Because Izzy was wrong. I’m not safe.
Harrison is standing there, his hands crammed deep in the pockets of his jeans, gazing at me from under long blond lashes.
“I owe you an apology,” are the words that come out of his perfect mouth when I can’t find any. He sinks into the sofa and rubs a hand down his face. “I was totally out of line. I shouldn’t have assumed it was okay to . . .” He shakes his head, and when his eyes rise to mine again, they’re dark with desire. “You are incredibly attractive, Sam, and I imagine myself . . . doing things with you. But what I did was wrong, and I’m sorry.”
I slide onto the other end of the sofa. “It was my fault. I just . . .” I wave a hand at him. “You have to know how hot you are, right? I mean . . .” I feel myself cringe. “But I never should have . . . there are rules and . . .” Damn. I’m such a moron.
“Can we start over?” he says when I can’t figure out how to finish that sentence in any coherent way.
“Start over?”
He gives me a questioning tip of his head. “If you can pretend I’m not a total bonehead, I’ll try not to act like one.”
“But . . . why are you even here? Didn’t you go back to L.A.?”
“We’re going with the San Francisco location, so we’re here setting up.”
My heart pounds out of my chest. “For how long?”
“Until Friday.”
“Friday,” I repeat. Three days. “Will you be back after that?”
His glacial gaze melts. “If I have a reason to be.”
God, I want to be his reason. I think about what Izzy said: that what I do on my own time isn’t Ben and Nora’s business. Could I ask him out? My heart pounds as I open my mouth to ask if he wants to meet up after work, but what comes out is, “Did you see your fiancée when you were home?”
He shakes his head. “She was gone by the time I got back. Only thing she left was the engraved cake knife, presumably so I could stab myself with it.”
I crack up, even though it’s totally inappropriate, and after a second his mouth tugs into a reluctant smile. “So, you were living together?” I ask when my nervous giggles slow.
“For the last three years.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Guess I shouldn’t have waited so long to marry her.”
“Then you’d be getting divorced now and she’d get half of all your stuff, so . . .”
“Most of our stuff was hers anyway.” He blows out a long, slow breath. “Her family has money.”
“So you were marrying up?”
He huffs out a humorless laugh. “In more ways than one.”
I have this irrational compulsion to want to know more about this woman, as if she’s somehow my competition. It’s ridiculous. I bite my tongue and we just sit here staring at each other for a long time.
“You were great out there tonight,” he finally says, but I can tell from the way he says it that he doesn’t really mean it.
“I sucked.”
He settles deeper into the cushions, resting an arm over the back of the sofa, but to my disappointment, he doesn’t touch my hair. “Any particular reason?”
You. Or the lack thereof. “Just wasn’t feeling it.”
“Why do you do this?”
I tip my head at him, confused. “Do what?”
“This,” he says, waving a hand at the room. “Not to disparage your chosen career path, but despite your academic issues, I can tell you’re intelligent, and you’re sweet, and caring, and beautiful . . . why would you choose to take off your clothes for money?”
I’m torn between wanting to kiss him and slap him. “I don’t take off my clothes for money.”
“But you go out there night after night, playing to the debauched fantasies of a room full of miscreants—”
“You’re a miscreant with debauched fantasies?” I interrupt, raising my eyebrows at him.
That gets his smug almost-smile. “Touché. But my point is, you could be so much more.”
“Not according to my mother.”
“Your mother?”
I slouch into the cushions. “The rest of my sad story is, my parents threw me out after I flunked out of school. ‘Tough love,’ Mom said,” I say, making air quotes. “She thought they were enabling me to make bad decisions. My stepdad said he was done throwing good money after bad. So, basically, they finally gave up on me.”
He reaches for my hair and twirls a strand between his fingers, just like he did that first night. “I’m sure they haven’t given up. They probably just hope you’ll learn some responsibility.”
I pull back, yanking my hair out of his grasp. “Are you calling me irresponsible?”
His expression goes wary. “I didn’t say that.”
“But you implied it.”
He holds up his hands. “Just playing devil’s advocate. You said you failed out of school because you didn’t go to class, right?”
I slouch deeper into the sofa and press my palms to my face. “I’m such a fuck-up.”
“You’re not a fuck-up, Sam. You just need some direction.”
His voice is soft and so hopeful that I almost believe him. “So, where do I find that, anyway?”
He shifts closer. “You said you liked your major—film and media. What were you thinking you’d do with it after college?”
“I really wanted to be a sound designer for one of the big studios in Hollywood. It just sounds so cool, you know?”
He nods. “Have you looked into qualifications? Do you need a degree?”
I shrug. “You tell me. You work in the industry.”
He just looks at me for a long second, then clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck again. “I’d have to ask the guys in sound.”
“If I give you my number, could you have one of them call me?”
He nods slowly. “Sure. I’ll pass your name along when I’m back in L.A. next week.”
I get up and look for something to write on, but only find a pen on the stereo stand. No paper. I bring it back and reach for Harrison’s hand, scribbling my name and number across his palm.
I look up to find him watching me with an amused smile.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re touching me.”
My eyes go wide when I realize I’m breaking the rules. But I don’t let go of his hand.
After a moment he flips it, so our hands are palm to palm and our fingers line up. My heart pounds as he weaves his fingers between mine and closes them, enveloping my entire hand in his. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” he says, his voice low.
All I can do is shake my head.
His other hand, on the back of the sofa, lifts from my hair to my face, and he trails a fingertip over my cheekbone. “Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?”
My heart slams against my rib cage and there’s no way I can answer. When his finger trails to my mouth and he traces it along my bottom lip, I forget to breathe.
But then he lowers his hand and lets go of mine. “Sorry. You just make it really hard to follow rules, you know?”
I nod, my lips still burning from his touch.
There’s a knock and Nora pokes her head in. “Time’s up.”
I stand, and Harrison does too. “I’ll pass this along,” he says, holding up his hand with my number.
As great as that would be, I can’t help hoping he decides to call me himself. “Don’t stab yourself with the cake knife, okay?”
He smiles.
I turn for the door, but before I step through, I look over my shoulder. “ ’Bye, Harrison.”
He nods as Nora closes the door behind us.
“What was that all about?” she asks.
“He just wanted to talk.”
“He paid two hundred dollars to talk to you?”
I shrug. “I guess.”
She scowls at me and shakes her head. “You must be one hell of a conversationalist.”