Just the Sexiest Man Alive Page 6

  He frowned when he saw that the caller was his publicist, Marty. He had expected it to be his manager, with Ms. Donovan’s feigned reluctant (but secretly delighted) acceptance of his proposal. And he frowned because he was fully aware of the belief shared by his agent, manager, and lawyer that only Marty knew how to “handle” him when bearing bad news.

  Jason answered his phone on the second ring.

  “Yeah, Marty. What’s up?”

  SITTING NEXT TO Jason, Jeremy glanced over and watched as his friend’s publicist delivered what apparently was some unexpected news. Jeremy could’ve laughed out loud when he heard Jason’s reply.

  “What do you mean, she ‘regretfully declines’ my invitation?” he said, stunned. “Well—did she say anything else?”

  Although Jeremy typically had little interest in Jason’s various escapades, he listened with curiosity to this particular exchange. He had overheard the message Jason had sent this Taylor Donovan person, and noted—with quite a bit of surprise—that it had bordered on being an apology. And as far as Jeremy knew, Jason Andrews hadn’t apologized to a woman other than his mother in fifteen years.

  Jeremy watched as Jason’s expression turned to one of amusement as Marty conveyed whatever was the rest of Taylor Donovan’s message.

  “That’s what she said?” Jason leaned back in his seat and chuckled. “Well, tell her that I saw her ass as she stormed out of the courtroom, and I might be tempted to do just that.”

  Jason listened to his publicist talk for another moment, then pointed at the phone with emphasis. “Listen to me, Marty, I don’t want to work with anyone else. I want her. The one who thinks she can walk out on me. Make sure her firm understands that. And then I need you to focus on the London thing.”

  He waved his hand impatiently at his publicist’s next words. “I told you, the whole thing was a misunderstanding. I only asked her to go to London. I never said she’d be coming back with me. Tell her manager that I don’t want to see her name next to mine in one more gossip rag. The publicity ride is over.”

  With that, he firmly slammed his phone shut.

  Jeremy glanced over. “The supermodel again?”

  Jason frowned. “Trust me, if you had to listen to that inane babble for three days, you’d have left her in London, too. I don’t care how she looks in a swimsuit—or out of it.”

  Hearing Jason’s terse tone, Jeremy said nothing and decided to let the game distract them for a while. He knew full well how much it annoyed Jason when the women he got involved with courted the media’s attention. Actresses, singers, models—it never failed: one phone call from Jason Andrews and they had a table booked at the Ivy and Ted Casablanca on their speed dial.

  Jeremy glanced over as two guys in their midtwenties took the empty seats in the row behind them. He vaguely recognized one of the guys as Rob Something-or-Other, an actor on one of those CW shows, who Jeremy had met at a party being thrown by the director attached to his latest script. If he remembered correctly, Rob had been hanging around as part of Scott Casey’s entourage.

  As Jeremy nodded in greeting at Rob Whoever, he noticed one of the Laker girls on the sidelines, jumping up and waving frantically at them.

  “I think someone’s trying to get your attention.” Jeremy pointed the cheerleader out to Jason. She waved giddily when Jason glanced over. He flashed her a polite half smile, then turned away disinterestedly. He rolled his eyes at Jeremy.

  “Been there. Done that.” Then he grinned slyly, unable to resist, and proudly pointed out several other Lakers girls. “And that. Oh, and that and that, too.” He winked deviously. “Together.”

  “And amazingly, combined they total one brain.” Jeremy replied dryly.

  Jason shook his head regretfully at this.

  “Unfortunately, not quite.”

  LATER THAT THURSDAY afternoon, when Taylor was well into her second grande skim latte of the day, she finally managed to finagle a few free moments to sit in her office and review Derek’s third draft of their proposed jury instructions.

  Time, she realized, had not been on her side in the three days since her encounter with Jason Andrews. Ever since Frank of the EEOC had gone on the warpath and begun viciously bashing her client, in the media, that is.

  She had immediately recognized the tactic for what it was: a blatant attempt to prejudice the defendant in the eyes of potential jurors. So in return, she had personally served Frank with an emergency motion for sanctions. And after her impassioned oral argument, the judge issued a gag order in the case and severely admonished that any lawyer seen or heard speaking to the media “better bring his or her toothbrush to court” (a colloquial way to threaten lawyers with being jailed for contempt). It had been the second time that week that Frank had stormed out of the courtroom refusing to speak to her.

  Now, having been sidelined for the last three days with the emergency motion, Taylor was feeling behind the ball in her trial preparations. She had just barely sat down at her desk and started her review of Derek’s draft when her phone rang.

  As soon as she saw the familiar 312 area code on the caller ID, Taylor picked up the handset and copped an immediate guilty plea.

  “I know, I know. I’m a horrible friend.”

  On the other end of the line, Kate laughed. She too worked at one of Chicago’s top law firms and knew full well how crazy things could get.

  “You get a free pass since you’re preparing for trial. They made you partner yet?”

  Taylor sighed blissfully at the thought of her goal, the one thing she wanted more than anything in life. “Two years, one month and three weeks away. Give or take.”

  “I find it truly scary that you know that. I suppose I shouldn’t even bother to ask if you’re having any fun out there?”

  “Before you start lecturing me, just know that some of this busyness wasn’t my fault. I was temporarily sidetracked by—”

  Taylor stopped, realizing that telling Kate she had met Jason Andrews would result in hours of conversation, retelling every moment in excruciating detail. Not to mention, out of fairness, she would then have to call Valerie, too. And that was a discussion that could go on for days.

  “Never mind,” Taylor said instead, covering. “I’ll tell you about it some other time, over a drink.” Or maybe two, or three, she thought. It would take her that long to forget how brilliantly blue Jason’s eyes were when they’d fixed on her.

  Whoa.

  Where the hell that particular thought had come from, popping all uninvited into her head like that, she just didn’t know.

  Not that she denied the fact that Jason Andrews was handsome. Tall, lean but built, with the aforementioned cobalt-blue eyes and chiseled features—she knew full well that this was the stuff that women dreamed of. But come on.

  The man was a total penis.

  Taylor forced her attention back to Kate, who was asking whether she possibly would have any free evenings in the near future.

  “I don’t know. Why—what’s up?” she replied distractedly.

  Kate hesitated. “There’s someone in L.A. that I want to set you up with.”

  “No.”

  Her tone couldn’t have been more definitive.

  “It doesn’t have to be a date, just someone to hang out with once in a while,” Kate pressed. “They’re not all assholes like Daniel, you know.” She suddenly fell silent, presumably not having meant for that last part to slip out.

  Taylor turned quiet, her expression softening at her friend’s words.

  “I know, Kate, but . . .” Her voice trailed off as her mind momentarily drifted back to Chicago.

  But then she pulled herself together. This simply was not something she was going to think about at work.

  “I appreciate the offer,” she told Kate, striving for a light tone. “But I’m swamped right now, you know? It’s just not a good time. Speaking of which, unfortunately, I’ve got to run—we’re filing something tomorrow and I’m running way behind.” She
mumbled a quick good-bye and hung up.

  After hanging up the phone, Taylor leaned back in her chair, suddenly feeling very tired. But right then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Linda hesitating in the doorway.

  Seeming to sense she had caught Taylor at a bad time, Linda smiled awkwardly. “Sorry. But Mr. Blakely wants to see you. Immediately.”

  A slight pit formed in Taylor’s stomach. “Immediately” never boded well for an associate at a large law firm. It generally meant you had either royally screwed something up or were about to be assigned an emergency TRO.

  With that in mind, Taylor nodded. She put her game face back on and quieted the butterflies in her stomach. She stood up and gracefully smoothed out her skirt.

  Then she headed down the hallway to the head partner’s office.

  Six

  SHE COULDN’T DO it.

  It was late that evening, and Taylor sat in her car, the silver Chrysler PT Cruiser she had rented for her stay in Los Angeles, outside some bar called Reilly’s Tavern. She tried to figure out if there was any chance she could finesse her way out of her current situation. Thinking back to the stern look Sam had given her, she seriously doubted it.

  From the moment she had walked into Sam’s office earlier that afternoon, she could tell they weren’t there to discuss an emergency TRO. Partners doled those out as merrily as Santa’s elves with candy canes, while Sam on the other hand, appeared far from happy when Taylor took a seat in front of his desk.

  “I got a call today,” he began in a serious tone. “Would you mind telling me what the problem is with the Andrews Project?” Sam peered down at her from the perch of his desk chair.

  Oh, for crying out loud, Taylor had wanted to shout. He’s just an actor.

  But seeing the look on Sam’s face, she instead attempted to smooth things over. “Sam, I just don’t think I’m well suited for this type of project. I’m sure whoever you assign next will be far—”

  Sam cut her off abruptly. “Jason Andrews doesn’t want anyone else. His people told me that he specifically said he wants to work with you.”

  Taylor found herself growing even more annoyed by this. His “people”? Oh, far be it that the mighty movie star actually pick up a phone himself. Lazy, she thought to herself. Arrogant. Self-centered, condescending, patronizing—

  She noticed Sam staring at her, and suddenly wondered whether she’d been speaking out loud.

  Taylor regrouped. Surely she could make Sam understand the merits of her position. “Look—it’s just some stupid pride thing with him. Trust me, Jason Andrews will get over it. Plus, I’m in the middle of preparing for a trial. I know I don’t need to remind you of the stakes in this case against the EEOC. Now simply isn’t a good time for me—”

  Sam cut her off again. “Taylor, I respect you completely. I think you’re the most talented young lawyer this firm has seen, so please don’t take it the wrong way when I say that I frankly don’t give a damn what your issue is.”

  He held up a hand when he saw Taylor about to speak. “Jason Andrews is a very important client of this firm. We do his taxes, and we’ve been trying to get his litigation business for years. The guy sues anyone and everyone who prints bullshit about him.”

  Taylor looked up at the ceiling, trying to remain quiet. From what she had seen so far, she doubted much of it was bullshit.

  Then Sam leaned forward in his chair. He peered down at her with a firm expression and said words that sent chills running down her spine.

  “You go back to Jason Andrews. And you fix this.”

  AND SO HERE she was five hours later, sitting in her car parked on some random street in West Hollywood. Taylor peered through her windshield to get a better look at the bar, and wondered what kind of name Reilly’s Tavern was for a hot celebrity hangout. She rechecked the address on the Post-it note Linda had handed her to make sure she was at the right place.

  Taylor tapped her fingers nervously on the steering wheel. The thought of crawling back to Jason Andrews was just so humiliating. It infuriated her that, due to his “status” (which she doubted was the product of little more than sheer looks and being in the right place at the right time), people automatically gave him such deference—that with one snap of his fingers, she was expected to smile politely and apologize to him.

  Hopefully Jason Andrews knows the Heimlich, Taylor thought to herself. Because she most definitely was going to choke on her words.

  Realizing she couldn’t sit in front of the bar all night, she got out of her car and strode briskly in her heels to the front door of Reilly’s Tavern. A quick peek in the window told her that she’d been very wrong—the bar by no means was any sort of hot celebrity hangout.

  As Taylor opened the door and stepped in, she felt as though she’d been transported back to the south side of Chicago, back to one of her father’s off-duty cop hangouts. Decked out in aging mahogany wood, Reilly’s Tavern was part sports bar, part Irish pub—complete with dartboards, pool tables, and two small televisions (both showing the same basketball game) mounted over the bar. The after-work crowd consisted almost entirely of middle-aged men, many still in their service or government uniforms.

  Definitely the type of crowd who wouldn’t notice a celebrity in their bar, Taylor thought, and probably wouldn’t care even if they did. Maybe that was the point.

  She stood hesitantly in the doorway, scanning the faces of the men seated at the bar, who in turn stared right back at her. Clearly, womenfolk didn’t often frequent this particular establishment.

  And just when Taylor thought she couldn’t possibly have felt more self-conscious, she heard a feigned loud gasp and a voice call out her name with delight.

  “Ms. Donovan!”

  She turned and saw Jason Andrews near a pool table in the back. He walked over to her, pretending to be shocked.

  “Why, imagine seeing you here!”

  At the sight of his smug, victorious look, Taylor staggered back a few steps and fell against the door. Oh god, she couldn’t do it.

  Feeling a little woozy at the thought of continuing, she closed her eyes and silently said a few oms from her yoga class for serenity.

  WITH HIS ARMS folded expectantly across his chest—he did indeed know what was coming—Jason’s grin grew wider as he watched Taylor’s reaction to his greeting. This girl seriously cracked him up. At the nauseated look on her face, he half expected her to turn around and walk right out the door without one further word.

  But instead, she took a deep breath. Jason watched as she pulled herself up to what he guessed had to be no more than her full five-feet-five height and strode efficiently over.

  “Don’t be coy, Mr. Andrews,” she said in that all-business tone of hers. “I know your assistant told you I was coming.”

  Jason’s eyes widened innocently. At the way she’d walked over all snappy-heels, he couldn’t resist hamming it up.

  “You were looking for me? Whatever can I do for you, Ms. Donovan?”

  Taylor stood there, staring evilly at Jason as if she wanted nothing more right then than to grab him by his cashmere zip pullover and zip it right up to his eyebrows.

  But then she took another deep breath.

  “It seems I may have been a bit . . . hasty when I walked out of the courtroom the other day,” she told him. “My firm would very much like to work with you on your . . . little project.”

  He ignored her not-so-subtle dig at his film. “And you?”

  She responded matter-of-factly to this. “I’m willing to put my personal preferences on the matter aside.”

  Jason gazed down at her. She really wasn’t affected by him at all.

  He found this fascinating.

  “Am I correct in understanding that you dislike me, Ms. Donovan?” he asked coyly, circling around her in amusement.

  Taylor followed him with her eyes, her voice even. “I won’t let my feelings about you compromise my career, Mr. Andrews. You got me in a lot of trouble at work, you know.�
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  Jason stopped, surprised to find himself uncomfortable at the thought. “I’ll tell you what,” he said magnanimously. “Let me buy you a drink. We can start over—get to know one another properly.” He flashed her the smile that made hearts flutter worldwide. Five and a half billion dollars in lifetime box office gross for his “little projects.” Take that.

  Taylor cocked her head, appearing to consider his offer. Then, with her arms folded across her chest, she took a few steps toward him. When she was close enough that they were practically touching, she stared up at him, her green eyes boring deep into his. Jason could feel the warmth of her body, and he wondered if she knew what he was thinking right then.

  Apparently, she did.

  “Let’s get something straight, Mr. Andrews,” she said steadily. “This is business. Nothing else.”

  Before Jason could get in one word edgewise on the matter, Taylor backed away and turned to leave. “And I’ll expect you to be at my office first thing tomorrow morning. Do try not to be late.”

  Then she flipped her hair over her shoulders and, in what was admittedly not a half-bad impersonation, threw the very words Jason had said earlier right back at him.

  “Surely you understand, Mr. Andrews . . .” she drawled mockingly, “I am a very busy woman.”

  And with that, she turned on her heels and strode out of the bar.

  Jason stood there, staring after her once again. How the hell the woman kept getting the last word in, he just didn’t know.

  As he watched Taylor pass by the windows outside, Jeremy pulled up next to him. For a moment, even he seemed uncertain what to say.

  “Well,” Jeremy finally managed, “she seems very nice.” He appeared to have enjoyed Jason and Taylor’s little exchange. “Very spirited.”

  “You’re right about that.” Jason shot Jeremy a devilish look. “Now I just need to channel that spirit into a more . . . enjoyable outlet.”

  Jeremy shook his head doubtfully. “I don’t know. I think you’ve met your match.”

  Jason scoffed at the very idea. “There’s no such thing.”