Tall Dark & Handsome

by Wilde, Amelia

  Juno laughs sincerely then, her shoulders relaxing. “You’re something else.”

  “I really am.”

  She shakes her head. “I hate this, you know.”

  “Hate what? Being entrapped by yours truly?”

  “I’m not entrapped. I could—well, I couldn’t get out of the car right now, but if I really had to—”

  “I have no doubt you could pull some sweet action movie tuck and roll and survive.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Definitely.”

  She turns to look at me, and out the corner of my eye, I watch those green eyes studying my face. “What is this, really? Is this for the extra features?”

  “If you think I asked a camera crew to come with us, you are dead wrong.”

  “So... you’re not trying to become friends with me for bonus footage purposes?”

  I take my eyes off the road for a long heartbeat, just because that’s the most insane thing anyone’s said to me in quite a while. “I don’t imagine it’s that easy to become friends with you.”

  Juno nods at that assessment. “It’s not that easy.” She turns back to look out the windshield at the road zipping by. “At least, not for most people.”

  “Damn,” I say under my breath.

  “What?”

  “It’s like you’re baiting me. All these little tidbits about you. What are you hiding, Juno Anderson?”

  “I don’t know,” she shoots back. “What are you trying to find?” Just like that, in the space of an instant, her shield is back up, the smile gone from her face, utter seriousness in its place. The core of me thrills at the challenge. I’ve seen her in a towel now. I’ve seen her lose it, just a little bit, on the film set. And I want to see more. I will see more.

  I reach between us and tap one finger on her forehead. “Are you real, or are you a filmmaking robot?”

  Juno lets out a bark of a laughter. “My God. I seem that way, don’t I?”

  “Yes. Totally. But you did agree to come have a beer with me, so that’s a point in the human column.”

  “Ugh. But human decisions are always the worst ones.”

  “That’s what makes them so much fun.” I steer us off the highway and point across the intersection. “Oh, look—we’re here.”

  Juno takes in a sharp breath. “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m deadly serious. Brace yourself.”

  “There is just no way I can—”

  “Too late.” I pull into the parking lot and turn off the car. “We’re past the point of no return.”

  * * *

  Juno buries herself behind the menu at the Big Dipper, which is hilariously the fanciest restaurant for thirty minutes in any direction. There’s not that much reading material on the narrow sheet of cardstock, so after several minutes, I tap on the edge of the paper. “You ready to come on out?”

  She slaps the paper down on the table and looks me in the eye. “This place is crazy,” she says in a hushed voice. “I thought we were going to a bar.”

  “You dressed up like that to go to a local dive?”

  “I dressed up like this to go to a... meeting. With a member of the cast. To... settle a debt.”

  “Debt or no, you have to eat, don’t you?”

  “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I am a robot. I never have to eat.”

  I put my own menu down with a little flourish, and Juno curls her lip. “I’m ordering enough for two anyway.”

  “Food wasn’t part of the deal.”

  “It wasn’t not part of the deal, and—”

  Juno’s stomach growls loudly enough to interrupt the conversation. Her rigid posture slumps, and she covers her face with her hands. “I am in a nightmare,” she intones, then takes her hands away. “Don’t pinch me, for God’s sake.”

  I lean back in my seat. “I’m only here so you can settle your debt.”

  “We can do that silently, right?”

  “Not a chance.” Not a chance, because now that I’ve got her at this restaurant, away from everybody else, I want to crash through the walls she’s thrown up around herself. Or at least get the lay of the land, find out how high they’re built. I can’t help wanting it, for various reasons I’m sure she’ll never ask about.

  Juno folds her hands on top of the menu. “We’ll keep all discussion topics professional then.”

  “Okay.” The waitress makes her appearance, and I order an assortment of meats and fruits that will come in individual pots, along with sauces and cheese meant to compliment each one. Juno doesn’t seem too bothered by this—it’s really the only thing on the menu to order—so she’s not losing any ground by letting me take the lead. I turn back. “What, professionally, makes you such a fierce director?”

  She screws up her mouth. “Years of practice.”

  “Practice?”

  “Fighting, really.”

  She’s too attractive for that. Plain and simple. The fact that I’ve got a nice face saved me from real homelessness more than once. Juno’s expression has gone thoughtful and open, and as much as I want to lean in, to pull her toward me, this is the time to tread carefully. “Who would fight against you?”

  Juno lifts her water glass to her lips and drinks. “I don’t know that people have been fighting against me, so much as they fight to maintain the status quo.”

  “How do you mean?”

  She flashes a knowing smile at me. “You think I was the studio’s first choice to direct a military movie?”

  “Hell yes I do.”

  “Then you are so naïve, young grasshopper.” She wrinkles her nose. “Their favorites were booked this time around, and I was persistently obnoxious.”

  I pretend to be shocked. “You, obnoxious?”

  “I know, right?” She glances down at the table. I can tell it must sting a little, even as a joke.

  “I don’t really think you’re obnoxious,” I tell her, and she lifts her eyes to mine. My breath hitches at the sight of them. “I think you’re...” I search for a word that’s not going to have her running out of the restaurant. “...guarded.”

  “Yeah.” Juno straightens her back and looks around for the waiter. “I’m pretty guarded. I never let stuff like the other day happen. That’s not me.”

  We’re on shaky ground here, but she offered it up, so... “What happened? Just an attack of the nerves?”

  “I guess. With everybody standing there, looking at me, I really… I really felt it.”

  I wait.

  “All the pressure. I can handle it, you know. I directed huge student productions in college. We did some pretty serious documentaries before I got an entry-level job at the studio. But for whatever reason, that morning, all of it….” She shakes her head.

  “Pressed down on you, like a wet blanket.”

  “Apt. Very apt.” She pronounces the t with a sharp click. “And there you were, the conquering hero.”

  “Conquered that situation.”

  “You did.”

  “Did I earn it, then?”

  Juno narrows her eyes. “Earn what?”

  “A non-professional question.”

  She takes her time considering this, her eyebrows rising. “Fine. One personal question, if only so we can pretend to be acquaintances when they film the extra features.”

  My fingertips tingle with the victory. This is it. This is the moment everything changes between us, if I play my cards right. It doesn’t matter to me that I’m not entirely sure what success looks like. To make her laugh—a real laugh? To see her in that towel again? Shit. I can’t think about the towel right now, about the rise of her breasts above that fluffy white line. Even the most glancing thought has me hard enough to need a subtle adjustment under the table.

  “Lot of pressure here.” I give her The Smile, and this time, I’ve caught her. She reacts, flicking her eyes down to the tablecloth and back up to mine, a little grin curving the corners of her lips. “If I really only get one question.”


  “I don’t think…” Juno swallows hard. “I don’t think we should negotiate that until you’ve asked the first one.”

  I steeple my fingers under my chin and look at her. She’s really something else, all gentle curves leading into toned muscles, like she’s truly ready for a boxing match. The non-professional questions coming to mind are filthy. Dirty.

  Juno wraps her elegant fingers around the stem of her water glass and lifts it to her mouth.

  That’s when I strike.

  “Do you always follow the rules—”

  “Of course I always follow the rules, as much as I can—” Mid-sentence, she takes another sip of her water.

  “—in bed?” I finish.

  Juno spits the water all over the tablecloth.

  10

  Juno

  “Oh my God,” I gasp, grabbing for my cloth napkin. For the second time in a week, all eyes are on me while I make a royal fool of myself. Cannon, that asshole, has his fingers pressed to the sides of his nose, and he is laughing, his body shaking as he tries to contain himself. “I can’t believe you asked that. I am your boss.”

  “Technically…” He chokes out the word. “Technically, the studio is my boss, and you’re a colleague.”

  “Do you think I won’t march right back to the hotel right now and tell them you’re an insufferable—”

  “I don’t think that.” He pokes a finger at me across the table. “For one thing, I drove us here. For another, I think you liked that question.”

  “What would make you think I liked that question?”

  The grin playing around his lips softens into something sensual and smooth, and heat blooms across my cheeks. “The look on your face right now.”

  “I’m…” I bite my lip. “I’m not blushing because I liked it; I’m blushing, because you are a mortifying individual who—”

  Cannon takes the napkin out of my hand and presses it into the tablecloth, with firm, decisive motions that make me feel utterly helpless. I don’t entirely hate it, but I do hate it enough that my cheeks get hotter. Yes. This is going extremely well.

  He presents the napkin to me and leans back in his seat, eyes shining. “Go on.”

  “Who... asks really unprofessional questions.”

  “That was the point.”

  “You nailed it.”

  He presses his lips together, and I am certain he’s about to make another half-dirty joke, and to my complete horror, I... want that to happen. I’m already shocked that Cannon is an actual person with a sense of humor and not just a sexy puppet for movie studios looking to make a quick buck on a hot guy. And the way he looks at me...

  Nobody’s looked at me like that for a long time. No. Nobody’s looked at me like that. Ever. I’ve always been the weird girl who was too into the movies, too into spending time in the editing bay at school, and guys like Cannon Hunt—not that there were any guys exactly like Cannon Hunt at school, but if there had been—didn’t give me the time of day.

  Not that I’d have taken the time of day from them, either. I’ve always looked down on them, always curled my lip into a scowl at how stupid and vapid they were.

  “So?”

  I don’t dare take another sip of my water.

  “So what?” Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the waitress approaching, her tray laden with small silver pots and, blessedly, alcohol.

  “Do you follow the rules in bed or not?”

  Something comes over me, and I don’t know if it’s hunger, or the heat stroke from earlier, or the fact we’re in the most ridiculous fancy restaurant I’ve ever been inside in my life. Maybe it’s the playful heat in Cannon’s eyes. I don’t know.

  Here’s what I do know:

  One more step, and I’ll be firmly over the edge into a familiarity that I should not allow. Not under any circumstances, but especially not under these, when he’s the star of the biggest movie of my career. This could make or break me.

  To hell with it. I’m going to let it.

  I look him squarely in the eye.

  “There’s only one way to find out.”

  * * *

  Oh, it’s so wrong. It’s so, so wrong, the way Cannon and I are talking to each other. Past Juno would be disgusted that I’m being so casual with him. She would be appalled I’ve let my guard down like this. But screw her. I can always put it back up, and I will, the very moment this date—this business dinner—is over.

  “I knew I had to do it when I saw the script,” I say around a mouthful of delicately cooked beef that I’ve expertly swirled in a dipping dish of a peppercorn sauce I could eat for months. Years, maybe. “I had to make this movie. I got that feeling.”

  “The same thing happened to me when I got the call for my first movie.”

  “Which was?”

  “Beach Babe’s Boyfriend.”

  I don’t do another spit take, but it’s a near thing. “That sounds like porn.”

  “I’d have done it.” Cannon takes a portion of vegetables from the side dish and puts it on his plate then spears a carrot with his fork. “I was living out of my car then.”

  This is new information. Of all the things Tessa has imparted to me about Cannon—that he is six feet, three inches tall, that he has no siblings, that he’s Hollywood’s current golden boy—she never mentioned this. “Are you serious? You lived in a car.”

  Cannon nods slowly. “Yeah. For... a longer amount of time than I’d like to admit.”

  “Why?” I’m slightly buzzed, on my second glass of wine, though Cannon is still nursing his first beer, which was served in a high-quality frosted mug. Everything about this place is so over-the-top. “I mean, how’d you get in that situation? I never thought… well, looking at you, I thought you—”

  “You thought I was one of those child actors whose parents paid for expensive camps and spots in commercials, and that I’ve always had it easy.” He sighs dramatically. “That’s about par for the course.”

  “Wow.” I take another bite of beef. “Maybe you’re not as one-dimensional as I thought.”

  “Not as one-dimensional as I thought,” echoes Cannon. “Coming from you, that’s a pretty high compliment.”

  “What was I supposed to think? After all those movies....” I trail off, unable to finish the sentence. I’ve been looking down my nose at Cannon’s entire backlist for so long that it’s hard to turn off the scorn, which cannot be attractive. “I just assumed you preferred less... meaty roles.”

  “Oh, there was plenty of meat involved.” Cannon shoots me a smoldering look that makes me laugh at the same time it tugs at something down low, between my legs. “Though not necessarily on set.”

  “Ah-ha.” I brandish my fork at him. “I knew you were that kind of actor.”

  He raises one eyebrow. “The kind who likes to have a little fun after a grueling shoot?”

  “The kind who’s a total manwhore.”

  Cannon shakes his head. “My girlfriend traveled with me for a few consecutive shoots. Then that was over.”

  “What, she couldn’t handle your stardom?”

  “She didn’t like the crazy schedule and the constant changes in plans.” Cannon’s voice is casual, but there’s a note of hurt there that makes my brittle, frozen heart squeeze. “There was no gesture big enough for her. Nothing that could outweigh the fact that I was always, always busy.”

  God help me, I’m curious. I’m so morbidly, terribly curious about who this woman was who got to sleep with Cannon Hunt. Who got to follow him from place to place and bathe in the warmth of his gaze. I’m curious and a little tipsy, and it’s loosened my tongue. “Was she in the industry?”

  I brace myself for the big reveal. I’ve never followed celebrity news like this, so it’s possible I’m about to be blindsided by Cannon’s ex being someone huge.

  “No,” he says simply. “She was just... someone I knew from before.”

  “Oh.”

  “Are you disappointed?” he asks, as the waitress a
ppears at Cannon’s side, and he hands her a credit card before she can lay down the bill. I didn’t even see him take out his wallet. Fucking smooth. “I bet you thought it would be Blake Lively.”

  It makes me laugh. “She’s married.”

  “She’s married now,” he says with a lift of his eyebrows.

  “Okay, my turn.”

  “For?”

  “A question.”

  “Go ahead. Unlike you, I’m an open book.” He leans back in his seat, hands behind his head, and studies me.

  “This is… this is totally inappropriate, and probably unprofessional, but…” But the wine has gone to my head. So has the food, honestly. “How did you do it? How did you live out of a car, and still get cast in movies?”

  Cannon sits up and reaches for his fork. He might have paid the bill, but the table is still covered in food that’ll have to be boxed up. With a movement that’s almost lazy, he stabs the tines of his fork through a piece of meat and drags it sensually through the sauce. “I tried to park in places where I wouldn’t get mugged.” His eyes search mine as he speaks, pulling the meat through the sauce again and again. “I paid for a gym membership so I could shower before work and auditions.” I don’t know where to look, at the meat, or the... well, the man meat. “And I ate as little as possible.”

  A second wave of alcohol washes through my veins, and I hear myself saying, my voice breathy, “You must have been so hungry.”

  “I was starving,” he admits, every word a masterpiece. “For food. For... other things.” He lifts the meat into the air. “But you...” I’m on tenterhooks. “You’ve probably never felt that particular hunger. I bet someone was always there to feed you.”

  And then, as if he’s compelled to illustrate the point, he lifts the fork toward my lips.

  Holy. Shit.

  He’s going to feed me.

  Right here, in this restaurant, in front of everyone.

  Two things happen at once.

  The first is that I realize how fucking out of line this is, to go drinking and dating with the leading man.

  The second is that someone calls my name.