by Leah Ashton
But now she knew she didn’t need a man. She had her career, and her friends, and a lifestyle that she adored. If she dated, she chose men who were the opposite to the high-school football stars and Devlin Coopers of the world. And it was never for very long.
She was always in control. Everything was perfect.
And another beautiful man was not going to change any of that. She would not slide into habits long severed, or let their date impact her professional reputation: she had never been, and would never be, the subject of gossip at work. Gossip would never colour her decisions—would never control her—ever again.
She didn’t hide her past from anyone—but it was the past. She couldn’t let herself head down that path again. To lose herself while wanting something a man could never give her.
Ruby needed only herself. Could rely, only, on herself.
She turned, and flopped onto her back on her bed, uncaring of the clothing she squashed and creased beneath her.
Hmm. That was all well and good—and right.
But.
She still had a date with Devlin Cooper in two days’ time.
An emergency shopping expedition was—most definitely—required.
Ruby had to spend a few hours in the office on Saturday morning, and so by the time she’d driven the four hours into the city, she was cutting it extremely fine.
Fortunately, one of her good friends was between films at the moment. So she was meeting Gwen, an exceedingly glamorous costume designer, at a boutique in Paddington, rather than hitting the department stores in a fit of mad desperation.
As she stepped into the store, complete with its crystal chandeliers, chunky red leather armchairs and modern, smooth-edged white shelving, Gwen squealed and trotted towards her on towering platform heels.
‘Ruby! It’s been for ever!’ she announced as she wrapped her into a hug.
She’d considered sharing the identity of her date with Gwen, but had decided, on balance, that it was best if she didn’t. Yes, she trusted her friend, but...it really was better if no one knew. It was only one date, after all.
In the same vein, she’d taken steps to ensure—as much as was possible—that their date remained firmly under the radar. When Dev had called her—she’d known he wouldn’t email—she’d made it very clear that the gorgeous French bistro she’d booked was no longer suitable. It was not the type of place where privacy—and a lack of photography—could be assured. The last thing she needed was some grainy photo snapped on someone’s mobile phone making it onto Twitter and, eventually, to the film set.
Yes, she was likely paranoid, and such a liaison with a film’s star would not signal the end of her career. She knew that film sets could be the home to all sorts of flings and the more than occasional affair. It was natural in an industry where the majority of the crew were well under forty—the transient lifestyle was not ideal for anyone with a family, and roots.
She just didn’t want to be that woman Dev had a fling with. She’d been that woman enough times in her life. Thank you very much.
So this was, she realised as Gwen unhooked a dress from a shiny chrome rack to display to her, more about how she perceived herself than about how anyone else would perceive her.
Which really was just as important... No. More important than her professional reputation.
But she’d fiercely protect that, too.
‘What do you think?’ Gwen asked, giving the coat hanger a little shake so that the dress’s delicate beading shimmered beneath the down lights.
It was a cocktail-length dress, in shades of green. On the hanger it looked like nothing but pretty fabric, but of course she tried it on.
Ruby was bigger than the average tiny actress that Gwen was used to dressing, but still—her friend certainly had an eye for what suited her body.
As she stepped out of the change room and in front of the mirror Ruby couldn’t help but suck in a breath of surprise.
She looked...
‘Beautiful!’ Gwen declared happily. ‘It’s perfect.’
Ruby twisted from side to side, studying herself. The dress was gorgeous, with heavily beaded and embroidered cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline that flattered her average-sized curves. The silk followed the curve of her waist and hips, ending well above her knee. The beading continued throughout the fabric, becoming sparser at her waist before ending in a shimmer of green and flecks of gold at the hem. It was simple—but not. Striking—but not glitzy.
She loved it.
Twenty minutes later she’d parted with a not insignificant portion of her savings, and headed with Gwen to find the perfect matching heels and a short, sexy, swingy jacket.
And an hour after that she was alone in the hotel room she’d booked, only a short walk from the crazily exclusive restaurant where she would be meeting Dev. Really soon.
The dress sparkled prettily on her bed. She had her make-up and the perfect shade of nail polish raring to go in the bathroom.
But she paused, rather than walking to the shower. She looked at herself reflected in the mirrored hotel wardrobe.
There she was, in jeans and hair that had transitioned from deliberately choppy to plain old messy at some point in the day.
She wouldn’t say she lacked confidence in herself or her looks. She didn’t think she was hideously unattractive, but...really? When Dev could have anyone, why her?
It must be the challenge. It could be nothing else. And maybe he felt that he should be the one doing the rejecting, not her?
She nodded, and she watched the movement reshuffle her hair just a little.
Yes. That was it.
And after tonight—that would be that. He’d have achieved his goal, and in a week’s time she’d be very, very old news.
Which suited her just fine.
Didn’t it?
FIVE
Dev was late. Only a few minutes, but late, just the same.
He’d meant to be later, actually, having liked the idea of Ruby sitting alone at the restaurant, getting increasingly frustrated with him.
Simply because he enjoyed the flash of anger in her eyes almost as much as the heat of the attraction she was so determinedly—and continually—ignoring.
But, after a while, he began to feel like a bit of an idiot sitting alone in his penthouse suite, mindlessly watching the Saturday night rugby, when the alternative was spending time with a beautiful...
No, not beautiful. At least not on the standards that Hollywood judged beauty. But a compelling...intriguing woman. Yes, she was that.
Unarguably more interesting than his own company.
But when he was ushered into the private dining area of the exclusive restaurant by an impeccably well-mannered maître d’, he was met by a table exquisitely set for two—but no Ruby.
His lips quirked as he settled into his seat. Interesting.
The restaurant sat right on the edge of Circular Quay, its floor-to-ceiling windows forming a subtly curved wall that provided a spectacular view of the harbour. To the right were the dramatic sails of the opera house. Straight ahead was the incomparable harbour bridge. Lights illuminated the mammoth structure, highlighting its huge metal beams.
He’d eaten at this restaurant before, and had certainly dined against a backdrop of the world’s most beautiful skylines many, many times—but he wouldn’t be human if he wasn’t impressed by sparkling Sydney by night.
It was like nowhere else in the world.
However. Sitting alone in a dining room that could seat thirty—and which he’d had organised for tonight to seat only two—even a remarkable view could quickly become boring.
Which it did.
A waiter came and offered him a taste of the wine he’d selected, then after pouring Dev’s glass he merged once again, silently, into the background.
Minutes passed. Slowly, he assumed, as he refused to succumb and check his watch.
He considered—then dismissed—the possibility that she wasn’t coming at al
l.
No, she’d be here.
Almost on cue, the door to the private room opened on whisper-smooth hinges. He looked up to watch Ruby being ushered inside. And then kept on looking.
She wore a dress in greens and gold that caught and reflected every bit of light in the room. Her legs were long beneath a skirt that hit at mid thigh, and shown off to perfection by strappy, criss-crossed heels. When his gaze—eventually—met hers, he connected with eyes that were defiant and bold beneath a fringe that was smoother and more perfect than usual: not a golden strand out of place.
Her lips curved in greeting, but he wouldn’t call it a smile.
He stood as she approached the table, and she blinked a couple of times as he did so, her gaze flicking over him for the briefest of instants.
The maître d’ received a genuine smile as he offered Ruby her seat, and he then launched into his spiel, speaking—Dev assumed—of wine and food, but he really wasn’t paying any attention. Instead he took the opportunity to just look at Ruby as she tilted her chin upwards and listened attentively.
This was, after all, about the first time she’d been perfectly still, and silent, in his presence, since their original interlude beside the costume trailer.
Then, she’d been veering towards adorable, while tonight she was polished and perfect. Different, for sure—but equally appealing.
After a short conversation, the maître d’ repeated his vanishing act, and Ruby turned her gaze onto him.
‘You’re late,’ he pointed out.
She nodded. ‘So were you.’
He smiled, surprised. ‘How did you know?’
‘I didn’t. But it seemed the kind of stunt you would pull. You’ve been very consistent in your quest to irritate me.’ Calmly, she reached for her water glass. ‘Not very chivalrous of you, however.’ Another pause. ‘Personally, I am never—intentionally—less than punctual. Time is everything in my job, and I see no reason why it shouldn’t be in the rest of my life.’
Time is everything.
How true. Often, Dev had only recently discovered, you had a lot less time than you thought.
‘So chivalry is important to you, Ruby?’
She took a sip from her water glass, then studied him over the rim. ‘Actually, no,’ she replied, surprising him. She looked out towards the opera house, her forehead wrinkling slightly. ‘I mean, of course being courteous and honourable or gallant—or whatever a chivalrous man is supposed to be—is important.’ She gave him a look that underlined the fact she clearly considered him to be none of those things. ‘But it has to be genuine. Standing up when I approach the table, for example—’ her words were razor sharp ‘—is meaningless. It has to mean something—have a basis in respect—otherwise I’d really rather you didn’t bother.’
‘I respect you,’ he said.
She laughed with not a trace of pretention. ‘I find that very hard to believe.’
‘It’s the truth,’ he said. He wasn’t going to bother explaining himself, but then somehow found himself doing so anyway. ‘I was late because I like seeing you react, not because I don’t value you and your time. I apologise if you feel that way.’
‘I’m sure you agree that distinction is impossible to make from my point of view.’
Dev almost, almost, felt bad about it—but not quite. He was enjoying this—enjoying her—too much.
‘You like pushing my buttons,’ she said. ‘You’re very good at it.’
He shrugged, studying her. ‘So is that what you’re looking for? An honourable, perfectly chivalrous specimen of a man?’
Dev knew he was not that man.
Immediately, she shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. I’m looking for no man at all.’
‘You’re focusing on your career?’
Almost silently the maître d’ reappeared and filled her wine glass.
‘Yes, but that’s not the reason. I don’t need a man. At all.’
‘Need, or want?’
She rolled her eyes dismissively. ‘Neither.’
He considered this unexpected announcement as their entrées arrived, but he wasn’t about to question her further. Tonight was not for detailed analysis of their respective relationship goals.
For the record, his was—and had always been—to have no relationship at all. Estelle had been an unexpected exception, a relationship that had evolved, at times—it seemed—almost without his participation. Yes, he’d liked her. Enjoyed his time with her. Maybe considered the idea that he loved her.
But that night she’d left, she’d made it crystal clear that what he felt wasn’t love. How had she put it?
Love is when you share yourself—reveal yourself. Your thoughts, your feelings, your fears. Something. Everything! Not nothing. Not absolutely nothing.
At the time he hadn’t questioned her. But later, when he’d asked himself that question—if that was what he’d done, and who he was—he couldn’t disagree.
They ate their salmon for a while in silence, their knives scraping loudly on the fine bone china.
‘Is this really what you wanted?’ she asked. She was still focused on her meal, her eyes on her plate, not on him.
She meant this date, this time alone with her.
‘Yes.’
Now she glanced up. The harder edge to her gaze from before was gone; now she just looked confused. ‘Seriously? Why on earth would you want to spend an evening with a woman who doesn’t particularly like you?’
‘I thought you said you didn’t know me well enough to dislike me.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘I’ve begun to revise that opinion.’
He smiled. Maybe something resembling his famous Dev Cooper smile, as he didn’t miss the way her cheeks went pink, or how eager she was to look away.
‘You like me.’
Instantly, she met his gaze. ‘Here we go again. It’s getting tedious. Why on earth should I like you?’
‘I’m charming,’ he said.
She snorted. ‘What exactly is your definition of the word? Blackmailing a woman into dating you? Really?’
‘No. I must admit this is not my standard dating procedure.’
‘For the sake of the thousands of women you’ve ever dated, I’m relieved to hear that.’
‘Not thousands,’ he said.
She waved her wine glass in a gesture of dismissal. ‘Hundreds, then.’
No, not that many either. In hindsight, maybe Estelle was not the first to observe his relationship failings. Or, more likely, she was the only one he’d allowed close enough to notice.
A mistake, clearly.
‘I’m not—’ he began, then stopped.
I’m not myself at the moment.
No, there was no need to say that to Ruby. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? For Ruby to be his distraction?
‘You’re not what?’ she asked.
He gave a little shake of his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we’re here now.’ He leant back in his chair a little, studying her. ‘We’re here, in this amazing city, at this amazing restaurant. And you, Ruby Bell, are wearing one amazing dress.’
The pink to her cheeks escalated to a blush, but otherwise she gave no indication of being affected by his words.
‘Thank you,’ she said, just a little stiffly.
‘Here’s an idea,’ he said. ‘How about we call a truce? For tonight. For argument’s sake, let’s pretend you don’t hate my guts, or the way we both came to be sitting together at this table.’
She grinned, then looked surprised that she had. ‘I don’t hate you,’ she said. ‘You just haven’t given me a heck of a lot to like.’
‘I’ll try harder,’ he promised.
She held his gaze for a long, long while. Considering his words.
‘Okay,’ she finally conceded. ‘But just for tonight.’
Belatedly, Ruby acknowledged that her dessert plate was completely empty—excluding some melted remnants of sorbet. She could barely rememb
er what it tasted like—she’d been so focused on their conversation.
How had this happened?
A couple of hours ago she’d been dreading this date...
No. That was clearly a lie. Anxiously anticipating was far more on the mark.
But now, she found herself in the midst of a really fantastic evening. Date. A date with a movie star.
Although, oddly, she found she needed to remind herself of that fact every now and again. A little mental pinch of her arm, so to speak.
He was different tonight. Only for a moment earlier, and even then she was unsure whether she’d imagined it, had his gaze darkened. She realised that up until tonight there had been a kind of shadow to Dev. A...burden, maybe?
But tonight he was different. There was more of an openness to his expression. Oddly, as they chatted—initially about the industry but then, thankfully, about basically everything but—Ruby had the sense that the shadow was gradually lifting. She found herself wanting to find opportunities to make him smile again, to laugh.
It was as if he was out of practice.
Ruby gave herself a mental shake.
Oh, no. Now that was wishful thinking. She was putting way too much thought into this.
She needed to keep this simple: it was a date. One date. Only.
They’d just finished trading stories of their varied travel disasters. She’d noticed that Dev hadn’t spoken of that time I was mobbed by fans in Paris or this one time I was invited for afternoon tea with the Queen—it was as if he was distancing himself from what made him so, so different from her. Somehow, he was making himself relatable. A real person.
Was he doing it deliberately?
Yes, for sure. He’d been right before—he was charming, and smart.
But also...it was working. She found herself questioning her opinion of him. She’d certainly relaxed. Something she knew was unwise, but the wine, the food, the lighting, and Dev...yeah, Dev... It was...he was...pretty much an irresistible force.
But not quite.
‘Why film production?’ he asked, changing the direction of their conversation yet again.
Ruby swirled her Shiraz in its oversized glass. ‘Would you believe I’m a failed actor?’ she asked.
