“What is it?” Leah asked him, her eyes shining brightly.
Michael just smiled and shook his head. “Cell phone. I’ll turn it off.” When Leah happily turned around to do more stargazing, Michael slipped the phone out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID. Rex.
That was weird. He hardly ever spoke to Rex anymore. He figured Rex wanted to know what his little chat with Leah had done for Michael. He turned off his cell and put it back in his pocket. He’d give his old friend a call later and fill him in, but right now, there was nothing or no one who was going to interrupt his evening with Leah.
At the reception, Leah seemed to take wings. She moved gracefully around the room, talking and laughing to whomever struck up a conversation, and frankly, it seemed to Michael like there was a long line of guys waiting to do just that. He could hardly blame them—in his eyes, Leah was far more beautiful than Maria del Torro, the costar on The Hero.
He was content just to watch her, his happiness derived purely from hers. He loved the way she smiled, the way she seemed to shimmer beneath the lights. He loved how men and women alike looked at her, wondering who she was, admiring her dress, her lean, tall form. And he loved, he absolutely loved the way she looked at him.
It was a look that he remembered well, a look that used to make him feel like the most adored man on the planet, and tonight, it put him over the moon. He would have been content to just stand back and watch her, but he couldn’t—he knew too many people. Cameron introduced him around, and Michael found himself at the center of three women’s attention. He did what he always did in that case—he flirted and charmed. But he kept one eye on Leah the whole time, counting off the minutes when they could leave the reception and he might have her all to himself.
After a couple of hours of hobnobbing with stars, he couldn’t wait any longer. He tossed aside the phone number one female producer had given him under the guise of exploring some stunt options for her next project and made his way to Leah. “Are you hungry?” he whispered into her ear.
“Famished,” she whispered back. He took her hand in his, led her from that room of admirers, a few of which, he noticed, gazed at her all the way to the door.
They dined at L’Orangerie, a French restaurant renowned around L.A. for its sophistication and romantic atmosphere.
They were seated at a table nestled between two huge vases filled with fresh flowers. Michael recognized the quality of the table linens, as well as the china and silver—he’d seen something comparable in a Middle Eastern prince’s palace once. At the center of the table was a box of fresh-cut roses, their scent still strong.
Leah seemed to be mesmerized by the place—she kept looking around, touching the silver, the flowers, and the silky linen table cloth, admiring the nineteenth-century French paintings that adorned the walls, and the woman playing a soothing tune on the grand piano.
The first of many waiters appeared and handed Michael a wine list that resembled the L.A. phone book. He ordered a very expensive Chateauneuf-du-Pape wine for them and loved the way Leah’s face lit up as he did so.
“You remembered,” she said.
“Of course I remembered.” He’d given up trying to forget her long ago.
They perused the menu, settling on a tasting menu, which included a foie gras crème br?lée as an appetizer, Swiss chard ravioli, and filets of John Dory, among other things.
They chatted about the premiere through the first course, and then their talk turned to the reception.
“Ewan McGregor is so nice,” Leah gushed. “He spoke to me like we were old friends.”
“Did you meet Vincent Vittorio?” Michael asked, having worked on The Dane with him—not to mention his disaster of a wedding.
“I did,” Leah said wrinkling her nose a little. “He’s really short.”
“Yes, he is,” Michael said with a laugh.
“I think he’s about boob-level, and I had the distinct impression that he likes it like that.”
Michael laughed. If there was one guy in this town who loved women more than him, it was probably Vince Vittorio.
“And I met the producer and Mr. Cameron, and they were so nice.” She glanced up at him through thick lashes. “Especially after I told them I was there with you. You know what the producer said then?”
“No, what?”
“That he would love to have a look at me for a part in an upcoming film, so I gave him my card. Michael—” She suddenly leaned forward, her eyes blazing with excitement. “Can you believe it?” she whispered. “I’ve been trying to get film roles for five years, and all I had to do was go to a premiere. And mention your name.” She sat back and laughed at that. “If I’d known that was all it took, I would have . . .” She paused, thought the better of what she would say, and waved her hand. “You know what I mean,” she said cheerfully.