Her Red-Carpet Romance (13 page)

Great. You keep talking and you'll really convince him that you're a blithering idiot.

“The usual way,” he told her. Then, seeing that she was still at a loss as to what had happened, he elaborated, “I sent out my location scout. Hank usually knows just what I have in mind and he's pretty good about nailing down what I'm looking for.

“We were lucky this place was here,” he admitted. “But even if it hadn't been, I would have had sets built on the studio's back lot. With the wonder of CGI available these days, almost anything can be dressed up to look like what you have in mind.”

She saw a basic contradiction in that. “If that's what you think, why bother with a location scout?” She would have thought that going with computer-generated imagery first would eliminate the hunt for a perfect location.

Her question brought a smile to his lips. “Because like a lot of people, I like the real thing rather than having to deal with a fake—or worse, dealing with nothing at all, having to pretend that it's there. A lot of actors don't act so much as they ‘react.' Having an actual location helps them with that part,” he concluded. “Make sense?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

He could see right through her. “You'd say that even if it didn't, wouldn't you?”

“I'm not on the clock right now,” she reminded him. “I don't have to answer that.”

He grinned. Her nonanswer
was
an answer. “You just did,” he told her.

Ignoring that, she took a different direction. “Why this story? This picture?”

“Why all these questions?” he asked. “Are you planning on putting out a book about working on this film after we wrap up?”

“You mean like an exposé?” she asked.

“That's exactly what I mean.” Had he misjudged her? Was she someone who ultimately gave her allegiance to the man or woman on top, everyone else be damned?

He didn't like entertaining that thought.

“I'm just being curious, that's all,” Yohanna admitted. “If you don't want to answer my question, that's okay.”

“Who said I didn't want to answer?” he asked. “I was just curious why you wanted to know, that's all. But to answer your question, I've always loved Westerns—what little boy growing up in Texas doesn't?” he challenged, prepared to listen if Yohanna had a contradictory piece of information. But she didn't. If anything, she looked as if she agreed with him. “Anyway, I had so much fun making my first Western a couple of years ago, I decided to do it again.”

“Hoping that lightning will strike again?”

It was a referral to the fact that he had won his first film award for the Western he'd just mentioned.

“I'd be lying if I said that it hadn't crossed my mind. But I'm not backing this movie because I'm actively hoping for another award or even another nomination. I'm making this film because I like the story and I believe it'll make a good movie.

“Besides, I really do enjoy the whole process, every step of the way. Especially when I have someone exceedingly competent I can rely on working for me.” He could see that her inherent modesty wasn't allowing her to realize he was referring to her.

“In case I'm being too vague about the matter, I'm talking about you, Hanna,” he told her, and then got a kick out of the surprised expression on her face. “You're a godsend and I intend to send Theresa Manetti
all
my catering business from here on in.”

She'd already made the connection between Cecilia and Theresa. As far as she was concerned, she owed the latter a debt herself. “I'm sure that'll make her very happy.”

Seeing that the waitress was heading in their direction with a large tray, Yohanna quickly cleared the table, stacking the small bread plates on the cutting board. The waitress arrived at their table and distributed the two plates. Since their orders were identical, there was no effort necessary to match the customer with the proper order.

The young woman looked from Lukkas to the woman sitting opposite him.

“Please be careful when you're touching the plates. They're very hot. Should you burn your hand anyway, just ask for me. I've always got something with me to take the pain away.”

“Prescription drugs?” he asked, not quite able to cast her in the role of someone who distributed drugs, however innocuously.

“Over-the-counter spray,” she corrected. “Where would I get prescription drugs?” she asked.

“No clue,” he answered, and then confessed, “That was just a wild guess on my part.”

Yohanna focused on the conversation. She'd first thought of Lukkas as being exceedingly closemouthed, but she now realized that he only spoke to someone on a regular basis if he considered that person worth the effort.

She promised herself that he would
always
find her worth the effort he put in.

 

Chapter Thirteen

“I
want you to know that I appreciate everything that you've done.”

They were halfway through the meal when, out of the blue, Lukkas said that to her.

Yohanna felt her nerves kick up a notch.

This was the way her last boss had begun the last conversation they'd ever had, the one about how her position had been terminated—as had she.

Taking a deep breath, she told herself that this time around she wasn't going to just be a stunned victim who disappeared quietly. This time, if she was being terminated, she would go on her own terms and with dignity.

“But...?” she challenged, waiting for the second shoe—or cowboy boot in this case—to fall.

“But?” Lukkas repeated quizzically, as if he had no idea where the word was coming from.

“Yes, but...” Since he still wasn't saying anything, she filled in the blanks for him. “You've been very happy with my work, but now I have to go.”

“You do?” he asked, clearly confused since this was apparently the first time he'd heard this. “Is it something I did?”

Yohanna stared at him. Why was he toying with her? That wasn't like the man she'd come to know.

“Well, yes. You're the one terminating me.”

Caught completely off guard, he put down his knife and fork. “Wait—what? I know I made a movie about parallel universes, but I really don't believe in them and I
know
I didn't just terminate you in this life.”

Now it was her turn to be confused. “Weren't you just leading up to that? You've been happy with my work up until now, but since I did such a good job organizing things for you, you're all set and no longer need my services.”

Lukkas slowly shook his head, as if to clear it of cobwebs. “Unless I'm a victim of some kind of new strain of amnesia, I didn't say any of that.”

“Yes, you did,” she insisted, and then conceded, “Okay, maybe not in so many words—”

“Not in any words,” Lukkas told her, cutting in.

A glimmer of hope began to raise its head. “Then, what
were
you saying?” she asked.

She was partially relieved and yet afraid to go that route in case her premonition turned out to be right. She'd been blindsided once and it had really upset her, but this time around, it would do more than that. It would hurt.

Badly.

“I thought I said it,” Lukkas told her. Since there was a difference of opinion on that, he relented and said, “Well, at least part of it.”

“Say it again—” Yohanna urged. “So we're both clear on it.”

He paused for a moment, as if recreating the moment for himself. “I said that I just wanted you to know that I appreciate everything that you've done.”

She waited. When there was no follow-up, she asked. “And that was it?”

“No,” he admitted.

Okay, here it came, she thought. “Okay, go ahead,” she urged, resigned to having the next words turn out not to her liking.

“I was going to say that I knew talk, even praise, was cheap and I wanted to show you that I was sincere by offering you a raise.”

“A raise?” It took effort to keep her jaw from dropping into her lap. “As in money?” she asked him, rather stunned.

“No, a raise as in my levitating you. Yes, of course, as in money,” he told her. “Like it or not, money's the fastest way of communicating approval and pleasure, just like withholding it communicates disapproval. The latter, by the way, has nothing to do with you,” he assured her.

With the threat of her just walking out on him over, he resumed eating. “When Janice—your predecessor—left, I was certain I was never going to find anyone to take her place. She was
that
good.

“You, however, not only took her place,” he continued, “you have surpassed her, something I never thought would be humanly possible. Janice was on top of
everything
, handling things as they came up. You seem to be able to anticipate what's going to happen, and you do it all effortlessly.

“I just wanted you to know that I might not say anything at the time, but I'm aware of what you're doing and I'm really very impressed with it all. The raise is my way of trying to keep you.”

“Keep me?” Did he think she was going to leave? Where had he gotten
that
idea? “I'm not about to go anywhere,” she assured him. “I really like this job.” When she'd taken it, she hadn't realized just how much she
would
like it.

“Word's going to get out about your efficiency and your effortless juggling act,” he told her. It would be just a matter of time before it happened—that much he knew. “There'll be people who will try to steal you away from me by making you lucrative offers and upping the ante. I just want you to promise me that when that happens, not if, but
when
—” he stopped her before she could argue the point “—you'll come to me and give me a chance to match the offer—or top it,” he added, thinking that might be more of an incentive to make her remain in his employ.

His eyes pinned hers and he asked, “So do we have a deal?”

She put her hand out to him to seal the bargain. “Absolutely,” she promised as Lukkas took her hand and shook it directly over what was left on their plates. “But I think you're talking about something that isn't going to happen.”

His opinion differed from hers—and he had experience on his side. “This is a very cutthroat business, Hanna. You'd be surprised what people are capable of just to get slightly ahead of the ‘other guy.' Just remember, if there's anything I can do to make things easier for you, all you have to do is tell me.”

“Well, there is one thing I can think of right off the bat,” she told him, her expression solemn and giving nothing away.

“Name it,” he urged.

Her mouth began to show just the slightest hint of a curve. “You could let go of my hand,” she told him. “I need it to cut into the second enchilada.”

Embarrassed, he flushed. “Oh, sorry.”

Her hand had felt so right in his that just for a moment, he'd forgotten he was holding it. The second she said something, he realized he was holding on to her hand like some love-smitten fool and he immediately let it go.

He was reacting to Hanna.

Reacting to her not as an incredibly capable assistant—and quite simply the answer to his prayers—but as a woman.

It had been unconscious on his part.

He had ceased to think of himself as a man, with a man's basic needs, the moment he'd heard of his wife's death. He had been convinced then—and now—that that part of him had shut down, completely and irrevocably, and somewhere along the line, that part of him had just withered away and died.

In his work he was constantly surrounded by countless attractive women of all ages, many of whom thought nothing of using their physical attributes to get ahead.

That sort of thing didn't work with him. He hadn't been tempted, not even one single time. He saw them, noted the “special” assets they brought to the interaction and felt absolutely
nothing
. There hadn't even been any latent stirrings.

For almost three years now he'd viewed situations and women in his capacity as a producer, as someone who knew the benefit of giving the public what they wanted—and the public
always
wanted a young, sexy actress to look at.

But as far as that being something that
he
wanted for himself? That never once even entered into the picture. He felt he was no longer attracted
that
way to women, no matter how sexy or how beautiful.

Until Hanna had come into his life.

Because this live wire of a woman
did
stir things within him that had nothing to do with producing a movie, nothing to do with the hectic agenda he maintained, and everything to do with the inner man he'd just assumed had atrophied from grief.

He was making this pitch to keep her faithful to his company—in effect, to him—because in addition to seeing her as an asset of the highest quality, he simply didn't want to lose
her.
Not just the dynamo of an assistant, not the woman who could keep all those balls successfully in the air, but he didn't want to lose Hanna. Period.

Feeling that way scared the hell out of him for so many reasons. It scared him because he knew what happened when a person became attached to another human being. That sort of a connection left him open to a world of pain if that association should terminate—abruptly or otherwise—for any of a number of reasons.

There was also the problem of guilt.

Guilt because he was going on with his life and Natalie no longer had a life to go on with. Having feelings for someone other than his wife seemed somehow unfaithful, disloyal to her memory.

Natalie deserved better than that.

“Is everything all right?” Yohanna asked him.

Lukkas roused himself and did his best to look as if he hadn't been miles away, lost in thought just now.

“Yes. Why?”

She shrugged, as if she thought perhaps she
had
been overreacting. “You had this very faraway look on your face just now.”

“Just thinking about tomorrow's filming,” he lied smoothly. Or so he thought.

“Tomorrow's filming,” Yohanna repeated, then recited the latest schedule for filming the day after Halloween. “They're doing scene sixteen and scene thirty and the assistant director is doing some secondary background shots of the corral where the gunfight is supposed to take place.”

Lukkas could only shake his head in wonder, not to mention in complete admiration. “Like I said, you're absolutely amazing.”

She hardly heard the compliment, honing in on the sadness she'd glimpsed in his eyes for an unguarded moment just a minute ago. She was willing to bet that Lukkas hadn't even remotely been thinking about the next day's shooting schedule. Something else was on his mind, something far more personal.

“Listen,” she began haltingly, “I might be out of line here...”

“Go on,” he told her quietly.

She took another breath, wondering if she shouldn't have said anything, then decided it wasn't in her to turn a blind eye to someone else's pain—especially if that someone else mattered to her as much as Lukkas did.

“But if you ever...you know, need to talk to someone about...anything,” she finally said, “I'm a pretty good listener.” And then she added with what she hoped was a convincing smile, “Two ears, no waiting.”

Not that he planned to tell her anything, but it was nice to know someone cared enough to offer help of a sort.

“I appreciate the offer,” he told her. “But the fastest way to lose a friend is to burden them with having to listen to someone go on about things that don't matter to anyone else but them.”

“Funny, I was thinking just the opposite,” Yohanna told him. “Sharing concerns, things that worry you, that's the ultimate sign of trust, not to mention that something like that promotes bonding.”

“Okay, I'll keep that in mind,” he told her. Finished with his meal, he set his knife and fork down on his empty plate.

“And in case you forgot this part, it works two ways,” he pointed out. “If you ever need to unload, say, about a boyfriend who feels as if you're spending way too much time at work,” he elaborated with a smile, “I'm here.”

“I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you,” she advised.

“You don't believe in complaining?” he asked, curious.

“It's not that,” she told him. “I don't have anything to complain about, at least, not in that department.”

He took a sip of water to clear his throat. “Let me guess, your boyfriend's perfect?”

“My ‘boyfriend' is nonexistent,” Yohanna corrected glibly.

Lukkas looked at her, rather surprised. When she'd first come to work for him, she'd said there was no boyfriend in her life. He'd just assumed, as the weeks went by, that that was no longer the case. To find out that he'd assumed incorrectly...well, that pleased him. Pleased him a great deal.

“You don't have a boyfriend?” he asked with an air of disbelief.

Yohanna closed her eyes for a second, desperately trying to ward off a feeling of déjà vu.

“Please don't sound like my mother,” she all but begged. “That's her recurring theme. Except that she says that exact same sentence in a much higher voice—almost a screech. That's usually followed by her telling me that her best friend's dermatologist's cousin's son is going to be calling me and I should say yes when he asks me out because, after all, I'm not getting any younger.”

Lukkas didn't bother trying to stifle his laugh. “That's very funny.”

“Not when you're on the receiving end of the conversation. Trust me on that,” she added with more than a little feeling.

Lukkas stopped laughing and looked at her in surprise. “You're serious?”

She nodded. “I only wish I wasn't. I think my mother had posters made up of my high school graduation picture with the caption ‘Please date me' written across the bottom. The only saving grace is that the last line has a disclaimer that reads ‘Serial killers need not apply.'

“My mother
really
wants grandchildren,” Yohanna explained. “All her friends have at least one, if not more. My mother desperately wants to be able to brag about a granddaughter or grandson.” There was pity in her voice as she continued, “She feels I've failed her—and she makes sure that I'm aware of that every time she calls me.”

As if aware of what she was saying—and to whom—Yohanna raised her eyes to his. “Wait, how did my offer to be your sounding board turn into my crying on your shoulder?” Embarrassed and aware that she had crossed a line, Yohanna flushed. “I'm sorry. I'm not really sure what just happened here.”