Hollywood Playboy (Hollywood Royalty 1)

“What do you want?” Tyler asks from beside me.

“I’m going to go with the vegetable ramen,” I say, pointing at the picture of noodles, broth, mushrooms, carrots, and a bunch of other vegetables. He nods his head and turns to ask the others what they want. I move to the back wall as people walk out from the back of the restaurant. Tyler goes to order the food, and then he hands numbers to everyone.

“This is your seat number, so you go sit down and your chef will make your meal,” he says to Autumn. She looks down and walks into the restaurant, looking for her stool. I didn’t realize there is a chef for each seat. Kendall follows her and sits next to her, then Jonathan, and then Cassie. I hold out my hand for my ticket. “There were only four together, and then ours are together,” he says and then turns to lead the way.

We walk past the four of them, and no one really notices. Well, Cassie notices as she gets her phone out and types on it. We finally get to the last two seats in the restaurant all the way at the end right before the bathroom. I take a seat and then watch as he sits next to me. I smile and then look down. “What is that smile about?” he asks. The chef in front of us hands him a beer and then places a glass of white wine in front of me. “I didn’t know what you drank, so I improvised.”

“Wine is good.” I smile at him and hold up the glass. “To premiere night one.” He raises his beer and clinks it with my glass. I take a sip of the crisp white wine, and he takes a pull of his beer.

“So the smile,” he says. “Tell me.”

I shake my head, setting the wine glass on the counter. “This,” I say with both my hands. “You in your three-piece suit sitting in the equivalent of a greasy diner.”

He laughs. “I’m more at home in this greasy diner than on the red carpet, Jessica,” he says softly. “I don’t do this job for this.” He points at his suit. “I do it because they let me do crazy stunts, they pay me a shitload, and I’m actually good at it.”

Now it’s my turn to laugh. “I mean, I guess you’re good at it. You are the highest paid guy, so you might be good at it.” My finger taps the base of the wine glass. “Plus, it doesn’t help that you’re good looking, right?” I say, grabbing my wine again to take a drink.

“You think I’m good looking?” he asks, and I roll my eyes at his cocky smirk.

“No, but your fans do,” I tell him as the chef puts my dish in front of me, and all I hear is Tyler and his irritating laugh. I grab the ceramic spoon and move the noodles under the clear broth. I scoop a little bit of the broth, blow on it, and then bring the spoon to my lips. The minute it hits my tongue, the burst of flavors explodes.

“Holy shit, this is good,” I say, taking more broth. I look over and see Tyler grabbing his chopsticks to twirl the ramen on his spoon. “And you can eat with chopsticks?” I shake my head. “You are lucky we have a truce, or I’d be leaking the story that Tyler Beckett is just like a normal person.” He chuckles when I say this.

I try to roll the noodles and fail miserably. I lean into him, and he puts his ear closer to me. “You think they have utensils?” I ask in a whisper and then watch as he gets up. I’m expecting him to go ask for utensils, but he doesn’t. Instead, he slides his jacket off and stands behind me, then leans over my back and puts his hand on mine. I feel the heat from his body seep into my back, and I think I stop breathing. “What . . .?” I whisper or stutter; my heartbeat is going off the charts.

“I’m going to teach you,” he whispers into my ear. His face is right beside mine as he puts the chopsticks in my right hand and the spoon in my left. His big hands cover mine. “Now what you do is you pick up a couple of noodles.” He takes about ten with the chopsticks. “And then you put your spoon under the tips of the chopsticks.” He’s talking, and I’m looking at the bowl in front of me, but I can’t focus on anything but his arms around me and the way he fits behind me. “Then you twirl,” he continues, and I feel him look at me from the side. My eyes find his, and his crystal blue eyes are a touch darker. “You smell like strawberries,” he says. His face inches a touch closer, and now I know for sure I’m holding my breath.