Don’t bother on my account.
“You can wait in here.” He led her into a sunken living room, complete with not one but two plush sofas and a Steinway piano, and disappeared into what she presumed was the bedroom.
Heart pounding, she wandered to the piano, setting her clutch down and fingering the keys. “Do you play?” she called out, desperate to fill the awkward silence.
“No,” he answered from the other room. “Garrett insisted I have the Presidential Suite. I’d have been happy in a regular guest room, but Garrett’s a top-of-the-line kind of guy.”
She left the piano and moved to a wall of windows overlooking Times Square, absorbing the spectacular view. Almost as spectacular as the view of Nick’s butt in that towel...
“He can be a jerk when things aren’t going his way, but I trust him,” Nick continued as he came back into the lounge. “He’s got my best interests at heart.”
Holly turned from the window to face him. Holy hotness, Batman! He’d zipped himself into another pair of jeans, just as snug as the ones he’d had on before but even more faded and ripped at one knee, and was buttoning a light gray sports shirt. He padded toward her on bare feet with the easy grace of a man comfortable in his own skin.
If she could bottle that self-confidence and sell it, she’d be a millionaire. Or maybe he could give her lessons....
He lowered himself onto one of the couches and motioned for her to join him, but she shook her head. She could barely think straight with him all the way across the room. She didn’t stand a chance up close and personal.
“So what brings you here?” he asked. “Ted and Judith send you to change my mind?”
She wanted to tell him the truth. Really, she did. But when she opened her mouth, something entirely different came out. “Not exactly. I, uh, wanted to apologize. For my behavior today in the conference room. I was inexcusably rude.”
He glanced at the platinum Rolex on his left wrist. “You came all the way across town at rush hour to apologize?” He leaned back and crossed his arms behind his head. His biceps bulged beneath his shirt sleeves.
Her mouth went dry. Good Lord, the man was unsettling. “Well, yes. It was such a surprise, seeing you. I reacted...poorly.”
Right. And Shakespeare just scribbled down a few poems and plays.
“So you don’t want to strong-arm me into auditioning?” He fixed her with a piercing stare that she did her best to meet head-on.
“Do I look like I could strong-arm anyone?”
“You look...” the same eyes that had just tried to intimidate her with their intensity raked her up and down, leaving her tingling and breathless “...stunning.”
She shivered and stepped back, leaning against the piano for support. One word—one look—and she was ready to throw off her clothes and beg him to do her in every yoga position imaginable.
This was wrong. All wrong. She never should have come. How did Ted and Judith and especially Ethan expect her to keep her pants on when faced with a force of nature like Nick? She wasn’t exactly a femme fatale. More like a poor man’s Cinderella, all dressed up for the ball, waiting for the stroke of midnight to reveal her as a complete fraud. Certainly no match for the charm and sophistication of Nick Damone.
“Thanks.” She wiped her clammy hands on the legs of her linen pants. “But all this—” she indicated her new hairdo, makeup and clothes “—it’s not really me. I’m more of a just-rolled-out-of-bed, jeans-and-T-shirt kind of gal. Nothing like the glamorous women you’re always photographed with.”
His smile put her in mind of a wolf eyeing a sheep before the kill. “Exactly.”
She wasn’t sure what he meant by that and she wasn’t dumb—or brave—enough to stick around and find out. “I’ve taken up enough of your time.” She snatched her clutch off the piano. “Thanks for flying all the way out here to meet with us. I’m sorry it was all for nothing....”
“What does your husband think about you coming to my hotel room like this?”
“My...what?”
“You know, your husband. Mr. Ryan. The man you married.” He sat straighter, his eyes flashing. “Does he know you’re here?”
The last thing she wanted to discuss with Nick was her pathetic excuse for a husband. But she supposed she owed Nick the truth—or part of it.
“I don’t have a husband. Not anymore. I’m divorced.”
* * *
HOT DAMN!
Nick knew his reaction was wrong. No matter the circumstances, divorce wasn’t something to celebrate. But his head couldn’t reason with his heart, which was doing a little happy dance.
She. Wasn’t. Married.
Lusting after her from afar would have been torture. But now she was free. Fair game. They could work and play together.
Warning bells went off in the back of his head. She’s a forever kind of girl, Damone. And you don’t do forever. In fact, you don’t do relationships. Period.
But his happy-dancing heart—or maybe the dancing was coming from somewhere a bit farther south—drowned it out. There was no way he was passing up the second chance given to him by God, or fate, or whatever cosmic force had brought them together again.
Plus, if anyone could help him get past his learning disability and claim this role, it was her. Hell, she’d written the damn thing. She’d know the characters inside out. Plus, she was the smartest person he’d ever met. With her help, he’d wow Spielberg and everyone else in Hollywood who doubted his acting chops.
Nick smoothed down the front of his shirt and stretched one arm along the back of the couch. This could turn out to be his lucky break. In more ways than one.
“I’m sorry,” he said, surprised to find that a part of him really was. Not that she was available, but that she’d had to endure the pain that always came with divorce.
She shrugged, the hint of a smile playing around her lips. “I’m not.”
“Any kids?”
As suddenly as it appeared, the trace of a smile vanished and her eyes took on a distant look. “No.”
“That’s good.”
“Is it?” She sounded wistful.
“Divorce is hard on kids.” Although he was pretty sure his childhood would have been a damn sight better—or at least more peaceful—if his parents had split up.
“I suppose.” She shook her head as if to clear it, and a little of the spark crept back into her eyes. “Now that we’ve exhausted the subject of my failed marriage...” She started for the door.
He sank back into the sofa, crossing an ankle over one knee. “You honestly didn’t come here to get me to audition?”
She froze. “Are you always this suspicious?”
He shrugged. “Occupational hazard. You haven’t answered my question.”
“I do want you to audition. But it’s your decision, not mine.”
“That’s very Dr. Phil of you,” he said, sounding cynical even to his own ears. “But somehow I don’t think Ted and Judith share your concern for my feelings. If I were a betting man, and I am, I’d say they’re trying to cash in on our friendship.”
“I’m not privy to their innermost thoughts.” Holly drew herself up and pursed her lips. Man, she was hot when she went all schoolteacher. “And one conversation at a high school cast party hardly constitutes a friendship.”
Nick leaned forward,