“Nice, but I like the red ones better,” said a familiar deep voice.
Startled, Cindy yelped, dropping the underwear to the floor.
Beau Mckay, in all his casual glory, tucked his thumbs through his belt loops and winked at her over a pile of discount underwear.
Butterflies burst through her stomach. For the love of biscuits, this man was going to be her undoing.
* * *
Beau didn’tbother to check his grin. The flush spreading across Cindy’s fair cheeks and into her hair was fetching—as in it had fetched his attention and held tight. He played dumb. “Did I startle you?”
She swallowed hard and dropped down to swipe the lacy things off the floor. “Not at all.” She popped back up. “I’m sure you’re used to women dropping their panties in front of you.”
Beau cleared his throat. “Ouch.” If it had been one of his buddies who made that comment, he would have said something cocky and probably inappropriate back. But for some reason, he wanted Cindy to see a different side of him. Not the playboy image he presented to keep a high profile in Hollywood—which wasn’t easy to do when you lived in Atlanta. The quiet life may have worked for actors like Mark DuBois, but Beau always needed the extra attention to further his career. “I thought you’d be sneaking into someone’s house or falling into a pool or something,” he teased.
She laughed. “I should be. Instead I’m out here trying to find cheap underwear for Drusilla.” She shrugged. “Welcome to my glamorous life.”
He looked around for something to say. What he wanted to do was pull her into his arms again, but there was this bin of underwear between them. Instead, he asked, “Can I buy you a glamorous smoothie?” while pointing over his shoulder at the Smoothie Shack across the way. “I came all the way over here for them.”
She eyed the Smoothie Shack. “Seriously?”
“Why else would I be here?”
She eyed him. “You could be stalking me.”
“I am the stalkee,never the stalker.”
“I’ll bet you’ve got stories.” She grabbed something out of the bin and made her way to the counter. “I’ll take that smoothie.” She smiled.
Beau grinned. He did that a lot when Cindy was around.
After she’d made her purchase, he touched the small of her back to guide her out of the store. It fit so nicely in the curve that he decided to leave it there while they ordered strawberry banana smoothies and found a table.
“Why are you buying Drusilla’s …” He tapped the pink striped bag.
She twisted the straw wrapper around her finger and unwrapped it again before she lifted her eyes. “Promise me this conversation won’t leave this table.”
He leaned in, his face serious. “What happens in the mall stays in the mall.”
She put her elbows on the green Formica, matching his posture. “When my dad died, everything happened so fast, I was in a blur.” She stared at a chip in the tabletop. “He named Patricia president of the company in his will—I was devastated. I thought—”
Beau’s mind raced. This was Robert Knight’s daughter.Egypt’s Goldwas her script. He was enamored with a storytelling prodigy. “You thought he would leave it to you,” Beau finished.
“I shouldn’t have been surprised. He always said a person should enjoy their twenties and not take on any real responsibility until their thirties, but …
“Anyway, she started cutting corners, cutting budgets, and cutting scripts. She’s whittling away at my father’s legacy with these teen musical dramas. The last real movie we did flopped because Patricia moved the marketing money over to Drusilla’s latest show.”
“What movie?”
“Time and Traveling.”
“I saw that—it was good.”
“Well, you are one of a hundred people who knows it exists—and that was my and my dad’s last script.”
Beau blinked. Cindy Knight. She was all the buzz for months after co-writing her first script with her father.The Bizznamed her the number one person to watch in filmmaking three years ago. “The reviews were good,” he offered.
“My reviews are always good,” she responded in a voice that said she expected nothing less.
