“If it helps any, I got all tingly hearing you speak French,” she finally said.
He smiled for real again. “I got fluent between movies. In, you know, my downtime. It was useful in Cannes. I can do something French to you later, if you’d like,” he suggested politely. With a wicked glint in his eye.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
They gave a start when the maître d’ materialized next to them.
“Monsieur McCord,” the maître d’ stage-whispered. “Mademoiselle. This way,s’il vous plaît.”
They were ushered swiftly by a phalanx of waitstaff through the dark, dreamily lit, white-tableclothed restaurant and installed at a table in the back of a room that was apparently deemed slightly more private. To get there they needed to sweep through the main room, and every single head whipped toward them, craning, both because of the hushed commotion and because one glance at J. T. was all it took to surmise that he was a VIP.
“I was the homecoming queen a thousand years ago, but that was nothing compared to this,” Britt murmured.
“Damn. The homecoming queen? I’ve really come up in the world,” he teased.
And then they were installed at their table, and J. T. ordered a bottle of wine, which was produced for them with lightning speed, and they sipped and were quiet.
J. T. fussed briefly with his napkin.
The easy rhythm of the day stuttered.
And Britt wondered if they would have been better off just keeping their little fling in the safe-ish confines of Hellcat Canyon.
“It’s funny, but I feel a little out of practice. It’s like switching gears. For a time in my life, paparazzi were everywhere. Like mosquitoes. You kind of just plowed through, maybe swatted a little bit.”
He smiled a little tautly here.
“I read about your swatting.”
“Ah, Wikipedia is so useful.Reallynot proud of that,” he said shortly.
“My impulse would be to swat them away from you.”
She said that before she could think it through.
He smiled. “I knew you were fierce, Britt Langley,” he said approvingly. “I kind of feel obliged to show fans my best self, or a dazzling self, so they don’t feel hurt or slighted. I’m sorry if it’s weird.”
Itwasa little weird.
“I get it. It’s part of your job. It’s not really the same thing, of course, but my dad was in sales. I watched him switch charm on and off. It wasn’t so much a different persona as an amplified one.”
“An amplified persona,” he quoted slowly. “You are one smart cookie, Britt. I’ve never heard it put that way. What did your dad sell?”
“Insurance.”
“In Southern California?”
“Irvine.”
“What about the rest of your family?”
“Well, my sister’s—”
“Mr.McCord...” The voice came from behind J. T. and both he and Britt gave a start. A skinny teenage busboy had crept up to the table. His voice was shaking. “I’m so very sorry to interrupt... it would mean everything if you would sign... I can’t tell you what a huge fan my mother is of...”
J. T.’s smile switched on, and the charm enveloped the skinny kid in warmth and ease and he swiftly signed his name on the proffered notepad with the ballpoint.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mr.McCord! Gosh... I hate to ask... if could just...” He held up his phone.