“Excuse me, Faith, Mr. Baron,” she said. “I think it’s time for my close-up.”
Daiyu was a good foot shorter than Harley’s friend, and they couldn’t have been more different in appearance, but they seemed to hit it off. Daiyu said something, Justin or Dustin bowed his head closer to hear her, and then laughing, the pair started toward the balcony and the fully stocked—but non-alcoholic—bar.
“I don’t know how she does it,” Faith said, staring past Daiyu and fixing her gaze on the view of the Hollywood Hills. “She can get any guy she wants.”
“And you can’t?” Zander asked skeptically.
“No. I can’t. Things start out okay, but then I just lose interest. I don’t want to settle for someone who doesn’t have that spark.”
“What spark?”
“You know what spark,” she said. “That thing that makes you eager and impatient and breathless knowing that you’re going to see him or be with him. It’s what brings everything else about him into full Technicolor. It’s—”
“I know what you mean,” he said. “I’ve been missing that spark, too.”
“You seemed to like Kiki Langlois’s spark,” Faith said.
“Kiki…Hell, Faith, I dated her two years ago. Once. How do you know about her?”
“I work for Personality! ,” Faith said by way of explanation. “The research department dug up photos of you going back to your first public appearance with Brent Baxter.”
“He’s the one who set up the date with Kiki,” Zander said. “He thought it would be good exposure for me.”
“Exposure is right.” Faith snorted. “She wore a top made of cellophane and latex. And she was hanging all over you.”
“Kiki has a thing for brooding, blue-eyed men, or so she says.”
“Do you have a thing for ex-supermodels?”
“My thing prefers ex-cheerleaders,” he answered, his voice low.
Faith’s mouth went dry, but she maintained her unruffled exterior. “It won’t work, Zander.”
“What?”
“Your charm. I’m not going to fall for it, so give it up.”
“Look, I came over here to keep Harley and the rest of his boys from trying to turn you into their party favor.” He took a step back, his hands raised in surrender. “I don’t have an ulterior motive.”
Faith was tempted to believe him even though he hadn’t looked her in the eye when he denied having a hidden agenda. “I can handle myself just fine,” she insisted. “I don’t need rescuing anymore.”
“I brought some entertainment to hold us over until the Fleiss girls show up,” one of the guests said, opening a silver attaché case on the low table before the sofa. “I got Good Will Humping, Bravehump, Raiders of the Lost Hump, White Men Can’t Hump, Humpleberry Finn —”
“I’m startin’ to see a pattern here,” laughed a man in a business suit. Faith recognized him as the co-founder and executive producer of a new studio called Swirl Productions.
“— Great Sexpectations, Pulp Friction —”
“Just pick one!” someone hollered.
“— Frisky Business, Gonad the Barbarian, Guess Who Came at Dinner —”
“Put on a dang DVD already!” Harley laughed.
One of the guests aimed a remote control at the fifty-inch plasma television and powered the set on. After slipping a disc into the DVD player, he resumed his seat on one of the ottomans. Harley and his friends cheered when the opening credits rolled.
Faith folded her arms over her chest and lifted her chin in a stubborn tilt Zander knew well. “If your agent thinks that this juvenile display of male foolishness is an equal trade for your story, he’s got a whole other think coming.”
Zander took her arm and walked her to the powder room off the living room. “Could you lower your voice?”
She yanked her arm free and set her hands on her hips. “Something newsworthy better happen soon, or I’m running with the piece I’ve already started working on.”
Glowering, Zander started to argue with her, but loud, persistent
Daiyu was a good foot shorter than Harley’s friend, and they couldn’t have been more different in appearance, but they seemed to hit it off. Daiyu said something, Justin or Dustin bowed his head closer to hear her, and then laughing, the pair started toward the balcony and the fully stocked—but non-alcoholic—bar.
“I don’t know how she does it,” Faith said, staring past Daiyu and fixing her gaze on the view of the Hollywood Hills. “She can get any guy she wants.”
“And you can’t?” Zander asked skeptically.
“No. I can’t. Things start out okay, but then I just lose interest. I don’t want to settle for someone who doesn’t have that spark.”
“What spark?”
“You know what spark,” she said. “That thing that makes you eager and impatient and breathless knowing that you’re going to see him or be with him. It’s what brings everything else about him into full Technicolor. It’s—”
“I know what you mean,” he said. “I’ve been missing that spark, too.”
“You seemed to like Kiki Langlois’s spark,” Faith said.
“Kiki…Hell, Faith, I dated her two years ago. Once. How do you know about her?”
“I work for Personality! ,” Faith said by way of explanation. “The research department dug up photos of you going back to your first public appearance with Brent Baxter.”
“He’s the one who set up the date with Kiki,” Zander said. “He thought it would be good exposure for me.”
“Exposure is right.” Faith snorted. “She wore a top made of cellophane and latex. And she was hanging all over you.”
“Kiki has a thing for brooding, blue-eyed men, or so she says.”
“Do you have a thing for ex-supermodels?”
“My thing prefers ex-cheerleaders,” he answered, his voice low.
Faith’s mouth went dry, but she maintained her unruffled exterior. “It won’t work, Zander.”
“What?”
“Your charm. I’m not going to fall for it, so give it up.”
“Look, I came over here to keep Harley and the rest of his boys from trying to turn you into their party favor.” He took a step back, his hands raised in surrender. “I don’t have an ulterior motive.”
Faith was tempted to believe him even though he hadn’t looked her in the eye when he denied having a hidden agenda. “I can handle myself just fine,” she insisted. “I don’t need rescuing anymore.”
“I brought some entertainment to hold us over until the Fleiss girls show up,” one of the guests said, opening a silver attaché case on the low table before the sofa. “I got Good Will Humping, Bravehump, Raiders of the Lost Hump, White Men Can’t Hump, Humpleberry Finn —”
“I’m startin’ to see a pattern here,” laughed a man in a business suit. Faith recognized him as the co-founder and executive producer of a new studio called Swirl Productions.
“— Great Sexpectations, Pulp Friction —”
“Just pick one!” someone hollered.
“— Frisky Business, Gonad the Barbarian, Guess Who Came at Dinner —”
“Put on a dang DVD already!” Harley laughed.
One of the guests aimed a remote control at the fifty-inch plasma television and powered the set on. After slipping a disc into the DVD player, he resumed his seat on one of the ottomans. Harley and his friends cheered when the opening credits rolled.
Faith folded her arms over her chest and lifted her chin in a stubborn tilt Zander knew well. “If your agent thinks that this juvenile display of male foolishness is an equal trade for your story, he’s got a whole other think coming.”
Zander took her arm and walked her to the powder room off the living room. “Could you lower your voice?”
She yanked her arm free and set her hands on her hips. “Something newsworthy better happen soon, or I’m running with the piece I’ve already started working on.”
Glowering, Zander started to argue with her, but loud, persistent
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