His head tilts. “Are you always like this?”
“I assume by like this you mean charming and delightful.”
“I was going to say abrasive and caustic, but I’m not one to judge.” He leans in conspiratorially. “My therapist says I’m chronically distant and damaged.”
“Well, shit, mine says I use humor as a defense mechanism for deep emotional pain.” I shrug. “I told him I don’t have any deep emotional pain. Maybe I’m just a bitch.”
He laughs. “What are you doing right now?”
I glance around. “Standing in a parking lot with a stranger, contemplating the possibility that I’m an asshole by nature. Also contemplating the likelihood that my favorite food truck is serving tacos at this time of day.”
He laughs again. “What are the chances of you putting your taco quest on hold?”
“I don’t know. I’m pretty serious about tacos.” My eyes narrow. “Why?”
“I want you to come with me somewhere.”
“I don’t even know your name.”
“That ever stopped you before?” he asks.
I grin in lieu of a reply.
“It’s Wyatt.” He reaches out a hand and I slowly shake it. “Wyatt Hastings. And yes, I do mean that Hastings.”
I feel my mouth gape a bit. The Hastings family owns half of Hollywood, controlling majority shares in AXC — one of the largest media conglomerates in the world. Their family fortune makes most A-list celebrities look like paupers.
“My father runs the network. That’s why I’m here,” Wyatt explains, jerking a finger toward the building behind us. “He likes to have someone from the family supervise casting calls for our newly green-lit shows, make sure everything is running smoothly before they start filming.”
“Well… shit.” I blink at him, feeling lost for words.
His grin widens. “Does that look of stunned disbelief mean you’ll come with me?”
“You’re not going to have me read for that role again, are you? Because, I’m sorry… Hastings or not, I don’t think I’m cut out to play Biffy the best friend on your new vampire show.”
“I don’t think you are either,” he says, stunning me. “In fact, I don’t think you’re meant for television at all. I’ve got something else in mind.”
“Oh.”
“Just get in the car, please.” He turns and walks toward a shiny black Audi convertible parked a few spaces down from my decrepit Honda.
“Is this, like, a sexual thing?” I tilt my head curiously as I watch his retreating back. “Because, honestly, I’m confused.”
“Sexually confused?” he calls, clicking a button to unlock the doors.
“No. Just the regular kind of confused.”
He pulls open the driver’s side, grinning at me over his shoulder. “No, this is not a sexual thing. I’m old enough to be your… well, not your father. But maybe, like… your cool uncle. The one who buys you a keg after prom and beats up your boyfriends when they cheat on you.”
“I’m twenty-two,” I point out. “And this is LA.”
“Your point being?”
“Most men date women at least two decades younger than them. I’d peg you at thirty-five, tops.”
He looks affronted. “And here I thought I was passing for thirty-three. My life is a lie.” He pauses. “Actually, it may just be my personal trainer who’s lying.”
I snort. “My point still holds. Walk into any coffee shop in this city, you’ll spot a loving father-daughter duo having breakfast… until he starts to feel her up beneath the table and you realize he’s just another sugar daddy treating his whore-of-the-week to crepes.”
“That may be true. But we’re getting off topic.” He pulls his door fully open and pins me with a serious look. “I promise my intentions toward you concern nothing but your career. Now get in the damn car, Katharine, before I decide you aren’t worth the hassle.”
I arch a brow. “You’re going to help my career?”
“No.” His eyes gleam. “I’m going to change your life.”