“I’m sorry, okay? I just assumed—”
“Have I brought any women home? Have you tripped over any bras in the hallway?”
“Wait,” James interjected. “You guys are living together?”
Dylan muttered a curse under his breath. “What does that matter?”
“What exactly is the relationship here?” James asked, his finger pointing at Dylan then me. “I thought you said she was a friend.”
I nodded. “I am.”
“She is,” Dylan rumbled.
“But you’re living together? Since when?”
“Last weekend.” Dylan’s glare returned full force. “Is this going to be on the show, or do you want us to get back to our conversation?”
James shrugged then made a grand gesture with his hand for us to continue.
Dylan huffed and turned back to me. “What were we talking about again?”
“You being a manwhore,” the camera guy pointed out, oh-so-helpfully.
“Thanks for that,” I muttered.
He tossed me a charming smile from behind his camera, and I felt my cheeks heat. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been the center of so much male attention.
This was so weird.
Dylan cleared his throat. “Right.” His eyes were steely when I turned back to him. “Like I said, I haven’t been with any of them. Otherwise, they’d have my personal cell number. I don’t give out the shop’s phone number to hookups.”
“Right,” I whispered.
“So like I told you earlier, most of your job will be to keep the crazies away from us—both on the phone and in person.”
“Wait, they come into the office? Seriously?”
“A few have. It got pretty bad when production”—he tipped his head at the filming crew—“started having casting calls to try to fill the receptionist position. They came out in droves and wouldn’t leave us alone. We had to hire personal security for a few weeks. One woman even followed Ryan home.”
“That’s unhinged.”
“Welcome to Badass Builds,” Dylan returned with a sardonic smile.
It was almost a relief when the waitress came back with our drinks. Water for me and a soda for Dylan.
“Do you need anything else?” She leaned over the table, giving Dylan a look down her blouse while pointing her ass at the camera behind her.
If I rolled my eyes any harder, they’d be in the back of my head.
And then I saw that the camera wasn’t trained on her behind. It was clearly pointed at me. I glared at the previously flirty cameraman, and he grinned toothily back at me.
“How about Indy’s salad?”
I didn’t register Dylan’s question at first.
And apparently neither did our waitress. “Hmmm?”
“She ordered a house salad with vinegarette.” Dylan raised his eyebrows.
