Page 64 of Late Harvest

“After the guitarist?”

Still nothing.

“Guns n’ Roses? GNR?”

“Ah.” Arabella took another sip.

“Ah? That’s all you have to say? Ah? Slash was a fucking eighties icon. That top hat. The Gibson Les Paul electric guitar. Dude was a fucking beast.” He stared at her, eyes wide. “Did you really not know Slash?”

“No.” She shrugged and then gave him one of her sarcastic smiles. One day he’d like to spank her sarcastic ass and make her writhe in pleasure. “Bash and Slash? Cute.”

“The college ladies thought so.”

She treated him to a smirk. “He didn’t sound pleased on the phone last week.”

Bash sighed. “He wasn’t. Not about you, though. He’s frustrated with me, and my insistence on this role.”

She sat up and scooted closer, leveling him with an intense glare. Bash had the very distinct impression Arabella could be downright terrifying at the hospital if crossed. In fact, he’d gotten a tiny, decadent taste of it when he’d first met her. It was a freaking aphrodisiac for him, even when it was aimed at him and not some underperforming colleague.

“Why doesn’t he want you to do that role?”

“He just doesn’t think much of the script. Or Walter, the producer. Or the fact that I’m walking away from more than a hundred million for the comic book series.”

Arabella spluttered her wine. “Dollars? No wonder you can afford to donate twenty million to the shelter.” She wiped her chin and her chest. “Shit. That got on my lucky Red Bull shirt.”

Bash shrugged. “It’s fucking ludicrous what I get paid, meanwhile teachers and first responders need second jobs. It’s why my personal philanthropy is a priority.” He caught an odd look on Arabella’s face. “What are you thinking?”

“Are you his only client?” Her brow furrowed.

“Slash?” She nodded, her gaze on him intent. Studying. “He has a couple younger guys he represents. But, yeah, I’m his main client.”

“Hmmm.” Arabella sipped her wine, then reached for her laptop.

He lifted one leg and anchored it on the computer. “Don’t ‘hmmm’ me and then grab your emotional support laptop. What are you thinking?”

She lifted her shoulders, elegance personified. “Just seems like you’re his cash cow and he’s not happy with the milk flow.”

Bash’s jaw dropped, putting on an exaggerated shocked face like the clown he was. “Did you just call me a cow?”

He pointedly ignored her insinuation about Slash. Not only did it rankle—worse, it aligned with the disconcerting thoughts that had been plaguing him for weeks.

Arabella snickered. “I mean…”

“Arabella, cows are female. I’m a bull. Show some respect, woman.”

She released a full laugh—a rich sound that went straight to his cock. In a different circumstance, with a different type of woman, he’d already be prowling over to her in preparation to bury himself where he needed to be. But this woman? Everything about her was wrapped in caution tape and labeled ‘handle with care.’

Bash could read a room. So he stayed put. Even if his cock was bitterly angry at him.

“So tell me about this dream role, Sebastian Wheatley. It has to be pretty special to give up that kind of payday and saddle yourself with me for at least a year.”

Now Bash rolled his eyes. “I’m not feeling saddled at all. Far from it, Arabella. In fact, this”—he motioned around them—“is the freest I’ve felt in…I don’t know how long.”

Arabella smothered a satisfied smile, but not before Bash saw it. The tip of her iceberg was melting. And that made him worried—for her more than him—about what behemoth of emotion lay below her icy surface.

“The movie is called Paradise. It’s about an asshole of a man named Bram who finds out he’s dying. His terminal diagnosis sends him into a tailspin and he’s terrified he’ll go to hell. He decides to perform a series of good deeds to get into ‘paradise.’ Initially, he’s just going through the motions, hoping to atone for a lifetime of pretty shitty behavior. He meets a down-on-her-luck single mom, who helps him perform what he hopes are redemptive good deeds for some cash. But, along the way, those deeds become meaningful. As does his relationship with the woman.”

As he spoke, Arabella had shifted closer, her eyes fastened on him. “And? What happens?”