Judging from the curious looks of passersby, her incident was a bigger draw than Bernice’s show.
“That paper that whipped out of your bag,” he said. “It must’ve been important.”
She remembered and her heart squeezed. “Sentimental value,” she replied. Now that piece of her was gone forever.
Dex crossed to a nearby base-lit palm tree and swooped down. When he returned, the paper—a photo—was in his hand. Shelby’s breath let out in a rush. Accepting it from him, she pressed the picture close for a second then placed it in her tote, in a zipped compartment this time.
“A person I respect very much,” he said, “used to say that sentiment is never overrated.”
While now didn’t seem the right time to ask who that person might be, Shelby decided she’d like the opportunity to find out…maybe over a late dinner.
“Is that invitation to visit your scriptwriter still open?” she asked.
His face broke into a big white smile. “Rance and I would be honored.”
A few minutes later, he was opening the passenger-side door of a sleek black Italian sports car. After she’d slipped into the leather bucket seat and buckled up, the engine growled to life and the pristine machine rolled into a break in the traffic.
“Does this sort of emergency script thing happen often?” she asked, trying not to double-guess this decision or feel overwhelmed. Far too much had happened today. She wouldn’t be surprised if she woke up and found this had all been a dream.
“When you decide to make a movie,” Dex said, changing up gears, “there are all kinds of challenges.”
“I imagine a room filled with smoke,” she said, “and a man sitting at the end of a long table, tapping away madly on a typewriter while someone else paces back and forth, head down, hands clasped behind his back.”
Dex sent over a look.
“A typewriter?”
She reconsidered. “Guess that’s a little last-century.”
“They have heard of the internet where you come from, right?” he teased.
“Oh, sure. We put a cow on a treadmill to generate the extra electricity.”
He laughed, and that warm deepwater feeling swirled around her again.
“I’m not a native to these parts, either,” he offered. “I grew up in Australia.”
“That explains the accent. I thought maybe British.”
“We Aussies have better tans.”
In the shadows, her gaze swept over his neck, his hands. From what she could see, he was naturally beautifully bronzed.
“Australia’s halfway around the world,” she said, forcing her gaze away from his classic profile—the strong jaw and hawkish nose. “What made you move here? Fame and fortune?”
Or had he run away from something? It happened.
“My family owns Hunter Enterprises.”
“Which owns Hunter Productions, I presume.” His movie company.
He clocked down a gear to take a bend. “My mother was born near your neck of the woods.”
“Oklahoma?”
“Georgia, actually.”
“Um, hate to tell you, but Georgia’s nowhere near Oklahoma.”
“Oh dear. I am still new to town, aren’t I?”
Smiling, too, she settled more into her seat. “Back to your story…”
“My mother and father found each other at a Fox Theater event. Dad was taken with her Southern charm and beauty. He proposed the next month.”
She grinned. “Your daddy’s a romantic.”
“He sure did love my mom.” Dex’s thoughtful smile faded. “When she died a few years back, he married again.”
“A nice woman?”
“My father thinks so.”
Heading down a less busy stretch of road, he stepped on the gas. With the engine growling and scenery slicing by, she waited for him to say more about his stepmom, but he didn’t, which seemed to say a lot.
Soon they rolled into a wide private drive situated in an upmarket neighborhood. A dark-haired man around her height answered the towering wood-paneled door. When he noticed her, the glare behind his trendy spectacles said he wasn’t pleased.
Shelby thought about turning on her heel and finding her own way back to her apartment. Instead she found the wherewithal to appear unaffected. She’d dealt with and survived those kinds of looks before.
The moment passed, introductions were exchanged and Rance Loggins invited them both inside.
Dex and Rance traded a few words as they moved down a glass-walled corridor that showcased the tropical gardens outside. In a room decorated in hardwood, gleaming steel and slate-gray leather, Shelby quietly took a seat on a cloud-soft sofa while Dex shucked off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of a chair.
As he began going over the problem scene with Rance, Dex lowered himself down beside her—too close, Shelby thought, yet strangely not close enough. Whether having him save her from hitting the pavement earlier or the simple fact the other person in the room wasn’t thrilled at his surprise company, she felt somehow safer knowing Dex was close. Safer and also hyperaware—of his scent. Of his heat.
His thigh was only a reach away, obviously muscled, long and strong. Her focus shifted to his polished big black shoes. Those feet sure would thump around in a pair of cowboy boots.
“So, what do you think?”
With a start, Shelby brought herself back to the conversation. Dex had spoken to her, and both he and Rance were waiting for a reply.
“What do I think about what?”
Rance reiterated the scenario—Shelby was sure more for his and Dex’s benefit than hers.
“The female lead was the groom’s girlfriend until he cheated on her. Broke her heart. Later he proposed to her friend. She’s at the wedding reception and has bumped into her ex. Now they’re standing face-to-face.”
Dex thatched his fingers behind his head and stretched out those long trousered legs. “She needs to slap his face. Stomp his foot. Throw a drink in his face. We just need the words.”
“I’m telling you,” Rance said, “there’s no surprise in that. The audience will expect it.”
Shelby wet her lips, took a breath. She could see it all so clearly.
“She
