In a moment of horrific clarity, Cindy Frisbee-tossed the script towards the buffet table in a last-ditch effort to save her dream. It smacked the ground and slid out of sight. She would not scream. No matter how cold the water, she wouldn’t give these idiots the satisfaction.
She was turned sideways and her eyes caught and held Beau’s. He put his hand out towards her, a sense of panic running back and forth between them. She reached for him, though there was no way they’d be able to touch.
I was so close.
The next thing she knew, she was swimming. She came up swinging her arms in an effort to splash the frat pack. They backed up, laughing.
“Is it cold?” asked Tie guy.
“It’s heated, dimwit.” She glared.
The guys pouted—their stupid dares amounting to nothing except her ruined clothes and lost script. It was here somewhere …
Cindy swam to the nearest edge of the pool. As her hand brushed the side, it was clasped roughly, and she was hauled out as easily as she was thrown in.
Scrubbing the wet hair off her face, she coughed.
“I’m really sorry about that,” came a deep and authentic voice.
Cindy blinked to clear her vision and found Beau Mckay standing in front of her. Her eyes traveled up the blue button-up shirt covering his legendary washboard abs and firm pectorals to his Adam’s apple and past those perfect lips, finally falling into his hazel eyes.
She let her jaw drop open. He was here. Right in front of her, and she couldn’t think of a thing to say.
“Get those guys out of here,” Beau told his security staff. Big guys in black T-shirts and pants, who reminded her of monster trucks, surrounded the group and escorted them out.
Beau touched her elbow, sending little sparks up her arm. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Me-ha,” she answered.
His brows knit together.
Cindy looked down at the puddle growing beneath her feet. She crossed her arms over her chest and shivered, though it wasn’t from the cold. Beau’s gaze was … intense.
“Come on, I have towels inside.” Beau took her elbow and motioned for her to head into the house.
She took two steps before remembering why she was there. “Wait!” She dove for the buffet table, moving plates and finally scrambling underneath. It had to be here somewhere. The envelope was over eleven inches long and couldn’t just disappear. On her hands and knees, she felt around in the dark.
Beau lifted the tablecloth. He squatted on his haunches and looked all sorts of adorable with his mildly entertained air and half-smile. “Are you on a binge or something?”
Cindy crawled to the far end near a half wall and lifted the white linen. “No, I threw my script over here and—Ha!” She pulled the envelope out from between the table leg and the low rock wall. Crawling out, she popped up and grinned.
“Script?” Beau put his hands in his pockets like the last thing he wanted to do was touch her work. “Did you crash my party?”
Technically… “I didn’t come for the party. I’m from Knight Studios.” She flipped the packet over to show him the seal.
“Oh. Thanks.” He took the script and set it on the edge of the table next to a tray of sushi. “Should we get you that towel?”
She stared at the script, and all the hours of work, the pressure to perform at a level that was worthy of her last name, and the risk she’d taken to bring it over—not to mention her twelve o’clock deadline—washed over her. There was no turning back. The only way to move forward was to go deep into the lion’s den. She glanced at Beau. He wasn’t a lion, more like a big grizzly bear—with less hair, thank goodness. “I’ll take that towel.” She picked up the script. “Is there someplace … safer you can put this?”
He grinned like a wolf. “Sure, follow me.”
For the second time that night, Cindy found herself picked up by a man. Although Beau wasn’t holding her in his arms or touching her backside—thank goodness!—he had just as much control over her with his raw magnetism and charisma.
As she followed him through the plantation doors, she tried not to drip on the hardwood floors and expensive carpets, but her efforts were in vain. Beau continued through the house, knowing exactly where he was going, while Cindy’s eyes bounced from the five-foot-tall African masks on the far wall to the glass chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
“Do you have a minute to look over the script now?” she asked, tripping into the sunken living room.
Beau righted her. “My agent screens my scripts.”
