“Okay, sure.” I shoved my tote back under my arm.
“He writes in Final Draft,” Vivian added. “You know how to use that?”
“Yup.” It wasn’t a complete lie. I had written several projects at university in Final Draft, but that was some time ago, however, I was damned if I was admitting any weakness to this woman. I’d relearn the software, even if I had to stay up all night.
“Is RJ here?” Ralf asked.
“He had an early meeting with finance and—” she checked her watch “—he’ll be back shortly.” A light went on in RJ’s office.
Ralf pointed. “You sure he’s not in? Looks like someone is.”
Vivian’s perfectly thin brows furrowed. “Hm. He must have sneaked back early; I haven’t seen him.” She strode to the door, put one hand on the handle then turned back, jerking her head at me. “Well, come on!’
I did as I was told, nerves making my teeth rattle. Inside was an open space with low couches, a screen and floor-to-ceiling windows, and a large and tidy desk with a leather chair behind it facing away from the room.
“Hey, RJ, you got a second?” Ralf called.
Then it was as if things happened in slow motion. I drew myself up and pushed the anxiety aside to greet my new, albeit temporary boss. But in that second, I spied an iced coffee on the edge of the desk, one loaded with syrup and whipped cream, from the very place I’d bought the rapidly cooling drink I clutched in my hands. The chair rotated to reveal a long muscular form, dark and rumpled hair tumbling into deep-set, long-lashed eyes. The hot guy from the coffee shop stared back at me in consternation.
“Caramel syrup?” I didn’t mean to blurt out the first words I’d heard him say but once again the sight of him robbed me of any eloquence.
He rose to his feet, his face falling into a frown. “Pastry.”
Chapter Nine
Vivian threw her hands up in the air and stomped out, muttering something murderous under her breath.
Ralf chuckled. “I don’t know what you’ve been smoking today, but her name is Lucie, not pastry.”
Caramel syrup guy’s jaw hardened. “Thanks, Ralf.”
“This adorable ray of sunshine is Elliot Fox,” Ralf said briskly. “He and I were buddies at NYU, isn’t that right?”
Elliot. RJ’s assistant. The guy I was supposed to be working alongside to finish the script was the same guy who’d reduced me to a gibbering wreck in public with his devastating hotness.
“It’s half right,” Elliot growled.
“You’reElliot Fox?” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“Well, I’m certainly not Ruben James,” he replied.
“Yes, no, obviously.” God, I couldn’t not babble in this man’s presence. “I don’t mean to sound rude, it’s just you’re in RJ’s seat and I expected to seehim, not you, and then I realized you were the man I spit pastry on earlier, so sorry for that by the way—”
“You spit on … so, wait, you two met already?” Ralf interjected.
“At Have a Java,” Elliot told him. “Don’t worry, you didn’t miss anything.”
Ralf turned to me. “Good luck with him. He’s ariot.” And with that he left.
I half wished I could call him back. Ralf was a little obnoxious, true, but he had at least treated me with a measure of decency unlike several of his colleagues. As soon as the door closed behind him, the expansive office immediately felt that much smaller. Elliot walked round the desk.
“I should introduce myself formally.” I offered my hand. “Lucie Clifton.”
“I know who you are.” Elliot’s handshake was strong yet gentle, but also very brief. He withdrew his grasp and leaned against the desk with folded arms to regard me in stony silence.
After several excruciatingly long seconds, I realized he wasn’t going to elaborate. “I’m here to—”
“I know precisely why you’re here,” he said.
