to hang up. Felicity didn’t recognize the number and picked it up in curiosity.
“Hey, Felice. It’s Max.”
Her heart nearly dropped to the car floorboard.
Max!
Why would he be calling her? They’d been all caught up on business communications.
“Max. How are you? Everything okay?”
“Yes. Everything is quite all right. The Jack Forth movie is running along schedule. I’ll be able to help you next week with the Margo shoot. But, I, ah, we’ve been busy every time we’ve seen each other and . . .”
Right, and with Melania ever lurking.
“. . . you’ve had a lot on your plate. Doug tells me the ratings with Executive Women are flying through the roof . I wanted to celebrate in your success. I thought I’d like to take you to dinner. Have a real celebration. No interruptions, other things to do, or other people around. A quiet relaxing evening. How’s Saturday for you?”
Wow! He wants to spend time with me.
Tomorrow night. The rules, those dating rules, a guy is supposed to ask you by Wednesday for a Saturday date, right? But, how could she resist him? She could barely contain her excitement. But she didn’t want to sound overly anxious. “You mean tomorrow night?”
“Ah, jeez, I didn’t realize. I haven’t given you much notice. Have you got plans?”
She should say yes. Remember, the rules. “No. I don’t see why we can’t get together.” She caved but what the hell, why not? She was dying to find out where he was coming from.
“How about I’ll pick you up ‘round seven?”
“Okay.” Play it cool. Let him make the moves.
“And dress up, we’ll do it up.”
This had to be a date? Doubt wiggled its insistent way into her consciousness. But she refused to show it. “Sure thing. See you then.”
He HAD to be attracted to me!
Nah. He probably just wanted to take her out to celebrate the show’s success.
Perhaps Max only wanted to show his appreciation for her in a professional manner. That had to be it.
But, shouldn’t it be she who showed her appreciation? After all, he’d helped her find her Dream Job.
He was an ultimate gentleman and that was all it was.
As well as hot, sexy, incredible . . . Control, Felicity, exercise control.
Max experienced stomach butterflies all Saturday afternoon. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a date that excited him so much. Should he wear the Bill Blass dark-gray suit or the Calvin Klein black? He’d go with the black and a silk black shirt. No, too austere. Dark-red shirt with the black. Yeah, he’d been told by the ladies he looked good in red.
Now . . . for the flowers. He’d call his florist and would order a fresh dozen pink roses, or was the yellow for friendship? He wanted to go easy with Felice and not too pushy.
In the end, he decided on the yellow.
Max had arranged reservations at the Coliseum with a table in the private dining room, separate entrance, the usual. He didn’t want any attention from the press. His friends at his favorite restaurants knew how to handle things for the stars.
And, to top the night off he’d have his driver, Floyd take him in the Bentley. It had an elegant back seat with a soundproof tinted privacy window from the front, a tiny bar, and satellite TV and radio. That way, if they wanted to get romantic, they’d have the opportunity.
Did he want to get romantic?
Hell, yeah. Maybe he was a little tentative, but he wasn’t getting any younger. If Felice even was remotely interested, he’d better make a move lest someone else sweep her off her feet.
It was time to face his fears. Or else he’d never get a real life.
He arrived at her place fifteen minutes early. Should I go up now?
He knocked on the door, roses in hand.
Felice answered. She’d swept up her hair and had wisps of light brown curls around her heart-shaped face and flowing down her bare shoulders. Bright brown-hazel eyes greeted him with dark-green speckles peeking out and accentuated by the deep-red dress she
“Hey, Felice. It’s Max.”
Her heart nearly dropped to the car floorboard.
Max!
Why would he be calling her? They’d been all caught up on business communications.
“Max. How are you? Everything okay?”
“Yes. Everything is quite all right. The Jack Forth movie is running along schedule. I’ll be able to help you next week with the Margo shoot. But, I, ah, we’ve been busy every time we’ve seen each other and . . .”
Right, and with Melania ever lurking.
“. . . you’ve had a lot on your plate. Doug tells me the ratings with Executive Women are flying through the roof . I wanted to celebrate in your success. I thought I’d like to take you to dinner. Have a real celebration. No interruptions, other things to do, or other people around. A quiet relaxing evening. How’s Saturday for you?”
Wow! He wants to spend time with me.
Tomorrow night. The rules, those dating rules, a guy is supposed to ask you by Wednesday for a Saturday date, right? But, how could she resist him? She could barely contain her excitement. But she didn’t want to sound overly anxious. “You mean tomorrow night?”
“Ah, jeez, I didn’t realize. I haven’t given you much notice. Have you got plans?”
She should say yes. Remember, the rules. “No. I don’t see why we can’t get together.” She caved but what the hell, why not? She was dying to find out where he was coming from.
“How about I’ll pick you up ‘round seven?”
“Okay.” Play it cool. Let him make the moves.
“And dress up, we’ll do it up.”
This had to be a date? Doubt wiggled its insistent way into her consciousness. But she refused to show it. “Sure thing. See you then.”
He HAD to be attracted to me!
Nah. He probably just wanted to take her out to celebrate the show’s success.
Perhaps Max only wanted to show his appreciation for her in a professional manner. That had to be it.
But, shouldn’t it be she who showed her appreciation? After all, he’d helped her find her Dream Job.
He was an ultimate gentleman and that was all it was.
As well as hot, sexy, incredible . . . Control, Felicity, exercise control.
Max experienced stomach butterflies all Saturday afternoon. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a date that excited him so much. Should he wear the Bill Blass dark-gray suit or the Calvin Klein black? He’d go with the black and a silk black shirt. No, too austere. Dark-red shirt with the black. Yeah, he’d been told by the ladies he looked good in red.
Now . . . for the flowers. He’d call his florist and would order a fresh dozen pink roses, or was the yellow for friendship? He wanted to go easy with Felice and not too pushy.
In the end, he decided on the yellow.
Max had arranged reservations at the Coliseum with a table in the private dining room, separate entrance, the usual. He didn’t want any attention from the press. His friends at his favorite restaurants knew how to handle things for the stars.
And, to top the night off he’d have his driver, Floyd take him in the Bentley. It had an elegant back seat with a soundproof tinted privacy window from the front, a tiny bar, and satellite TV and radio. That way, if they wanted to get romantic, they’d have the opportunity.
Did he want to get romantic?
Hell, yeah. Maybe he was a little tentative, but he wasn’t getting any younger. If Felice even was remotely interested, he’d better make a move lest someone else sweep her off her feet.
It was time to face his fears. Or else he’d never get a real life.
He arrived at her place fifteen minutes early. Should I go up now?
He knocked on the door, roses in hand.
Felice answered. She’d swept up her hair and had wisps of light brown curls around her heart-shaped face and flowing down her bare shoulders. Bright brown-hazel eyes greeted him with dark-green speckles peeking out and accentuated by the deep-red dress she
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