“Good job I don’t have any social media then,” he said, still holding on to me.
“Why not?” I asked, like I hadn’t already done a sweep of the internet. Although I’d found lots of coverage of his Tribeca festival triumph, there was no social media presence, no website. No clue as to the man behind the achingly gorgeous and glowingly reviewedThe Song of You. “Wait, don’t tell me. You want to remain mysterious.”
“Yeah.” He narrowed his eyes and affected a cool-guy pose, instantly thrown off as the carousel jolted into life and sent him stumbling into the pole.
“Smooth.” I giggled.
“Says you,” he shot back. “Your Instagram is very low key. There’s like two shots of London at sunset then approximately twelve thousand pictures of coffee? Don’t you have anyfriends?” My laugh faltered and Elliot winced. “That wasn’t meant to be a rhetorical question.”
“I’m light on friends.” Bex and Dan formed the bulk of my social life nowadays, thanks to work.
“I get that,” he said. “It’s not easy, is it?”
“Hang on.” Something occurred to me. “Did you Google me?”
His cheeks pinked adorably. “Due diligence.”
“What can I say, my name is Lucie and I like sunsets and hot coffee,” I said with a shrug. The carousel gave another heave, jolting me into his broad, hard chest. “Sorry.” I pulled away reluctantly, cringing as I realized I’d left a smear of saliva on his shirt. Great, I was actually drooling on him. “Sorry,” I said again.
“It’s an improvement on partially digested pastry,” he said with a dry laugh.
I closed my eyes in humiliation. “My name is Lucie, and I am also a hot mess.”
“One of those descriptions might be true.” Elliot’s tone was teasing, but there was a seriousness in his eyes that made the loop-the-loops in my stomach return with a vengeance. He was flirting, I wasn’t imagining this. So why wasn’t I saying anything? Why was it so impossible for me in that moment to shoot back a witty retort or a suggestive comment? London Lucie usually had no problem with efficiently moving things along in these sorts of scenarios. But I couldn’t do it. It was as if the sensation in my stomach had crawled up my throat to paralyze my vocal cords.
Elliot coughed awkwardly. “Anyway, social media, all that. I don’t see the point.”
The topic had returned to safer ground, and I could speak again. “You’re missing it,” I said. “When you’re a big-name director, you might want some kind of online presence.”
Elliot smiled softly. “It’s cute you think I will be a big nameone day.” He swayed along with the motion of the carousel, and I pretended I didn’t clock the way his bicep swelled against the confines of his shirt when he gripped the pole and shifted into a steadier position looming directly over me. “Anyway, what about you? Gunning for Sadie’s job?”
“Her job is the ultimate dream,” I said. “Ooh, she said something really nice to me this morning.”
“Oh, she showed you basic human respect?” he said. “You must have done something right.”
“She said you and I created magic,” I told him. “That I have a bright future.”
“Strong praise,” Elliot said with a whistle. “But she’s right.”
“About what? My future or our magic?”
“That would be telling,” he said.
“No no no.” I sat up straight. “I want to hear all about how great I am. Proceed.”
Elliot took a deep breath, then looked deep into my eyes. “Lucie Clifton. You rocked this script. You have more talent, more fire, more … drive than most people I’ve met and …” His voice faltered.
“And what?” Professionalism be damned; I leaned towards him, reveling in the heat that flared in his eyes.
“And … you’re so damn sure of yourself.” He brushed the errant curl off my face again and every cell of my body blazed with desire. I wanted him so much I didn’t care if the distraction ruined my career, if RJ sacked me and sent me home. It would be worth it just to know what it felt like to have Elliot’s weight upon me, to kiss that full mouth of his and to have him kiss me back. I was dizzy with the wanting and it was utterly terrifying. Never in my whole adult life had a man ever derailed my ambition like this. My inner tumult was clearly showing all over my face, because Elliot dropped his hand. “Sorry,” he muttered.
“No, don’t be.” God, what to say, what to do? “I am, I mean, I have been. Sure of myself, that is. Until now.”
“What changed?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Hewas the change, this brilliant man with bruised knuckles and a tender heart. He potentially posed the biggest threat to my career, and yet I didn’t care, which was the biggest change of all. His eyes burned into mine and in them I could see uncertainty waging a losing war with desire. It was hopeless and he knew it too. Why were we denying this force between us? My heart thudded as he pushed closer and snaked his hand up my jaw to thread his fingers through my hair.
“Tell me what changed.” His demand was so softly spoken I could barely hear him over the discordant harmonies of the carousel.
