Just the Sexiest Man Alive Page 12

Taylor’s eyes widened at this. Good god, they were toast. She spun back around to peer out the window.

  The plane ascended, and they rose smoothly for a few moments. But then they hit a patch of turbulence, and Taylor’s hands tightly gripped the armrests of her seat. She closed her eyes, trying to push all thoughts of screaming death-plummets from her mind. Surely fate was on her side in this flight, she thought. Jason was her insurance policy, after all. The world would probably stop spinning on its axis if something were to happen to its Sexiest Man Alive.

  “So I’ve been reading about your trial in the papers,” she heard Jason say.

  She opened her eyes. “You have?”

  The plane dropped with the turbulence, and Taylor’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest. She glanced out the window, uneasily studying the ground below as the plane began a turn.

  Meanwhile, Jason reclined unworriedly in his chair. “And I have a question for you.”

  “Hmmm.” Taylor looked up. “Wait.” She had definitely just heard a sound she had never heard on a plane before. She quickly looked over at Jason.

  “Does the engine sound normal to you? I think we’re losing altitude.”

  He ignored this. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking about your trial—”

  “—Seriously, is this pilot certified? How long has he been working for you? And what kind of training do you need to fly private planes, anyway?”

  “—and here’s the question I’ve been meaning to ask, Taylor: as a woman who defends companies from sexual harassment claims, don’t you feel like a traitor to your gender?”

  Whoa.

  Suddenly refocused, Taylor turned away from the window and stared at Jason.

  Her look was death.

  “A traitor to my gender?” she whispered in disbelief.

  The hand came up.

  “Let me tell you something, mister . . .”

  They had leveled off at 40,000 feet before she paused to take her first breath.

  “... AND WHILE I don’t disagree that there are legitimate instances of sexual harassment out there . . .

  “. . . Frivolous cases do more to undermine feminist causes by clogging up the courts and creating bad precedent . . .

  “. . . Clients I represent do everything they can to prevent such behavior, and in those rare cases where I do find a problem, I’m the first person . . .

  “. . . Hardly deserves millions of dollars just because some low-level jerk-off with a manager’s badge doesn’t get laid enough and looks at porn on the office computer . . .”

  Jason sat there, listening to the entire tirade. When Taylor had finally finished, she folded her arms over her chest.

  “So? Does that satisfy your concerns over my being a traitor to my gender?”

  She waited expectantly for his retort. But instead, Jason surprised her by nodding agreeably.

  “All very good points. I hadn’t thought about things that way.” He got up from his seat and headed over to the wet bar. “Would you like a drink?” he asked politely.

  Taylor blinked. Wait—that was it? He was just going to . . . agree with her?

  Jason raised an eyebrow questioningly, still standing at the bar. Taylor tried to think through her surprise.

  “Um, red wine, I guess. If you have it.

  She watched as Jason opened a bottle, poured her a glass, and fixed himself a vodka martini. When he handed Taylor her drink, she looked at him knowingly.

  “You were trying to distract me with the whole traitor-to-my-gender thing, weren’t you?”

  Jason grinned guiltily. “I had a feeling that might do the trick. Have you always been a nervous flier?”

  Taylor debated whether to answer that. Then, realizing the jig was up, she leaned back in her seat and got comfortable for the first time in the flight.

  “Since I was a summer associate at my firm,” she admitted. “They asked a bunch of us to be test jurors for this big class action they were working on, an airplane crash case. As part of the evidence, they made us listen to the black box recordings so that the lawyers could get a sense of how a jury might handle that kind of evidence.” She paused. “Needless to say, that was the summer I developed a fear of flying.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  Taylor cocked her head, considering this. “It made me realize that things would be completely out of my control, if anything ever were to happen on a plane.”

  Jason studied her. “I sense this control thing is a big deal with you.”

  “Says the man who stormed into my office when I didn’t return his phone calls within the hour.”

  Jason grinned. “Fair enough.” Then he looked at her interestedly. “I feel like I should know more about you.”

  “Such as?”

  “Do you date a lot?”

  “Don’t be a jackass.”

  Jason laughed, then held up his hands innocently. “What? Is there something about my question that makes you uncomfortable, Ms. Donovan?”

  From his teasing look, Taylor sensed that refusing to answer would only invite more probing into the subject.

  “I’m sure that by the standards of the Sexiest Man Alive, no—I don’t date a lot.”

  Jason was delighted. “You saw it.”

  Taylor thought of the fifty magazine covers plastered to her door. “My secretary brought in a few copies for the office,” she said vaguely.

  “And what do you think?”

  “About what?”

  “Would you say you agree with the magazine’s characterization?”

  Taylor waved this off. “You already have enough people complimenting you.”

  “That’s not a denial,” Jason noted.

  Taylor saw his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You really need me to tell you what I think?”

  “Of course. Your good opinion is always welcome, Ms. Donovan.”

  She looked Jason over. Truth be told, as he sat there with the sleeves of his button-down shirt rolled up casually around his forearms and his long legs stretched out in front of him, she wasn’t sure there was much room to debate the magazine’s claim.

  “I suppose you’re attractive,” she told him. “Physically speaking.”

  “Stop—you’re making me blush.”

  “Your personality, on the other hand, appears to have several defects.”

  “I see. Such as?”

  “How long did you say we have left on this flight?”

  Jason laughed. And Taylor couldn’t help it; she smiled, too. Just then, the pilot’s voice came over the intercom, with the announcement that they were expected to have a smooth ride for the rest of the flight.

  Taylor exhaled in relief. Taking advantage of the interruption, she steered the conversation to safer topics. The time flew by as she and Jason chatted amiably about nothing, anything, and she was surprised when the pilot’s voice interrupted them again, indicating that they soon would be landing.

  Taylor immediately set about trying to find her seat belt, when she caught a glimpse out the window. She leaned over in her chair to get a better look at the dazzling spectacle outside. Before her blazed the brilliant glow of millions of sparkling lights. The sight was unmistakable—only one place on earth could illuminate the night sky that way.

  Taylor turned back to Jason in surprise.

  He grinned. “Ever been to Las Vegas, Ms. Donovan?”

  Fourteen

  THINGS HAPPENED SO quickly the moment she and Jason landed, Taylor barely had a chance to catch her breath. A car met them at the jet, where a driver and two security guards whisked them off to the Strip. Jason still refused to give her any clue as to their plans for the evening.

  They pulled up at what appeared to be the back entrance of a hotel—a large hotel, but that was all Taylor could gather. The two guards escorted them through an elaborate maze of hallways and corridors, until they somehow popped out into the casino and were quickly shuffled over to the VIP room.

  When Jason and Taylor were safely ensconced beh
ind the red-velvet ropes of the private VIP area, Jason gave the security guards a nod of dismissal. As Taylor watched them walk away, trying to process everything that had just happened, the casino’s director approached to shake Jason’s hand. It was then that she finally learned where they were.

  “Welcome back to the Bellagio, Mr. Andrews,” the director welcomed them with a warm smile. As he led the two of them to a table, Taylor pulled Jason closer.

  “You’re taking me gambling?” she asked in a low whisper. She’d never been gambling before. Frankly, she didn’t see what all the fuss was about.

  “Not just gambling,” Jason said with an excited catch in his voice. They came to an energetic high-rollers table and he gestured grandly.

  “Craps,” he said reverently.

  Taylor checked out the game. From what she could tell, something happened when somebody rolled the dice and everybody started yelling. The guy holding the stick at the center of the table suddenly screamed “Yo!” and chips began flying everywhere.

  She nodded. “Oh, craps, sure.”

  After watching for another moment, she leaned over toward Jason.

  “Um . . . where are the cards?”

  With a smile, he grabbed her hand and pulled them up to the table.

  “OKAY, LET’S REVIEW what you’ve learned.”

  Clearly enjoying his position of authority far too much, Jason ran through their lessons. Things had been improving since her first debacle, when it was her turn to roll and she’d unknowingly switched hands before throwing the dice. From the way everyone screamed, Taylor had thought someone had been shot. When she realized they were yelling at her, she had gotten so nervous that she dropped the dice on the floor. And that’s when everyone really started fussing.

  But now, under Jason’s alleged tutelage, Taylor knew a thing or two about this game called craps. Raring to go, she nodded along impatiently as he rolled through his lecture.

  “First, you’ve got your pass line—always take full odds on your pass line bet,” he said. “Then, if you want to step it up a notch, make a come bet, and take odds on that as well. After that, you have your place bets—the six and eight will be your most common payoffs there. And, if you’re feeling really lucky, you could always try for the yo, the hardways, or the any crap.”

  Taylor took a sip of her vodka tonic. The waitress kept bringing drinks around, and by now she and Jason had each had a few.

  “And then there’s the field,” she said, pointing to the middle section of the table with the big “2, 3, 4, 9, 10, 11, 12” written across the green felt.

  “I told you, you don’t want to bet the field,” Jason lectured her. “That’s a rookie’s bet.”

  Taylor waved this off. “But I like the field. You get seven chances to win.”

  “Do you want to look like you know what you’re doing, or do you want to look like a girl?”

  Taylor rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  “It pretty much slipped out before I could think about it.”

  Taylor smiled. Perhaps the warm glow of vodka was beginning to set in. “Not as smooth when you’re not working off a script, are you?” she teased.

  Jason cocked his head. “Oh, I don’t know, I seem to do all right.”

  Taylor suddenly realized how close they were standing. She hadn’t meant to sound so . . . flirtatious. It had just kind of come out like that. Stupid vodka. She was cutting off the gravy train of free drinks right then and there.

  “Excuse me, miss?” she heard a voice say.

  Tearing her gaze away from Jason, she looked over and saw the stickman tapping the dice on the table in front of her.

  “Are you in?” he asked. “Because you’re up.”

  Taylor could still feel Jason’s eyes on her. With a nod, she took a long sip of her drink, needing a moment to clear her head. Then she picked up the dice.

  “All right, boys . . .” she said confidently. “Let me show you how this game is played.”

  At this, Jason pointed to the small bank of chips in front of her.

  “Easy there, hotshot—don’t get all crazy with those five-dollar chips.” He nodded appreciatively to the pit boss for waiving their usual five-hundred-dollar minimum. “Thanks again for that.”

  “No problem, Mr. Andrews,” said the pit boss.

  Taylor turned back to Jason, annoyed.

  “Will you please stop pointing that out to everyone?”

  AT THE NEXT table over, Rob couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Jason Andrews and the Mystery Woman stood just a few feet away, right before his very eyes.

  Scott had indeed been correct about one thing—the girl was hot.

  Earlier that evening, he had finished filming his small but pivotal Ocean’s scene and (thanks to a call from Soderberg) had headed down to the casino’s VIP room. More than anything, Rob had come just to make an appearance. Someone on set had mentioned that there were tons of paparazzi outside, and it was a great opportunity for him to be seen. Of course, if the tables turned cold, he’d have to make a quick exit—cuddly character actors on CW shows couldn’t exactly hang long on $500 minimum tables.

  He hadn’t noticed them when he had first walked in, but now Rob thoroughly scrutinized Jason and the Mystery Woman’s every interaction, like a spy who had snuck behind enemy lines. From what he could tell so far, it appeared Scott may have been right about one other thing: while it bordered on ludicrous to think that the biggest movie star of the twenty-first century wasn’t fucking a girl who looked like that senseless, Rob got the distinct impression that they were not, in fact, together. Not yet, at least.

  But the one thing he was certain of, beyond any doubt, was that Jason Andrews liked this Mystery Woman. A lot. Whether it was the way he looked at her with all his attention, or the way she made him laugh, or the way he was clearly trying to make her laugh, Rob couldn’t quite say. But as someone whose cuddly and chubby stature went back to his high school class-clown days, he could tell when a guy was pulling out all the stops to make a good impression on a girl. Even if that guy was Jason Andrews.

  The woman, on the other hand, was harder to read. A “mystery” indeed. She wasn’t hanging all over Jason like most girls would; in fact, she seemed to avoid getting too close to him. Rob wished he could hear what they were saying, but that was impossible from across the room. Still, what he could see was enough for him get his cell phone out for a surreptitious call. He lowered his voice when his friend answered, relying on the raucous noise of the casino to drown out his words.

  “Scott—dude, you are not going to believe who I’m looking at right now.”

  LATER THAT EVENING, after Jason watched as Taylor proudly cashed in her little stack of three-hundred-dollars worth of chips—how cute—he took her outside to a private terrace on the second floor. From there, they would have a view of the hotel’s spectacular lake and fountains.

  As they pulled up to the balcony railing, Jason noticed that the evening air had turned cool. Seeing Taylor hug her arms to her chest, he offered her the corduroy blazer he wore. She surprised him by actually accepting it.

  Jason had a plan for the remainder of the night, and that plan had one key element: that he absolutely not kiss Taylor. He suspected she suspected he would try just that, and he wanted to keep her guessing. Besides, they would have plenty of time for such things later. Of that, he was quite confident.

  He watched as Taylor stood against the railing, admiring the fountain show. Clair de Lune played through the terrace speakers as the water danced before them. The desert breeze swept through her hair, and she had never looked more beautiful to Jason than she did right then. He realized why.

  “You’re smiling,” he said, unused to seeing her so relaxed and content.

  Taylor turned to him. “I was just thinking about what my family would say, if they could see me right now. My brothers would never let me live down this evening if they knew about it.”

  Jason realized then
that she hadn’t told her family about him. He doubted there were many people in the world who would keep such a connection secret.

  “How many brothers do you have?” he asked, seizing on the rare opportunity to learn more about her.

  “Three. All older.”

  “Are they lawyers, too?”

  She shook her head. “No. Police officers, like my dad. Except for Michael, the youngest, who rebelled and became a fireman.”

  Jason moved next to her at the railing. “And then came you,” he said teasingly.

  Taylor smiled. “And then came me.”

  “Do they have any idea what to do with you?”

  She laughed at the truth of this. “Not really, no.”

  “What would they think of me?”

  At first, she seemed surprised that he would ask such a thing. “They would think you’re a little . . . fancy,” she said.

  “Thanks,” he said dryly, offended.

  Taylor paused and looked him over. Then she gave him an answer with more substance.

  “They would think you’re everything they expected, and yet not anything they expected, all at the same time.”

  Jason liked the sound of that much better. He moved closer to Taylor. “I think that’s what you think.”

  She looked away and changed the subject. “So how’s the movie coming?”

  “We began filming last week.”

  Jason saw her look of surprise. “We shoot out of order,” he explained, “so we’ll work around the scenes you and I still have to fix.”

  Looking her over, he casually added, “You should come visit the set sometime.”

  The words had slipped out before he even thought about them. He had never, ever before invited a woman to watch him during filming.

  But Taylor shook her head. “Unfortunately, my days are taken for the foreseeable future with this trial.”

  Jason stared at her in amazement. He didn’t know anyone who would turn down such an offer.

  “You’re the perfect model, you know,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  Seeing her confusion, he explained. “The character I’m playing in the film is this driven, workaholic lawyer who has never lost a case. When I’m playing him . . .” He paused, his voice softening. Somehow they were now standing just inches apart. “I think of you.”