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I take to the bar and begin to stir a concoction together, trying not to sneak glances at the beautiful woman only a few feet away. She has an even greater effect on me here than she did when I’d first met her, albeit briefly earlier in the week.
“I watched your intro today,” she tells me, breaking the brief but distinctly uncomfortable silence in the car, the director moving his finger in a gesture to keep the conversation going. “You’re very impressive. You look great on camera.”
Inadvertently, my shoulders straighten proudly, and I turn to hand her the drink, settling back to peer at her.
“What’s so impressive?” I ask. “It’s three uncreative sentences written by a copywriter.”
Her face falls again, and I hear the brusqueness in my tone, but it’s too late to take it back. I’ve already been warned about my standoffishness by several of the production staff.
“I mean, I don’t do much,” I add, forcing a magnanimous expression I don’t feel. “I’m not starring in blockbuster films or creating innovative products.”
She lowers her head appreciatively as she takes the drink, but her eyes widen in denial as the Los Angeles evening slides by beyond the tinted windows.
“That’s categorically untrue,” she counters. “You’re thirty-one, and you’ve already given away a quarter of your trust fund to inner-city communities, including honoring your promise to send a graduating senior class to college last year.”
Heat rises up my neck as I realize she’s been doing her homework on me, homework that isn’t in my dossier for the contract. My eyes narrow as I study her face.
“What’s the point of having money if you aren’t going to help the community where you live?” I ask gruffly, turning my head to look out the window.
“I agree,” Stella replies. “I wish more people did, too.”
“I guess it’s easy to give away when it’s someone else’s money,” I growl.
To my utter shock, she reaches across the seat and puts her hand on my knee, squeezing it gently.
Stella’s sweet aroma overtakes me. She doesn’t reek of expensive perfume like most of the women I know, bathing in Chanel or Baccarat. Her scent is subtle, fruity, like the tropics. It immediately puts me at ease, despite my reservations about her, and my skin prickles responsively.
“The reporter who said that was an absolute asshole,” she says bluntly. “And if he had any money of his own, he would have hoarded it just like everyone else does. You’re amazing, Bennet. I wish there were more like you out there. You’ve accomplished so much with so little support. I think you’re incredible.”
I’m spared from responding as the car takes a gliding left turn into a beachfront restaurant, and Stella removes her hand from my leg.
“CUT!”
The director, Roy, claps his hands as we pile out of the vehicle, stopping Stella before she can take a step toward the red carpet leading into the restaurant. “That was fire! You should be working with the writers on the upcoming scripts! You write far better than they do!”
Stella’s face twists as if she’d forgotten we were being filmed, but the director hurries away before she can respond. She turns to me and makes a moue of her lips. “I wasn’t doing that for the camera. It was—” she starts to say, but I give her a terse look.
“It’s all for the camera from here on out. Never forget that.” With that, I head up the red carpet, leading to the restaurant as Stella rushes up to keep pace.
“Slow down, Bennet!” Roy yells. “Let her take your arm!”
I wince at the prospect, but I do as I’m told. We bypass the hostess booth, our entourage navigating through the bustling restaurant. Cameras flash around us, capturing our every move. Stella averts her gaze, uncomfortable with the attention.
Leaning barely towards her, I casually run a hand along the back of an empty chair we pass. “You really should get used to this,” I say, my voice a blend of amusement and a hint of advice. “It’s only going to get worse as you become a household name as the next Heartbreaker.”
“I really hate that name,” she mutters, and I can’t help but smile. Itisa stupid name, but I don’t say that aloud. No one’sheart is getting broken, even if they’ve convinced the audience otherwise.
On the beach, waves crash to the shore, twilight gracing the sky in a series of rose, orange, and blue hues. The cameras begin to roll again after Roy positions us in the best lighting at our table.
“Intimate talks, like the one in the car,” he urges. “Sit close. Stare into each other’s eyes.”
“You can’t just pull those out of your ass,” Stella snaps, her nerves already frazzling.
He appears stunned by her rudeness, and I step in to smooth things over.
“We’ll try,” I lament. “But we can’t with you breathing down our necks.”
Muttering under his breath, Roy steps away to watch us in the sand.
