“There’s more than one statue at United Studios?” she asked, understanding dawning.
“If there is, I didn’t know it until now. I was talking about the statue of Leon Schuster,” he said, referring to the founder of United Studios. “The one in that little park area by the café?”
“I was at the statue of the seven muses. By the front entrance.”
“I’ve never seen it.” Something about the flat incredulity of his tone told her he was telling the absolute truth. She exhaled shakily. Of course. Superstar Everett Hughes wouldn’t use the visitor’s entrance to the large studio.
“But you were there,” he murmured. “You went to meet me.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “And you went to meet me.”
Joy swallowed thickly. She’d been more affected by that heated encounter with a stranger than she cared to admit. Her behavior on that afternoon had bothered her deeply, as had being stood up in the aftermath. But in the weeks and months that followed, she’d been too caught up with treatment, too focused on survival to dwell on an uncharacteristic moment of sexual promiscuity for long.
Now all of it came back to her in a rush. Her embarrassment. Her attraction. The mesmerizing quality of Everett Hughes’s eyes.
“It was a misunderstanding,” Everett said, his nostrils flaring slightly.
She lowered her head. “All of it was.”
He touched her elbow and waited for her to meet his stare. “Not all of it.”
She swallowed thickly.
“Will you go with me to the premiere tomorrow night?” he asked.
She grimaced. “Everett, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t have anything to wear.” It’d been the lame excuse she used with her uncle because she didn’t feel up to a huge public spectacle, but it was technically the truth, as well.
He glanced down at her figure appraisingly. “Katie and you are about the same size, even if you are a little taller. I’m sure she brought more than one dress—she usually takes the contents of a walk-in closet with her for an overnight stay.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t even know her.”
“Wear what you’ve got on then. We’ll make a pact. I won’t change clothes, either. I hate dressing up for these stupid things.”
She studied him for signs that he was joking, but no . . . he was completely serious. She even got the impression he was hoping she’d agree with his proposal.
“If I go, I’m not going like this,” she assured him, thinking how out of place she’d feel going to such a high-profile event on Everett’s arm. She’d melt in embarrassment if she appeared under the microscope of the world wearing jean shorts and a T-shirt.
“Whatever you want. Just say you’ll go.”
“I don’t know,” she hedged, her thoughts swirling around her head like a jerky Tilt-A-Whirl ride. His fingers tightened ever so slightly on her arm.
“Please?” he murmured.
Her mouth dropped open. She knew it was foolish, but it was difficult to deny an entreating Everett Hughes. She dared any straight woman on the planet to try.
“Okay,” she whispered.
His mouth tilted into a grin. Warmth flooded her. She’d forgotten the impact of seeing that smile up close and personal. She found herself smiling back. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.
“First things first,” he murmured, tapping his thumb. “Give me your phone number. There’s no way in hell I’m going to take the chance of your disappearing for another fourteen months.”
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, Everett stood in the shadowed entryway of a brownstone that was up for sale. He watched the entrance of Harry’s Brew and Bake unblinkingly. Katie and he had left with their coffees almost immediately after he’d won Joy’s consent to go out with him tomorrow night. He’d walked Katie to the Wicker Park townhome where Rill and she were staying with a friend this weekend. He’d told himself he’d catch a cab over to his hotel, but found himself retracing his steps back to the coffee shop. One surreptitious glance in the window told him that Joy was still in there with her friends.