Marco laughs. “Of course not. With our budget, we can barely afford bottled water, let alone a private chef or personal trainer.”
Our producer, Ava, clears her throat. “I’m currently in negotiations with Anthony Kent, Liam and Angel’s agent, and intend on vetoing the more ridiculous demands. Anthony needs to manage his clients’ expectations about the difference between working in theater and film. Movie stars have no idea about how humble theater budgets are. I fear Angel and Liam are in for a rude awakening.”
“Liam’s done theater before,” I say before thinking.
Ava raises an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Uh . . . yes. It’s right there on his résumé. Six years ago. Romeo and Juliet. Tribeca Shakespeare Festival.”
Marco narrows his eyes. “Wasn’t that the same production you and your brother were involved with? It was your first professional show, yes? You were only nineteen.”
Damn that man and his elephantine memory. “Oh. Uh . . . yes. It was.”
“So you know Liam Quinn?” Ava asks, surprised.
“A little.”
At least, I thought I did. The man I knew was different from the short-tempered bad boy who now shows up in the gossip rags every few weeks.
“Will he give us any trouble?” Marco asks.
I shrug. “He was very professional as our Romeo, but that was before he became Mr. Big-Shot Hollywood Icon. Now, he has a history of aggression toward paparazzi. I haven’t heard about him being difficult in a professional capacity, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”
Marco nods. “Agreed. In contrast, his fiancée seems so sweet in interviews it makes my teeth ache. I think we should all be prepared to tread carefully and massage some difficult attitudes.”
For the rest of the meeting, I keep only one ear on the conversation as I think back to the Liam of Christmases past. He used to be passionate, attentive, and hot as hell, and he awakened a part of my sexuality I never knew existed. I should have realized it was too good to last. There isn’t a man on earth as perfect as he was pretending to be.
Even after all of this time, I hate how he played me. And I still wonder why he did it. To prove he could? To make sure I had both feet firmly on the rug before he pulled it out from under me?
Whatever the reason, what’s done is done. I can’t go back and change things. But I can make sure Liam Quinn never gets the chance to fool me again.
TWO
MR. QUINN
Three Weeks Later
Pier 23 Rehearsal Rooms
New York City
I hear a barrage of screams. Either Liam and Angel have just arrived, or hundreds of people are being tortured right outside the building.
My pulse kicks into overdrive, and I take a deep breath as I remind myself to stay cool. I just need to detach my emotions. Compartmentalize. It’s usually my specialty.
Not today.
Knowing he’s near, my dormant romantic fantasies spark like half-lit fireworks, threatening to ignite all over again.
The screams downstairs get louder. They do nothing to help my state of mind.
I cross the rehearsal room and look out the window onto the street below. Sure enough, down on the pavement is a huge crowd of salivating women, and a few men. Climbing out of a black Escalade in front of them is the object of millions of sexual fantasies. My heart rate speeds up as the tall man with the perfect physique smiles and waves at his fans. He looks good. Better than he has any right to.
His sandy-brown hair is artfully tousled, and although a lot of men spend ages trying to emulate the look, what they don’t realize is that Liam rolls out of bed like that. It only adds to his sex appeal. Any man who naturally looks like he’s just gone ten rounds in the sack gets top spot on the hotness meter. His high cheekbones and square jaw bump him up even higher, and that’s before we even make it to his lips and eyes. I thank the gods his crazy-beautiful blue-green eyes are hidden behind sunglasses, and that I’m too far away to get the full effect of the rest of his face.
Pity I can’t say the same thing about his body.
I’ve never met anyone with a body like Liam’s. It’s my definition of perfection. Every muscle is defined and sculpted but not huge or bulky. Broad shoulders and a narrow waist. The best butt I’ve ever laid eyes on.
I didn’t know I had a thing for muscles before I met Liam, but boy, I know now.
His T-shirt pulls tight across his shoulders as he reaches into the Escalade and helps a statuesque redhead out of the car.
Angel Bell. Beauty queen, socialite, fashion maven, and Hollywood princess. Daughter of Senator Cyrus Bell, and sister of award-winning journalist Tori Bell.
Josh appears beside me. “Angeeeeeeel,” he whispers in a reverent tone. “Leave that muscled loser and let me love you. We’d make beautiful babies.”
“Oh, ew,” I say.
Josh leans closer to the windows to get a better look. “So you’re allowed to lust after Mr. Tall-and-Ripped but I can’t have an innocent crush on lovely Leggy McRedhead?”