Her Red-Carpet Romance

by Marie Ferrarella

  “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 himsel
f 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.”

  He didn’t want her to feel embarrassed. If anything, Lukkas felt touched that she’d let him into her world. “Easy. You needed someone to talk to and I just said something to trigger the release. Don’t worry about it,” he assured her. “As a matter of fact, I kind of like the fact that you felt you could confide in me.” When she rolled her eyes in response, he went a step further. “No, really. I think I needed that to remind me just how good I have it.”

  Glancing down at the table, Lukkas saw that she had finished her meal. That made two of them.

  “Would you like any dessert?” he asked and then offered, “I can have the waitress bring back the menu.”

  “I would love dessert,” Yohanna responded with feeling, then quickly held up her hand to stop him from waving over their waitress. “But I’d have to wear it. I’m so full, I couldn’t fit in another bite—really,” she protested.

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “We could get it to go.” Lukkas saw an impish smile, which totally charmed him. He wondered if she knew that when she smiled like that, she was really hard to resist. “What?”

  “I could have it for breakfast.” She realized she probably wasn’t making any sense to him, so she elaborated, “When I was a kid, I always thought having cake for breakfast was a dream come true. My mother, of course, had other thoughts on the matter. Not to mention that she was very militant about not consuming too much sugar or too many calories. She told me that no man would want to marry me if I looked like the Goodyear Blimp.

  “What are you doing?” she asked when he raised his hand to catch the waitress’s eye.

  “Making a dream come true,” he told her simply. “And also asking for the check.”

  When the waitress came to their table a couple of minutes later he said to her, “We’d like to see the dessert menu, please.”

  “Right away.” The waitress plucked a menu from one of the other waitresses walking by. The other woman was carrying several to the reservation desk.

  When she offered the menu to Lukkas, he nodded at Hanna. “It’s for her.”

  “No, really—” Yohanna began to beg off, waving away the menu.

  “What kind of cake do you have?” he asked the waitress.

  She rattled off four different kinds. When she came to vanilla with pecan sauce, Lukkas noticed a spark in Hanna’s eyes. He had his answer.

  “She’ll take that one,” he told the waitress. “Make it to go. Wait, make that two slices to go,” Lukkas amended. He saw the quizzical way Hanna looked at him. “Hey, I like cake, too.”

  “You really didn’t have to do that,” Yohanna told him after the waitress left to prepare the desserts for transport.

  “Sure I did,” he argued amicably. “After all, how often does a man get a chance to make a little girl’s dream come true?”

  She had no answer for that. She could only smile. She was ser
iously beginning to understand that if there was one thing that Lukkas Spader could do, it was make dreams come true.

  For big girls as well as for little ones.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lukkas didn’t need to look at a calendar.

  He knew.

  The very date had been burned into his brain, into his heart, since that horrible day three years ago.

  Three years.

  One thousand ninety-five days ago, his world had ended.

  Part of him had desperately hoped that he would find a way to just move on, to block the numbing feelings of loss out of his awareness. For the most part, he’d succeeded.

  There were whole chunks of time that he could function without those horrific feelings suddenly ambushing him, destroying everything in its path but the terrible memory of those first few hours, those first few days, where nothing, especially his existence, made any sense. Those first few days when he couldn’t quite understand how he could go on breathing in a world without Natalie in it.

  As time went by, the ambushes occurred less frequently. He found a way to function, to be useful. To even continue building his career.

  But on the anniversary of his wife’s death, it had all come crashing back with a vengeance that first year—and then again the second year.

  This year was no exception.

  Lukkas could feel himself shutting down even as he struggled not to let it happen.

  This year, in an attempt to keep his feelings of loss at bay, Lukkas completely surrounded himself with work—or thought he did.

  But because of Yohanna’s efficiency, everything was moving so smoothly, he didn’t even need to be out on location at this moment. Wasn’t really needed anywhere.

  Without these artificial roadblocks in place, the grief easily found him.

  That morning, Yohanna saw the difference in Lukkas’s deportment immediately. There had always been that slight hint of sadness in his eyes. She’d noticed it the very first day when she had interviewed for her job. However, it had been subdued. Today, that aura of sadness seemed to have created some sort of invisible, impenetrable force field around him.