The Ex Factor (2 page)

The boardwalk. Now that would be a fun date
. It unfolded like movie highlights: on the roller coaster, laughing together, her fingers tight around his arm; winning a cheesy stuffed animal for her at a game-of-chance booth, which she hugged, then hugged him; car by car, swinging toward the top of the Ferris wheel and getting stuck at the top, neon flashing lights below, a single silhouette against the canopy of stars when he kissed her; strolling along the beach afterward, finding a deserted dune….

Too bad you’re probably the wrong guy for the role
. But hey, more unlikely men than himself were cast as heroes and made audiences fall in love with them.

He wasn’t after an entire audience. One woman would suffice. Susan Ainsley.

Now that would be a happy ending.

Ah, such a sap. And a sucker. And you just drove past your exit
.

Another peril of the job. Daydreaming.

Malibu. Great choice for the 1Night Stand date. Far enough from L.A. to ease her worries about fans or photographers spotting her, but familiar enough territory that if someone did recognize her, she’d blend in with the crowd.

In this getup?
Maybe she shouldn’t have gone
so
casual. Coupled with her sunglasses and Yankees cap, the worn jeans, T-shirt and hoodie almost screamed “I’m incognito, look at me!”

The risk she’d have to take. Regular people dressed this way. Tonight, she wasn’t Susan Ainsley, superstar, but Susan Ainsley, displaced former cheerleader and business college dropout from Hunterdon, New Jersey, more affectionately called Cowville. A small-town girl driving a Wrangler Rubicon.

Steering toward the parking spot farthest from the door, her palms slipped on the steering wheel.
Nervous much?
Not since her first date with….
Don’t think about him!
Her ex had become a jinx, and even thinking about Brett tainted everything.

Not tonight. She slid from the driver’s seat and marched inside. Stepping beyond the greeter’s podium, she stopped to scan the tables.

The hostess hovered a moment, making hushed noises as if to speak, then finally asked, “May I help you?”

“No thank you. I’m meeting someone.” How hard was it to locate a white rose? She scanned again.
Oh God. Is that…? No, no. Not Jared Thornwell
. What was he doing way out here? Scouting a location? Thank goodness he took more interest in his phone than his surroundings. Such a waste of handsomeness on such an unpleasant man. Even more handsome tonight—he’d replaced his usual boxy, multi-pocketed photographer’s vest with a black sweater and charcoal jacket. Mmm, it complemented his black hair and accentuated his wide shoulders.

The hostess stepped in front of her. “I’m afraid not. Our dress code specifies no jeans.”

She doesn’t recognize me
. The realization came as a thrill. Susan gestured toward the director. “That man’s wearing jeans.”

The hostess huffed. “
That’s
Jared Thornwell. And he’s a regular.”

The temptation arose to slide her sunglasses away and peer down her nose at the woman. It died a sudden death when Thornwell glanced over, then did a double-take. It stuck, and he jettisoned from his seat and strode over.

Shit, didn’t fool him
. Like a wilted flower, she made herself as small as possible.

“Susan.” Green eyes sharp as crystals, he reached out for her.

Her heart whirly-gigged, whether from his warm tone or fear he’d announce her presence to the room, she couldn’t tell. “Hi.” It came out in a squeak. To hide the blush blooming on her face, she ducked her head.

His hand grazed down her spine. Her blush seemed to follow his touch like a spark along a trail of TNT.

He guided her away. “Our table’s over here.”

The hostess’s expression was priceless, Susan noted. Alarm, helplessness, fear.

The same as mine, probably
. If Susan refused her gallant savior, the hostess would delight in kicking her to the curb, and then she’d never meet her 1Night Stand date.

She slid into the booth. “Thanks. I had no idea they were so snobby here.”

“Neither did I. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

“I should have remembered. I’d never have chosen this place.”

“They didn’t mind
your
jeans.” Never have chosen this place for what? And she thought he was a regular.

He looked almost apologetic. “I always dress badly. They’re used to seeing your red-carpet style.”

Was that a wince? Or a smile? “I suppose, but that’s not the real me.”

A glance at her outfit, and he smirked. “And this is?”

So arrogant
. She craned her neck to scan the other tables for any sign of a white rose. Or any white flower. Royal as Grace Kelly, she said, “I really appreciate you smoothing over the awkward situation, but as soon as the person I’m meeting arrives, I have to go.”

“The person you’re….” With a look suggesting she’d gone daft, he tilted his head.

“I’m supposed to meet someone. I don’t know what he looks like.”

“You don’t?”

“I’m afraid not. It’s difficult to explain. Well, not really. It’s our first meeting. A blind date.”
There, I said it. Let him think I’m pathetic. Let him trumpet it to the tabloids
.

“Your first meeting,” he repeated, staring at her.

“Our. First. Meeting.” Maybe he’d belted back a few martinis? He didn’t appear drunk, simply confused.

“Then how will you know him?”

“A single white rose in a vase.” So romantic, certainly not a scenario Jared Thornwell could have concocted. Oh, in movies, maybe, but not in real life. For fictional people, human puppets he could manipulate with a word or gesture—sometimes an obscene one. Man, he was a bear at work.

Lips pressed into a grimace, he nodded slowly and blinked hard.

What in heck was wrong with him? He looked about ready to puke. But she’d never before noticed how beautiful his eyes were, dark lashes framing light green irises flecked with forest green. While filming the two movies which he’d directed and in which she’d starred, he’d always reminded her of a cold stone statue of a person until he barked some gruff order.

Mmm, his mouth. When not scrunched up so painfully, his mouth actually looked…soft. Kissable. She’d never noticed. In fact, if they’d met in a bar as strangers, she’d be flirting with him by now. Knowing what a complete grump he was, she wouldn’t bother.

Caught up in her intense scrutiny, she hardly noticed his arm moving. The scrape of glass against the wooden tabletop absently drew her gaze.

Like something out of a horror flick, the white rose advanced. So pure and delicate, its petals caught the candlelight with a soft but brilliant glow. But how…? “How did you get that?”

Amusement flickered across his features. “I assure you, I didn’t sneak into anyone’s yard and snip it.”

She glanced around. “Was it already at the table when you sat down?”

“No, Susan.”

“You….” She must seem an idiot, but she couldn’t fathom it. “You?” Her 1Night Stand date?

“Me,” he said sheepishly.

“There’s been a mistake.” Madame Eve’s first, apparently. And wow, what a doozy. “I specified a date with a real person.”

Mirth practically bubbled up. “I am a real person.”

“No, I meant, yes, of course you’re a real person. But you’re a director. A world-famous director.” About as far from ordinary as anyone could get.

“I’m still real.” He held his arm out. “Want to pinch me?”

She gently shoved it away. “No.”

He rose to a crouch. “Maybe you’d rather pinch me somewhere else?” He swung his rear toward her.

A chuckle escaped.
Great butt. Tempting offer
. She gestured for him to sit. “No,” she whispered. “I’m simply explaining there’s been a mistake. I have to text Madame Eve.” She whipped out her cell.

His hand enveloped hers. “No, there hasn’t.”

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. Oh, this poor man. If she wasn’t dead set on finding someone who hated movies, she’d be tempted to—

He leaned across the table, the white rose between them. “Madame Eve’s reputation remains untarnished. She filled both our requests.”

Holy hell. He arranged a date, too
.

Had she ever looked more adorable? Sunglasses propped atop the Yankees cap, her honey hair flowed to her shoulders. Hoodie half-unzipped, revealing a tight V-neck tee. Hey, he’d gotten the neckline right, anyway. Lush pink lips bare of lipstick, opening and closing like a fish seeking air. Cinnamon eyes, sparkling as if sprinkled with sugar, flicking from him to the flower…to the door.

Flustered never looked so good on anyone. Less than enthusiastic, yeah, but he’d expected surprise.

“Sorry, I….” She shook her head as if to clear it. “I asked that my date be a working guy.”

“And I am. I work very hard.”

“I know. To the point of obsession,” she muttered, then pleaded, “But you’re in the movie industry.”

“So are you.”

Calm blanketed her as she withdrew. “Exactly. Not the most stable environment for any couple.”

“With a few notable exceptions.”
So that’s it. It’s not me, it’s the business?
The old excuse with a twist.

The portrait of thoughtfulness, she studied him.

Don’t lose her now
. “Listen, you’re here. I’m here. Let’s have a drink, some dinner. We’ll see where it goes. What do you say.”

A hesitation, and she avoided meeting his gaze as emotions flashed across her like a summer storm. She settled back. “Sure. If it’s a bust, you can write it off as a business expense.”

“And if it’s not?”

The waiter appeared. Handsome and suave as a young Cary Grant, he introduced himself and asked them to name their pleasure. “Care for some wine?”

“Oh yes. White?” she asked Jared, and he nodded. She shot the rose a glum glare. “A carafe, at least.”

He said to the waiter, “Bring the bottle, please.” They’d need it, apparently.
Say something
. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“My disguise worked, then. I didn’t want the media to intrude.”

But now her expression suggested she wished they, or anyone else, would. “Doubt they’d show up here. But if they do, we’ll tell them I want you.”

She stilled. Watching him, her lips parted.

So sweet, he wanted to taste them. Until she seemed to shrink back in horror.

What had he said?
Asshole!
“For a movie. I want you for my next movie.”

That won him a wan smile, and an
aha
sort of nod.

He babbled on. “The perfect role for you, a wronged woman.” Given the chance, he’d make sure that part stayed fictional. Take care of her. Love her.

Pain flashed in her eyes.
Clearly not in the script now
. He wanted to maim himself.
Have to wait till the waiter leaves
. He’d brought the wine, poured the sample into Jared’s glass.

Jared sipped quickly. “Very good. Thank you.”

After filling their glasses, the waiter asked if they’d decided what to order.

“Can we skip dinner?” She asked apologetically. “I’m not at all hungry.”

So she can skip out early. “Whatever you want.” Stomp on his heart, leave him an emotional cripple. One night with her might be worth it.

“I appreciate you thinking of me for the movie, but no thanks. Roles are growing stale, scripts are pigeon-holing me as the cute but clueless and ineffectual sweetheart. Frankly, I’m tired of playing the role, and I’m sure audiences are tired of watching it.” She downed a hearty gulp of liquid courage.

Susan underestimated the loyalty of her fans. If she made one of those movies a month, millions would line up to watch. “Oh, you’d be wonderful in it. But it’s a healthy sign you want to break out of that mold.” And didn’t sell herself short. But did she think he was serious? That he invited her here to talk about a project? “That’s not why I asked Madame Eve to set up our date.”

“No?” Her smile was polite, and short lived. “Then why did you?”

“Because I….” God, anything he said after that would make him sound like a stalker. A freak. He released a breath that turned into a groan. “Do you want to take a walk on the beach?”

“If we can take the bottle.”

Oh, yeah. And another for him, the way the night was headed.

Let it not be said that Susan Ainsley has a closed mind
. Never would she have scripted this scenario, but here she was, walking along the beach admiring a gorgeous sunset with a tall, handsome guy. Who she was trying very hard to forget was Jared Thornballs. Anyone so cranky must have something painful digging into his balls, that was for sure. But tonight he’d revealed more emotion than she’d seen in years. Maybe he had a deeper side she’d never glimpsed?

She chanced a peek. “So, tell me….” She couldn’t bring herself to even call him by his first name; it would remind her who he was. The guy who intimidated the hell out of her. “What made you become a movie director?”

He kicked at the sand and sent her a sidelong glance. “What made you become an actor?”

“Oh, a lot of reasons. Not the least of which was getting away from my hometown.” Funny, now she wanted to go back. The option looked more promising by the moment. “The simple answer is, the craft. I love everything about it. Creating a new person, living out another life, bringing a compelling story to an audience. When they love it, it’s the best feeling in the world.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” He looked somewhere beyond the horizon, seeming unaffected by the blazing red-orange sunset. “I couldn’t have said it any better.”

Wow. A compliment? “So why, if you love it, do you make it seem the opposite?” A breath burst out.
Don’t go there
.

“What?”

Yes, I have to know. If we’re going to date, I have to know what he’s really like
. “Any film you make is an incredible experience for an audience.”