“The dress and everything else. You take my breath away.” His voice was a hoarse whisper that sent a chill down her spine.
Roberto giggled and clapped his hands. “Pictures. Pictures. We must remember this day with pictures.”
“Is this like a prom?” Chrystelle tore her gaze from Quint who still stared at her, his demeanor unreadable.
“Prom?” Roberto frowned. “Oh, that American thing. Actually, this awards dinner is much more exciting than a prom. Come. Come.” He fluttered his hands. “Stand in front of the mural.” He slipped his phone from his pocket.
Chrystelle moved toward a mural where Marilyn Monroe, Frank Sinatra, James Dean and Clark Gable stared down like godly beings from the heavens. Quint moved next to her and she clenched her teeth at the seductive heat emanating from his sculpted physique.
Straightening, she threw back her shoulders and smiled at the camera. Quint managed a Hollywood bad boy smirk. Roberto directed them to turn left and then right. Soon they were making faces and contorting their poses. When the photo shoot ended, they were laughing and leaning against the office chairs for support.
“Who knew a photo shoot could be such fun?” Chrystelle said and lifted her gaze to Quint.
He stood inches from her, his blue eyes locked into hers. The broad smile crossing his chiseled features dimmed a notch. His scent was fresh and spicy and scooped air from her lungs. How could anyone be this devastatingly handsome and how could someone like him want to be with someone like her? He was deity. She was plebian.
“I’ve never had one more pleasurable and with a more delightful partner.” His voice was low and even and seemed to rumble inside her chest.
His face moved closer to hers, his heat surrounding her and drawing her toward him. Her heart thrashed inside her chest like a trapped bird. If only he’d kiss her. Her lips parted.
No, she couldn’t let him kiss her. She hardly knew him. She wanted him to buy her script, then—
Oh, Lord, I want him to kiss me, but I’m afraid it will ruin the magic of this moment.
He blinked as if he’d heard her. The intensity in his eyes blazed.
She felt Roberto’s silent presence and glanced at him. The shock covering his face gave her a jolt. What had just happened?
Nothing.
Quint hadn’t kissed her. He’d be surprised if he had. She had no dating skills. She’d kissed one boy in her life, back on the night of her prom. In college, she’d been too busy with school and working two jobs to date. Now she lived in Los Angeles and had even less free time, even though she hadn’t met anyone she wanted to date.
Until now.
Ridiculous. Quint dated famous people, not lowly chauffeurs. Tonight, she was his default date because he’d waited too long to ask a movie star and he wanted to please his mother.
“Yes, well.” Quint stepped backward and raked fingers through his hair.
“Right. Well.” Chrystelle balanced herself on her toes. “That was fun. We should do it again sometime.”
What was she saying? He was only taking her to the ceremony to appease his mother. She was a fill-in. They’d never have another date.
“Yes, completely amusing. We must do this again ... sometime.” He stared at her, the emotion in his voice at odds with his neutral demeanor.
“Now what do we do?” Her voice was too bright, but she had to say something. Her attraction to this handsome man was pushing rational thought from her mind.
The frown between Quint’s brows deepened. Bewilderment clouded his eyes. Was he regretting that he’d invited her to the ceremony? She didn’t want to know what he was thinking until they discussed her script, then he could tell her anything he wanted.
“Come. Come, children.” Roberto lifted one hand to the ceiling. “Your carriage awaits.”
In a flurry, he escorted them from the office to an idling limousine. Quint introduced her to Jerry, his usual chauffeur, who opened the rear door and helped her into the compartment. She slid across a curved bench seat as Quint followed her into the car. The sounds of a hockey game could be heard coming from the television on the opposite side. Jerry closed the door and within seconds the limousine glided down the drive lane like a magic carpet.
Chapter 5
Chrystelle took a deep breath trying to still the excitement building inside her and took in the limousine’s maroon velvet walls and bench seating. Crystal drinkware dangled above a bar that featured wine, beer, champagne, hard liquor, soft drinks and bottled water. Canned lighting like the nightclubs where she’d worked crossed the ceiling.
Quint switched the media player from the television to music. Gentle strains from a pop singer Chrystelle didn’t recognize filled the compartment. She wanted to memorize every detail of the vehicle, which was nicer than any limo she’d ever driven for Mr. Lowery’s service.
“Would you care for a drink?” Quint lifted a brow at her.
“I’d like a glass of water.”
“One water, coming up.” Taking a bottle of designer water from the minifridge, he filled a tumbler and handed it to her.
She practically drained the glass in one swallow. Though earlier that afternoon, Bob, the security guard, had taken her to the studio’s craft services, she’d been consumed with talking to the actors and directors and hadn’t eaten much. Now she was starving.
“This town you’re from, Gwilliam Park, do you still have family there?” Quint seemed genuinely interested in her, or maybe it was the town. The setting was important to the script she’d written. She placed the empty glass in the holder on her armrest.
“My sister, Berna. She runs the town paper. Her husband, Neil Ubaugh, is the town dentist. They have two kids,” she said.
Talking about Gwilliam Park evoked the memories of the family and friends she hadn’t seen in two and a half years and filled her with the longing of returning to the slow and easy life of the mountain town. She hadn’t realized she’d talked during most of the drive until Jerry announced through the intercom they were near the event center.
“What’s going to happen at the ceremony?” she asked.
“It’s the usual Hollywood affair.”
“You forget, I have no idea what is the usual Hollywood affair,” she said.
His mouth tipped. “There’s a lot of hobnobbing and mingling. Studio heads discuss which projects are in development, who they’re in talks with for roles and directors. Who’s moved where. Who married whom. It’s the typical party conversation.”
“I’ll agree that at parties I’ve discussed who married whom and who moved where, but as for the scripts and stars and director talk, that’s out of my league.” She gave a dry laugh. She was getting nervous. Who would be there tonight? Who would she meet? She’d tried so many tricks to meet studio heads and producers and agents. Tonight, she’d be their equal, mingling with people she’d only dreamt of meeting.
“But you discuss other topics,” Quint said. He sounded as if he knew how she lived, but he didn’t. His movies and series depicted small-town life, but it was idyllic. No one she knew lived like the characters he brought to life on the small and large screens.
“Other topics like who bought the hardware store and the next movie coming to the Bijou Theatre or who will be the new youth minister.” When she discussed those topics, they seemed important, but not compared to Quint’s conversations with his associates.