Heat covers my cheeks and tingles sweep up the back of my neck. Taking a step to the side so I can go around him, I reply, "Consider yourself fooled. Thank you again for helping me, but I really do have to go so that I'm not late for an appointment."
His lips finally curl into a full smile again. "You really should consider wearing flat shoes. Those heels are deadly."
He's right; at almost five inches, my red Jimmy Choos are definitely a hazard to my health. But they are a necessary hazard. "I have to go."
He jerks his chin as if to say, "go" but he doesn't shift his attention from me. In fact, he seems quite settled, like he's going to watch and make sure I don't trip again.
Without another word, I turn and walk away, but I am sure his eyes are on me and it unsettles me.
Oh, God, do not trip again, Juliette.
I do my best to put him out of my mind, and instead focus on making it into the hotel and to the elevators without stumbling.
Five minutes later, I've called Anastasia and she's sent someone downstairs to collect me, and while I wait, I can't help but think about him again.
I was most definitely attracted to him. He was right about that. Not that I would ever admit it to him if we met again. But I've never found tattoos, beards, and that bad-boy attitude appealing. I prefer my men in suits, with no ink and even less attitude. Give me a man who is focused, serious, and knows where he'll be in ten years, and I'm sold. I've had enough upheaval and uncertainty in my twenty-four years to last me a lifetime.
"Miss Taylor?"
I turn and find a tall man dressed in a suit staring at me. Smiling, I nod. "Yes."
"Please come with me. Miss Brady is ready for you."
I take a deep breath.
Finally. My future is finally starting to look good.
★★★
"Juliette!" Anastasia Brady throws her arms around me and practically squeals my name. Even after knowing her for three months and being in her presence more than a dozen times, I'm still not used to her over-the-top way of doing things.
She squeezes me tightly and I hug her back. But it's the kind of hug where I'm awkwardly doing the hug dance of trying to let her go, but then continuing the hug when it's clear she's not relinquishing her hold on me. When she does finally let me go, I take a step back. "Hi, Anastasia."
She grins at me. "Babe, you're always so damn formal with me. I'm not used to people being so formal."
"I'm just trying to stay professional." God knows she could do with some professionalism around her. Anastasia is currently one of the world's most in-demand actresses, and from what I've seen over the last few months, she doesn't seem to have anyone on her team looking out for her image. Gossip and photos of her wild partying are splashed across the tabloids every few days. Every time I see something new, I cringe, and wonder why her manager or agent aren't working towards suppressing those kinds of stories. But each time I wonder this, I remember I've met her manager and she's a piece of trash who likes to spend her time drinking and snorting coke rather than looking out for her client.
"Juliette, you can bring the dresses in here." Speak of the devil. Kadence, the bitch manager, stares at me from the bedroom, disdain for me written all over her face.
"Kadence," Anastasia chastises, the warning clear in her tone.
Kadence glares at her for a moment before flicking her hair, turning, and walking back into the bedroom. This is not the first time Anastasia has warned her about her attitude towards me, and I figure that if I continue working with them, it won't be the last.
Anastasia's arm slides over my shoulders and she pulls me to her. "Just ignore her. She's having a bad day."
I want to say that she's always having a bad day, but my stance on maintaining a professional manner prevents that. Instead I ask, "Are you excited for tonight?"
My question elicits a strong reaction from her. She drops her arm from my shoulder, and wails, "Oh, my God, no!"
I frown. I've never seen her lose her cool like this. "Why?"
Her blue eyes widen. "Because this is my home."
"I'm still not following." She can be ditzy sometimes, but usually I can figure out what she means. Not today, though.
"This is the first time I've done anything like this in Australia and I just know those bitches are going to be bitching about me behind my back," she explains, as if it will clear up my confusion. It doesn't.
I hold up my hand. "Wait. Let me try to make sense of what you just said. You've been out of the country for two years now, making movies—really good movies that fans all over the world love and that have won you an Academy Award—and now you've come home to present an award at the AACTA Awards. Why is this a bad thing and who are the bitches you're talking about? In my mind, this sounds like a huge honour."