesting than a Botoxed, liposucked, trout-mouth, silicon-enhanced California Frankenbeauty.
As she paused at the landing, he belatedly remembered he was supposed to have climbed the steps to meet her. But she was used to him missing his cues, and she didn’t wait for long. He unglued his feet and climbed the stairs, stopping three steps below her. He turned one-quarter profile to the crowd and extended his hand, palm up. Corny, but she deserved the most romantic picture possible. Paul kissed Georgie on the cheek, nodded at Bram, then yielded the stage to the bride and groom. Georgie’s hand slipped warmly into his own. The guests broke out in applause as she descended the three steps to his side.
They faced a ballroom brimming with smiles and good cheer, although half the guests were undoubtedly placing bets on how long the marriage would last. Georgie gazed up at him, her eyes tender. He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them gently. He could play fricking Prince Charming every bit as well as Lance the Loser.
But he had to work hard at being cynical. Tonight might be nothing more than another Hollywood fairy tale, but the illusion felt real.
Georgie wanted it to be real. This night. The magical sparkling dress. Her friends around her, and the soft expression on her father’s face. Only the man standing at her side was wrong. But he didn’t feel as wrong as he should. They mingled with their guests, who were dressed in everything from jeans and tennis skirts to dinner jackets and schoolgirl outfits. Trev and Sasha had volunteered to give the toasts, but after everyone was seated, Paul rose unexpectedly and raised his glass. “Tonight we celebrate the commitment these two amazing people have made to each other.” He gazed at Georgie. “One of these people…I love very much.” His voice broke, and Georgie’s eyes filled with tears. Paul cleared his throat. “The other is…growing on me.”
Everyone laughed, including Bram. The past week with her father had been strange and wonderful. Knowing how much he loved her—how much he’d loved her mother—meant everything. But as Paul began expressing hope for the bride and groom’s future, Georgie worked to keep a smile on her face. Telling her father the truth instead of trying to hide her mistakes for fear of disappointing him was the next step in her journey of becoming her own woman.
Paul had waited until this morning to tell her he’d invited her ex-agent as his date. She was glad he’d thought of it, no matter how awkward greeting Laura had been. “It’s a nice thing to do for her,” he’d said. “This way everyone can see that you still consider her part of your inner circle.”
Georgie had tried to make a joke out of it. “It’s also the perfect way to start letting people know you’re returning to acting, and that Laura is representing you.”
His face had fallen. “Georgie, that’s not why—”
“I know it’s not,” she’d said quickly. “I didn’t mean it that way.” They were navigating a new relationship, with both of them trying to find their footing. She’d poked him in the ribs to make him laugh.
The other toasts followed—Trev’s irreverent, Sasha’s warm, both of them funny. As the meal began, she and Bram were subjected to frequent interruptions from guests tapping their water goblets. Their public kisses no longer felt so phony. She’d never known a man who enjoyed kissing as much as Bram Shepard…or one who did it so well. She’d never known a man she enjoyed kissing more.
At the next table, Laura toyed with a bite of lobster and surreptitiously pushed up her bra strap. She’d planned to wear a garden-party dress tonight, like so many of the other female guests, but at the last minute, she’d changed her mind. This was a business occasion, and she couldn’t afford to be tugging on a bodice that would inevitably show too much cleavage or worrying about bare arms that weren’t as toned as they should be. Instead, she’d opted for a simple beige business suit, a draped-neck camisole, and pearls—the sort of outfit Mrs. Scofield had worn. Other than her perpetual problem with bra straps, she’d done fairly well keeping herself neat.
Paul’s invitation had been a shock. She’d called to break the news that he’d struck out on his first audition, but that the casting agent wanted to see him about another part. Just as she’d launched into her standard ego-repairing pep talk, he’d cut her off. “I wasn’t right for the part, but the audition was good practice.” And then he’d invited her to the party.
She would have been foolish to refuse. Being seen here tonight would help put a little of the luster back on her professional reputation, as Paul very well knew. But she couldn’t help being wary. Paul’s icy personality had always been the perfect antidote to his good looks and other male assets, but his new vulnerability made it tempting to view him in a more unsettling way.
Fortunately, she understood the perils of female rescue fantasies. She was clear about what she wanted from her life, and she wouldn’t screw that up just because Paul York was both more interesting and complicated than she’d ever imagined. So what if she was sometimes lonely? Her days of letting a man distract her from her real goals were long behi
nd her. Paul was a client, and being seen at this party was good business.
He’d been attentive all evening, a perfect gentleman, but she was too nervous to eat much. While the others at the table were engaged in private conversations, she leaned closer. “Thanks for inviting me. I owe you.”
“You have to admit tonight hasn’t been as awkward as you thought it would be.”
“Only because your daughter is a class act.”
“Quit defending her. She fired you.”
“She needed to fire me. And the two of you haven’t been able to stop smiling at each other all evening, so don’t bother playing the tough guy.”
“We talked. That’s all.” He pointed to the corner of his mouth, indicating she had something on her face. Embarrassed, she snatched up her napkin, but she didn’t get the right spot, and he ended up dabbing at her with his own.
She grabbed her water glass when he was done. “It must have been a great talk.”
“It was. Remind me to tell you about it the next time I’m drunk.”
“I can’t imagine you ever getting drunk. You’re too self-disciplined.”
“It’s been known to happen.”
“When?”
She expected him to brush her off, but he didn’t. “When my wife died. Every night after Georgie fell asleep.”
This was a Paul York she’d only just begun to know. She gazed at him for a long moment. “What was your wife like? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
