“Yes, Angelinos do have a bit of a fixation on palm trees. Have you got something against palm trees?”
She laughed tentatively. “No. I thought we were just making small talk.”
He chuckled. “We don’t have to, you know.”
“Really?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Would you like to have a heart-to-heart instead?”
“Well…” He was never caught for words but she had him stumped. Of course he didn’t want a heart-to-heart. He’d meant they didn’t have to talk at all. Hell, he couldn’t recall the last conversation of substance he’d had with anyone—this was Tinsel town for Pete’s sake—and he liked it that way.
She turned completely to face him. “Why did you ask me out for dinner, anyway?”
Good question. There was only one thing he wanted to quiz her about and she’d already made it quite clear she wouldn’t enter discussion about that. “You were there. I was hungry. It seemed like the right thing to do.”
“And do you make a habit of doing the right thing?”
Discomfort washed over him. What kind of question was that? He shrugged as if to say he’d never given it much thought. “That’s edging very close to deep and meaningful territory.”
Without another word, she turned back to look out the window. He quashed an uncharacteristic urge to share a piece of himself, anything so she’d turn around and look at him with those serious but sensual, lilac eyes. Eyes he’d desperately wanted to photograph since first seeing them at the airport.
Instead, he focused on the road.
Finally they turned into Rodeo Drive. They passed a row of famous and expensive boutiques all lit up like a Christmas display and came to a stop in front of Skyhigh. Having an in with the chef, he had access to the staff parking lot. They left the Viper there and then walked around the front of the unobtrusive building.
“Where’s the restaurant?” She looked ahead to Skyhigh’s dimly lit black door, squashed between two slightly less elite boutiques, and frowned.
“Right here.” He stopped and gestured at a tiny gold door bell positioned smack-bang in the middle of a black door.
“Is this someone’s house?” Holly asked. “Or…”
He didn’t get to hear her other option before the door opened and a maître d’ dressed more like a king greeted them. “Good evening Mr. Devlin, Ms. McCartney.”
“Evening,” he replied, stepping inside. The door was quickly shut behind them.
Holly blinked and then smiled a smile far more natural than anything she’d ever offered him. “Good evening.” She looked down at the plush burgundy carpet beneath their feet and then her wide-eyed gaze traveled down the stairs almost immediately in front them. Delicious aromas and soft jazz music drifted up from below. He’d been here plenty of times before but, for the most part of his life, he’d barely known these kinds of places existed, never mind been able to attend them. It wasn’t until he’d started hanging out in elite places, waiting to snap celebrities, that a whole other world had opened up to him. It was photographing those celebrities that had made him his fortune and given him the wherewithal to mingle with the L.A. elite.
“Follow me.” With a brief smile the maître d’ descended the stairs. At the bottom, he turned and offered his hand to assist Holly off the last step.
As they headed to a table, Nate kept one eye on Holly and the other on a lookout in case they ran into any of his acquaintances. Most people were too consumed in their cocktails or themselves to turn a head as he and Holly walked by.
At the table, the maître d’ pulled out the seat for Holly. Before they were settled a waiter descended upon them, gushed about how fabulous it was to serve them this evening and then offered the drinks list. Holly ordered a cocktail and Nate asked for a cola.
Once they were alone, she looked around quickly again and then glanced up at the ceiling, painted jet black but covered in tiny glittering lights that lit the restaurant like a starry night. “This place is something else.”
He followed her gaze upward. “Those are actually the stars you can see above L.A. on a clear night.”
“They’re beautiful.” She lowered her eyes to look at him again. “Thanks for bringing me here. It’s the first place I’ve been to today where I haven’t been recognized or mauled.”
Anxiety washed over him at the thought of her lying on the sidewalk. He pushed all emotion aside. “You should have been prepared for the attention. Someone should have warned you. Didn’t Daisy’s legal team or agent get in contact with you and explain what it would be like?”
“Maybe,” she relented, “but it’s never been like that before. The Australian press were never interested in me until…”
Her words were cut off by the arrival of their drinks.
As she took the first sip of her strawberry pink cocktail, he said, “I’m surprised you don’t have a handler.”
“I was offered one, but I declined.” Holly glared at his raised eyebrows. “Relax, someone is picking me up for an interview on Friday and I’m sure I could call on someone if needed. But I didn’t want this to become bigger than it is. I don’t like being the center of attention.”
“Fair enough.” He didn’t much like it either. “What were you doing on Rodeo Drive then?”
“I went looking for a dress.”
He gestured toward her. “The one you’re wearing?”
“No.” She smoothed the silky material across her lap. “But I did buy this today. It was one of many guilt buys.”
“I’m confused.”
She groaned. “You already think I’m naive, so I may as well confess to stupidity as well.”
“What are you talking about?”
Holly hung her head, not wanting to see the look in Nate’s eyes when he heard what she had to say. “I haven’t organized a gown for Saturday night yet.”
“What? Why?” A disbelieving chuckle followed. It was the first time she’d seen him crack a smile. She liked it.
“I’ve been busy with work. And dress shopping isn’t really my thing. I kind of hoped if I left it long enough it would just fall into place.”
“You are something else.” From his tone, she couldn’t quite tell whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. Likely the latter. “I’ve never met a woman who needed an excuse to buy a dress. But you’ve come to the right place. If you can’t find a suitable outfit in Beverly Hills, there isn’t one.”
“That’s just it. I’ve spent all day trawling designers and come up with nothing. I’m un-dressable.”
“I don’t believe that.” Was she imagining his gaze lingering on her dress? On what was underneath? Was she wishing? Dammit, she needed to stop. Daisy may be dead and have stolen her husband, but that didn’t mean Holly wanted to go there. Two wrongs had never made a right and lusting after Daisy’s boyfriend felt incredibly wrong.
“Believe it. At the moment, it’s looking like jeans and a dressy top may be my only option.”
Nate opened his mouth as if to talk but the waiter hovered again, this time handing them each a silver-embossed menu.
“Thank you,” they said in unison and then looked up to listen to the spiel about chef specials. After brief discussion, they ordered and returned the menus.
She took a sip of her delicious drink—so sweet, yet so obviously potent, she told herself to slow down. One of these would be more than enough. Yet, as they waited for their meals, awkward silence ruled again so she tried for small talk to stop from downing the cocktail in one gulp.
“How did you become a paparazzo?”
He choked on a sip of his cola. His eyes were wide as he spluttered. She picked up a napkin and handed it to him. He took it and patted his lips.
“You obviously like photography,” she mused. “The photos of sunsets and bridges on your walls are amazing. Did they come first or did the invasive photos of celebrities?”
She saw his Adam’s apple move up and down as he swallowed. “Geez, don’t hold back.”
She shrugged, cracking a tiny smile but seeing no reason to pretend the profession sanitary. “I’m a cultural anthropologist. It’s my job to be curious.”
“Fine. The paparazzi shots came first. From them I learned I like taking photos. They gave me the wherewithal to travel and the sunsets and bridges began when I did.”
She knew a person could earn big bucks taking celebrity photos but she also thought it had to be a fairly thought-out career choice. And she wanted to know more. “And now? Do you like taking glamour shots?”
“Not quite as much as you like asking questions.”
She got the feeling his words were supposed to be cutting, but they sunk into her, making her bones feel all hot and liquidly instead. For a moment, she forgot what they were talking about, forgot who they were aside from two very sexual beings.
When she dragged her mind back from the brink, she asked, “So why not take photos of the things you love, then? The bridges? The sunsets?”
“Glamour photography is where the money is since I ditched the paparazzi. It’s also what gets my name and brand out there. I told you I have a photography school. My reputation as a legitimate celebrity photographer gets
Shooting Stars
clients. I’m very sought-after now, and all the photos of celebs are like free advertising for the school. They kind of go hand in hand.”
“I see.” She took another sip of her drink.
“There’s no money in art photography,” he added as if this explained everything.
“There’s not a lot of money in what I do,” she bit back. “My parents wanted me to be a dentist because they earn good salaries. But it’s not all about the money.”
“It is in my world.”
His tone told her that was the end of the conversation, but she’d never been good at biting her tongue. “Can I ask why?”
“You can, but I probably wouldn’t tell you.”
She offered him the sweetest of smiles. “I could look you up on the Net
.
” She couldn’t believe she hadn’t done it already. Her brain hadn’t been working properly since she’d heard about Daisy’s nomination and been asked to attend. If she were honest, her brain hadn’t been working since Daisy died six months ago. She pushed that thought aside, not ready to analyze what that meant. “But I’d rather hear it from you.”
He looked at her near empty glass, and then past her. “Should I call the waiter for another drink?”
She smiled. “I’d rather hear your story.”
“Are you academic types always this pushy?”
“Always.”
He picked up his glass and drank some water. “Fine. If you do your research, you’ll find I stole my father’s crappy camera at fifteen and started sneaking out of the house at night to steal photos of celebrities.”
“Wow. Ambitious.”
She wanted to know more about the life he mentioned but as if the conversation was over, he signaled for a waiter and asked her, “Do you want the same again?”
“No thanks.” Her head already felt slightly woozy. No matter how divine that drink had tasted, she couldn’t risk another one. Not in his enigmatic presence. “I’ll have a mineral water please.”
The waiter came. Drinks were ordered. Holly was desperate to get back to the career conversation, fascinated to know more, to know everything about how he’d started in such an unusual, unpopular career but unfortunately a couple of girls professing to be on their way to a club, passed by the table and shrieked like a pair of fourteen year olds when they noticed Nate.
He stood to greet them. A lot of kissing and hugging ensued. Holly’s chest tightened as she watched the women wrap their skinny limbs around Nate as if they didn’t plan on ever letting go. He wore a playboy grin, as if he’d happily bask in their attention all evening.
Holly was about to excuse herself to the ladies’ restroom, when the girls finally looked down at her. She wasn’t surprised when they gave her the once-over head-to-toe. Neither of them tried to hide their sneers.
Nate’s look of admiration when he’d first seen her in the dress had almost made her feel special, beautiful even. These girls made her feel like Daisy had—chunky, plain, uninteresting. She swallowed, feeling like a stuffed animal in a museum. Their presence put her firmly in her place, reminding her that despite her banter with Nate, he felt nothing but ill-will toward her.
“Is this…? You’re not…?” One of the women—the most peroxide-blonde of the two—thrust her finger at Holly. “Omigosh, this is Daisy’s sister. Hello.”
Before Holly knew it, she was enveloped in a hug that felt as plastic as these women looked. She stood like a matchstick being groped by a praying mantis.
Extracting herself, she offered a “hello” and a polite smile to the women she assumed had to be actresses or models.
“We’re so sorry about Daisy,” gushed the other blonde. “I’m Sami by the way and this is Sian. Daisy was such a special person.”
“Oh, so special.” Sian pressed her hand against her heart and sniffed.
Sami dug around in her tiny purse and extracted a tissue. Holly thought she meant to offer it to her friend. Instead, she buried her own face in the white and sobbed.
“Did you know her well?” Holly glared at Nate for help and then instinctively reached out to pat the other woman on the back.
“Oh, well enough.” Another gut-wrenching sob, at least that’s the effect Holly guessed she was going for.
“Yes, we adored her,” Sian added, blinking as if she were trying really hard to summon some tears of her own.
Holly couldn’t say the same so she stood there feeling uncomfortable, wishing to hell their meals would arrive. For the first time in as long as she could remember, her prayers were answered. Two waiters came over carrying silver domes, which they laid with flair onto the table.
Nate took control of the blubbering blondes. “Lovely seeing you again, ladies. Must be about time we did another shoot. Call me.”
Eyelashes were batted in unison and the two of them clamored to see who could give him the longest hug goodbye. The lengths of their embraces were almost indecent but Holly couldn’t blame them. She wanted to bump them out of the way with a sharp elbow but she couldn’t
blame
them because while she looked on like an uninvited third party, her own vivid imagination was thinking about how it would feel to have his arms wrapped around her instead.
If the warmth flooding her body and the tingling in her limbs were anything to go by, she imagined if he ever hugged her, she might find it hard to pull away as well.