Page 34 of Smartasses
And you blame her for that, Mr. Asshole?
The director shook her head in sympathy. “And you don’t know where that is.”
“I do.” One flight and a short drive in a rental car away.
Allyson stared at him for a second as if waiting for more, then she shrugged and stabbed her salad with her fork. “But she was just some woman on a cruise, so it doesn’t matter.” She pointed the pierced iceberg lettuce on her fork at him. “You’ll remember her fondly, and that’s that.”
The conversation moved on, and Carter ate his entire hot fudge sundae without tasting it at all as he moved through the brunch while in a haze saying all the right things at the right times.
“Oh, one more thing.” Allyson flipped through the script’s pages as she got up from her chair and then pushed the script across the table to him. “You might want to look at this. Really think about where the character is at this point and why he needs to make this move.”
He glanced down at the page. “What scene is it?”
“The grand gesture, when he fights for what and who he really wants.”
“You trying to tell me something?” Even he wasn’t dense enough to miss that.
She lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “Only that you have a week before shooting starts, and I suggest you spend it doing something that really matters.” She did that Hollywood thing of kissing him on the cheek instead of saying goodbye. “For research purposes, of course.”
Then she winked at him and walked out of the restaurant. He stood there for a second, uncertainty making his palms sweat. Then he caught sight of the blonde in his peripheral vision again, and for half a second—even though he knew better—he thought it was Aubrey. Fuck. He’d be doing that for the rest of his life if he didn’t make good on this moment. Allyson was right. It was time to go do some research. Carter was on his phone and making flight reservations before he hit the door.
