“Watch how you talk about my woman,” Josh says. “Hating her just because she’s beautiful and rich is not the least bit cool.”
“Oh, please,” Denise says. “Even if she ate someone alive, you’d defend her because she gives you a boner, right, Josh?”
Josh opens his mouth to protest but thinks better of it. “I decline to answer.”
Denise snorts. “Josh, I love you, but look at you and then look at Liam Quinn. Who do you think she’s going to pick to have babies with?”
When Josh sneezes “Fuck you” and flips her the bird, I have to laugh. It’s not that he’s not attractive, because he totally is, in a hot-geek sort of way. Six foot tall, brown, wavy hair, brown eyes, handsome face. He’s broad-shouldered enough to look great in clothes without needing to work out, and girls seem to find his hipster horn-rim glasses sexy. But the harsh reality is, if he and Liam were cast in a movie together, Liam would be the superhero, and Josh would be the sidekick.
“Doubt all you like,” Josh says with a shrug. “But that woman is going to be all over me in a few weeks. Mark my words.”
“Sure she is.” I pat his shoulder and then head out into the hallway to round up the cast from their break. When I find Liam at the water cooler, I try not to look directly into his eyes. “We’re starting again, Mr. Quinn.”
He mutters a quiet “Thanks, Liss,” and I walk away before he can say anything else.
Once everyone’s back, we continue where we left off, and apart from Angel’s screeching her lines like a medieval fish merchant, we’re all pleased with how things are shaping up by the time lunch rolls around.
As usual, I eat at my desk.
I have a small office down the corridor from the rehearsal room. It’s not the Ritz, but it suits me fine. When I’m not rehearsing, I’m usually in here, catching up on paperwork while everyone else is relaxing.
Ah, the glamorous life of a stage manager.
I’m working on adjustments to the rehearsal schedule when Josh rushes in. His cheeks and ears are bright pink. That only happens when he’s really angry or really turned on.
“Hey. What’s up?”
“Nothing. I need money. Angel needs something else to eat.”
We’ve turned our conference room into a private dining area so Angel and Liam don’t have to push through the fans and paps to eat lunch. Some of New York’s finest restaurants deliver their meals, but it’s Josh and Denise who have the pleasure of being their waiters.
I smile. “Why are you blushing? What did Angel do?”
“Nothing. She’s fine.” I raise my brow at him and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “She used this sort of flirty, sexy tone to explain she’s gluten-free this week, and then, at the end, she stroked my arm and smiled.”
“That bitch.”
“Don’t give me shit. Seriously, I’m not in the mood. This woman could flirt me into committing murder, I have no doubt. Now, give me cash. I’ll get her a different lunch.” He holds out his hand.
I pull out the petty-cash tin and hand him a fifty. Surely that’s enough to cover whatever Angel wants. Josh grabs a second fifty and shoves the money in his pocket. “Back soon.”
Dammit, our budget is so screwed.
I put the cash tin away, and I’m about to go back to my rehearsal schedule when there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
The door swings open to reveal Liam. Within seconds, my palms are wet.
I stand to face him. “Mr. Quinn. Do you need something? Is your lunch acceptable? If not, I’d be happy to get you something else.”
He lingers in the doorway before moving into the cramped office and closing the door behind him. He looks too big for the small room. His shoulders seem broader than I remember, and traces of ink peek out from the right sleeve of his T-shirt. That’s something he didn’t have last time I saw him up close and shirtless.
He glances around the room before coming back to my face.
He just stares for a few seconds, and dammit, I can’t believe the years haven’t diminished his effect on me. Time’s supposed to heal everything, right? Well, it hasn’t educated my heart to stop wanting a man who doesn’t want it back.
I clear my throat. “Mr. Quinn?”
He takes a step forward, and I have a moment of panic because in this enclosed space, my usual tactic to avoid and ignore is impossible.
“Elissa—”
“Mr. Quinn, if there’s something you need—”
“Stop calling me that.”
“It’s your name, sir.”
“God, Liss.” He sighs and looks me up and down. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“It’s my office. Not that hard to believe.”
“I meant on the show.”
“Marco asked me to run it.”
“I would have thought that as soon as you heard my name, you would have run a million miles.”
I don’t mention I’ve considered it. “When I accepted the job, I didn’t know you would be the star.”