“What?”
“Dinner. Later. I’m done shooting for today, and I’m hungry. Thought you might want to get dinner.”
That surprised me, because Callan had never asked me anything like this before. Other than me becoming his fluffer and him allowing me to write about his set, there had never been anything we shared. I watched him a little while longer to weigh how serious he was being. He kept looking at me with that expectant stare.
“Uh, sure,” I finally replied. “Sounds good.”
“Good. I’m going to send everyone home, clean up in there, and then take a quick shower. Will you be ready in two hours?”
I nodded quickly. “Yes, sounds good.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” I repeated, smiling tightly again. “See you later, then.”
He gave a quick nod, and I turned away to head upstairs without looking back, and with my heart hammering in my throat.
Two hours later, I met him downstairs in the living room. He was dressed in wide-legged jeans and a white, long-sleeve shirt. He looked casual, but then, that was his overall style. I’d even go as far as to say that he looked handsome, but I didn’t want to go there. Not with my heart still acting strange.
I had chosen jeans too, and a baby tee that I once stole from Holland. With my jacket in hand and my purse hanging from my shoulder, I waited for him to notice me. When he did, he gave me a small nod of acknowledgement, letting his eyes fall to my outfit before lifting back to mine.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Yeah. I’m good.”
He got up from the couch and motioned toward the door. “Let’s go.”
We walked outside, and I waited for him to unlock his car. As he walked around to the driver’s seat, I took in the luxurious Aston Martin he had bought only a few months ago. As exciting as it was to get in that car, I wasn’t so sure if taking it just to go have dinner was necessary. He had two other cars that looked less expensive, but he hadn’t taken them out of the garage since he got this one.
The door opened before me, and Callan leaned over the middle console to look at me. “You coming?”
I snapped out of my thoughts and nodded, then lowered myself into the passenger seat. “Fancy,” I blurted out as I closed the door and buckled my seatbelt.
He chuckled as the car came to life. “You don’t sound nor look convinced.”
“I’m not,” I said honestly, looking over at him as he backed out of the driveway. “And I’m a little worried your car will get stolen in the city.”
“It won’t,” he assured me with a smug grin. “Most people will do is admire it and take pictures.”
“Right.” I let my eyes wander over the interior, amazed at how clean it was. “Please drive slowly.”
He glanced at me, his expression still amused when he said, “As much as I would love to race with this baby, I’m a responsible driver. I paid good money for this car, and I’m not going to recklessly risk totaling it.”
I studied him for a moment, nodding to agree with his mentality. “That’s very responsible.”
He gave a short nod, then moved his full attention to the front. “What are you in the mood for?”
It was an easy question, but it caught me off guard. There had never really been many options for me when it came to food, because I usually just got the same things at the same places. I also cooked a lot myself, or just had a sandwich, because it waseasy and cheap. But now, he had thrown me an open question I could answer in many different ways.
I thought about it for a moment, then said, “Maybe sushi?”
“All right. Where do you usually go for sushi?”
“The grocery store.”
Callan frowned, quickly glancing over at me. “The grocery store?”
“Yes. They make it fresh behind the sushi counter. It’s really good, actually.”
