Tamed by You (10 page)

"One has nothing to do with the other," Venus said definitively. "You've assured me on more than one occasion that you can multitask."

Caught by her own words. "It's just—"

"What?"

She didn't want to set up Ethan with anyone. It felt wrong. In fact, she didn't even want to
talk
about him dating anyone. The more she thought about that, the more it upset her.

Quite frankly, the best idea so far was Kristin's.

Not that she could tell her mother that she wanted to get it on with a client. She chose her words carefully. "He's proving to be really difficult to match. I was thinking of letting him go and—"

"Letting him go?" Based on her mother’s expression, those words weren't in her vocabulary. "That's utter nonsense. We don't let people go, especially people who need our help."

Ethan Hunter didn't need anyone's help. Based on the way he kissed, he could be the one doing the instructing.

"Apparently I came just in time." Her mother lowered her reading glasses, looking happy. "You really do need my help."

No, she really didn't, but her mom looked so pleased she bit her lip against a reply.

"Don't worry." Venus squeezed her hand. "This Ethan Hunter may be difficult, but I have every confidence you'll find him the right woman. You'll do me and your grandmother proud, and I can go home secure in the knowledge that you're okay here on your own."

Exactly what she wanted. Great. Only of course Ethan had to go and ruin everything by being a fabulous kisser. "It's just that he has particular tastes."

"Is he kinky?"

"
Mom.
" Valentine flushed, imagining Ethan doing adventurous things to her. She did
not
need to
discuss that with her mother.

Her mom sipped her latte primly. "It's better to know if he has certain needs that must be met. You aren't doing anyone a favor if you pair him with a woman who isn't willing."

Another woman might not be willing to get kinky with Ethan, but she was. "I don't know what he likes, but I'll find out."

"Good. You have to get to know the intimate details of your clients, Valentine." Venus frowned at her. "And before
you
go on any dates, you should go to an aesthetician. Your eyebrows need shaping."

Of course they did. She sighed and pretended to study her mother's list, telling herself to be glad that her mom sounded like her normal self.

Chapter Ten

Sophie tapped the pen against her lips, staring at her journal. "Something's not right."

"No kidding." Julie poked her in the back. "Can you move your butt? I can't get to my mouse."

"Sorry." She moved over from her perch on the counter. "You should really stop frowning like that. You'll get premature wrinkles. Botox can only do so much."

Julie glared at her. "I hate this bookkeeping crap."

"Then hire someone else to do it."

"I can't afford it."

Sophie could. She studied Julie and the lines on her forehead and made a mental note to call her accountant. "Drink some water."

"What?" The florist looked at her like she was insane.

"It'll counteract the damage you're doing to your skin."

"What are you doing here?" Julie exclaimed, shoving the mouse aside. "Don't you have paparazzi waiting for you somewhere?"

Fortunately, the paparazzi thought she was nursing her wounds in St. Barth’s rather than having a breakdown in San Francisco. She'd never been as grateful for Jeremy as she'd been this week. If everyone believed she was heartbroken, they'd never suspect it was actually her career she was wrecked over.

Not that she had much of a career—not after the screen test she had yesterday.

She'd flown to Los Angeles in the morning, read for Pal, and returned in the evening, no one the wiser.
Now she had to wait for who knew how long to hear the verdict.

Nerve-racking.

Now wasn't the time to think about it. She faced Julie. "Focus on the issue here. I need help with my character."

"Fine. I'll listen." Julie grabbed a bottle of water from her stash behind the counter and waved her hand. "But only because you won't leave me alone till I do. What's the problem?"

"My heroine is kind of pathetic. She needs someone."

"How about a beleaguered florist?" Julie said sarcastically. "Call her Julie."

Already done, but Sophie pretended to think about it. "Actually, that's brilliant."

Julie stopped, hands on her hips. "I think you've been lying to me. This isn't just therapy you're doing. You're writing something."

Sophie closed her journal and gave her an innocent, wide-eyed look. "Me?"

"You're using my shop as a mental ward–slash-office. The least you can do is tell me what you're doing. It's not like I have a direct line to
The Enquirer
."

"It's just the daily writing my therapist told me to do. I told you about it."

"It's more than that," Julie said stubbornly. "It's like you're actually working on something. You come in here every day and spend hours sitting on my counter and scribbling in your book."

An unpleasant thought occurred to her. "I know you grumble all the time, but I just assumed it was because of your natural surliness. Do you mind that I'm here?"

"Why would I mind that some loony tunes actress is squatting in my shop?" Julie smiled sheepishly. "I've actually gotten used to your ass on my counter."

Her heart warmed at the reluctant affection, and she had the urge to hug the skinny florist. But before she could decide whether to follow through on that impulse, her cell phone buzzed.

Julie handed it to her with a roll of her eyes and busied herself in her work area.

Sophie looked at the caller ID. Pal Greenland. Her insides clenched, but she put on a confident smile as she answered the call. He wouldn't be able to see it, but she knew he'd hear it in her voice. "Pal, darling, how's the new project coming along?"

"Fine, fine." He cleared his throat. "I know you're eager to hear comments on your screen test."

The only thing she wanted to hear was that she had the part, but she tucked the sarcasm away. She needed to be gracious right now. "Thank you for giving me the opportunity to read, Pal."

"My producers and I watched the reading and everyone was impressed. I didn't believe you'd be able to pull it off, Sophie, but you were actually good."

She bit her lip to keep her caustic reply to herself. "Thank you," she said instead. It was a testament to her acting that she managed not to gag.

"We're going to mull everything over this week. I'll let you know when we decide."

"Sounds great," she cooed with syrupy enthusiasm.

"Okay then." He sounded surprised, like he'd expected her to put up more of a fuss. He cleared his throat. "Sophie, the reading
really
was good. You're at the top of my list."

"Oh." She blinked with genuine shock. "Thank you, Pal."

"I'll call you. I want to start filming soon, so don't accept any other parts."

Ending the call, she stared into space a moment before she yelled in triumph.

"Geez!" Julie knocked over a white bucket. "What the hell?"

"That was the director." Sophie hopped off the counter. "I'm in!"

Julie gasped. "You got the part?"

"Well, not technically, but he said I was at the top of his list, and I've heard he doesn't make false promises." She put her things back in her bag. "I need to go tell Tony. I'll see you tomorrow."

She kissed Julie on the cheek and rushed out. Out of habit, she paused to look around for a moment, making sure she wasn't being followed but also getting her bearings. She still had trouble finding her way back to the house sometimes.

She didn't analyze why she wanted to tell Tony about her news. She was still disgruntled with him. They'd been dancing around each other since the kiss—or rather, she'd been the one dancing. He pretty much acted like she had the plague.

Why did he treat her like she was such a pariah? She didn't understand it. It hurt, and it frustrated her. A man didn't kiss a woman he didn't like the way Tony kissed her.

If only he'd just admit he liked her.

He would, she decided as she marched up the walkway to the house. Once she was back on her professional feet, he wouldn't be able to deny what a catch she was.

She found him in his study, reading glasses on, perusing what looked like a complicated contract. She walked right up to him, straddled his chair, took off his glasses, and kissed him.

For a moment she was afraid he'd draw away from her, but then his hands clenched her hips and he pulled her closer.

She hummed—it was delicious—and melted into the kiss. She pressed herself to the growing ridge against her thigh.

Each time they got started like this, Tony stopped it before it went too far. She liked that. It made her willing to act bolder, because she knew there was a fail-safe. They'd never go too far.

But today, just as she thought Tony was going to end it, he lifted her and set her on his desk. One hand held her steady, the other reached under her skirt. Her breath hitched as his fingers trailed up her leg.

Should she? She paused, trying to breathe, uncertain.

Her legs decided for her by falling open, wordlessly encouraging his touch.

His fingers flirted with the edge of her underwear, and his tongue danced with hers, a promise of things to come.

But he lifted his head, his expression impassive, though his cheeks had a faint flush. His fingers bit into her hips like he didn't want to let her go. "What do I owe this burst of affection to?"

"Pal Greenland called." She smiled, unable to hold in her happiness. "He's giving me Lara in his remake of
Doctor Zhivago
."

Tony frowned. "He is?"

"Thanks for sounding so confident in my abilities." She withdrew, sitting back.

"I think you're a great actor, but that part is all wrong for you."

Pushing him back onto his chair, she tugged her skirt down. "It's the perfect part to show my range."

"It'll dilute your brand." He reclined in his chair, his erection prominently displayed underneath his pants. Not that he cared. He didn't bother to adjust himself or hide it.

Cocky bastard. Literally. She glared at him. "I'm reinventing myself."

"You're ruining yourself. Any agent would tell you that."

"I can't stay in romantic comedies forever."

"You can with the right ones."

"No one writes them for older women. I'm already
pushing the
age limit," she admitted though it pained her.

"So write one for yourself."

The thought of people reading her intimate thoughts scared her more than the screen test had. She hopped off the desk to pace. "That's preposterous. It's absolutely insane. I can't do that."

"I bet you could. You write all the time, and you know what a screenplay needs from the other end." He looked at her shrewdly. "You're just scared."

"Ha!" She thought about that and said "Ha!" again, even though on the inside her nerves agreed with Tony.

"If you were my client, I'd tell you to leverage what you're good at, what you're known for. You're known for romance. God knows why." He shook his head.

She glared at him. "I didn't hear you complaining about that kiss."

"That kiss was fireworks, but we're not talking about how passionate you are. We're discussing your career, and your fans aren't going to follow you down a dark path to tragedy. They count on you to make them laugh and hope."

She gaped at him, stunned. "That sounded like a compliment."

"Don't let it go to your head." He crossed his arms. "And don't expect this to happen again."

"You said that last time." She smirked. "But don't worry, darling. That's not what I'll hold against you."

Sophie blew him a kiss and sauntered out, à la Sophie Martineau, world-class diva. She was conscious of his gaze on her as she strutted out of his office. Good—he could dream about what he could have had. Maybe next time he wouldn't casually let it slip away.

She could hope.

Chapter Eleven

"I have the answer to your problems," Isabella said as a child screamed bloody murder in the background.

"I've ruled out defenestration, if that's what you're going to suggest." Valentine couldn't murder her mom, no matter how crazy the woman was driving her—even if then she could see Ethan again. She'd avoided him for almost a week, since their kiss. He'd called her several times, too, leaving messages that he wanted to see her.

It made her happy.

It panicked her.

"I don't know what defenestration is, but I bet my idea is better than that," her sister said, sounding very assured.

Valentine put her feet up on the chair across from her. She could hear her mom tell her to stop acting like a hoyden in public, but she really didn't care. Her feet hurt from the uncomfortable pumps, and she was in Grounds for Thought. It was a home away from home. "Are you going to tell me to convince her to have the tests taken? Because I've brought it up a few times and she's resistant."

Her sister exhaled in frustration. "Will you just shut up and listen to me?"

"Okay, give me your brilliant idea."

"You and Ethan Hunter."

She groaned. "I knew I shouldn't have told you we kissed, or that the app rated us a ninety-three percent chance of success."

"You shouldn't have, but since you did, hear me out. You're helping Mom get over Grandma's death, and you need to prove that she can trust you to run the business on your own by finding Ethan a match."

"I was an idiot when I made that bargain with Mom." Now their mom was clinging to it, determined that Valentine find Ethan a soul mate. The very thought made her want to gag.

"I, for one, am not commenting."

Valentine rolled her eyes. "Didn't you say you had a solution to my problem?"