“This week. It takes a long time to get from a pitch to actually filming the segment, so I want to get the ball rolling right away. I’ll be in touch as soon as I have updates.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate you doing this.”
“Where did you park?” he asks once we’re out on the street.
“Came by cab. My car is in the repair shop.”
“You don’t still own that old thing, do you?”
“Yes, I do, and I love it.”
“There’s a reason people change their cars once a decade. If I remember correctly, it was in the repair shop the last two times I was here.”
“Coincidence. Do not mock my car.”
I poke him, hoping to drive my point home. Big mistake. Poking implies touching, and feeling his granite abs under the pad of my finger is…. All I can think of is yum.
“We’ve gone from admitting our mutual crush to feeling one another up?”
Shit. It appears that while my brain was busy mentally undressing him, I splayed all my fingers on his abs. I take my hand away instantly.
“It’s entirely your fault for being so hot.”
“Don’t forget funny and smart,” he adds wickedly. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”
“No.”
“It wasn’t a question.” Everything from the tone of his voice to his body language screams dominant, which turns my knees weak and makes my mouth water. And I can’t have that.
“I don’t like it when you go all caveman.”
“Oh, but you do.” Leaning forward, he brings his hand to my face, dragging his knuckles down my cheeks. “You’re blushing, Alice. You love it.”
Distance. I need distance to clear my mind. Stepping back, I cross my arms against my chest, trying to make sense of the situation.
“Don’t overthink this. It’s just a ride.”
“Fine, let’s go.”
We’ve always had a push-and-pull dynamic, but this is something else entirely. And it feels dangerous. But then again, from carbs to sugar to Nate, I’ve always liked things that are bad for me.
Chapter Three
Nate
“Nate, can I talk to you for a few minutes?” my assistant Clara asks on Monday, knocking at my open door. We’re in one of the network’s studios on the outskirts of San Francisco. Until my job in London starts officially, I’m overseeing a local production here. As an executive producer, I’m in charge of everything from finances to operational implementation and logistics, casting, directing, overseeing shoots, and sometimes screenwriting too. Right now, my focus here is overseeing shoots.
“Sure.” Sitting straight in my chair, I survey Clara closely. She’s opening and closing her hands repeatedly. I’ve worked with her long enough to know this means she’s stressed out. “What’s wrong?”
“Well, I’ve worked for you for some time now.”
“Three years.” She started out as a back-office assistant but gradually took on more responsibilities. She could make a great producer one day.
She offers me the first smile for the day, albeit a weak one. “You’re right.”
“Clara, it’s me. What’s wrong? You can tell me to my face.”
“I don’t want to transfer to the London office,” she blurts out. “I love working with you, but I can’t see myself moving there.”