it’s really rude.”
“Good thing I don’t fly for tips.”
She blinked, clearly incredulous, and shook her head. All that friendliness she’d showed him in the terminal fell away, surely sinking deep beneath the waves below.
“Not too late to swim, if you’re offended by the service.”
“No, thank you. Though I suspect I’ll be sitting in the cabin on the way back.”
“Probably wise. My old man was a cabbie in New York. My gifts of customer service are purely genetic.”
“A very rare and malicious disorder, I’m sure. Thank goodness you’re not contagious.”
He grinned, rather enjoying the dig.
“And since you’re so nosy, you may as well know there’s no settlement, because I didn’t get married.”
Will swallowed. “Duly noted.” He’d expected to feel some kind of triumph at such an informational coup, but he didn’t. It actually felt bad, a nauseous little twist in his gut.
“I was just teasing, you know.” Will met her eyes as much as was possible through two pairs of shades. “Taking the edge off?”
“More like sharpening it.”
“Not my intention.”
“I hope your landing approaches are smoother than your social ones.”
“Sorry.” He didn’t make an effort to sound especially sorry. Nausea notwithstanding, the tactless approach was working. “I’ve never had a runaway Hollywood bride in that seat before.”
She pursed her lips. “Do you know who I am?”
Enough to know some sleazebag back in L.A. will pay good money to hear what you’re up to. “There’s only a few types who vacation at this place, and when they’re women coming from Los Angeles, I can usually narrow it to actress or model or Hollywood wife. And we’ve ruled out wife.”
Leigh held her tongue.
“Not that I need to know,” Will said with a theatrical sigh of disinterest. “I’m just the chauffeur.”
Leigh countered with a haughtiness that struck him as un-practiced. “I have a chauffeur, sometimes, and he’s far better at diplomacy than you.”
“I have no doubt.” Will gave her another searching look. She wasn’t the woman he’d been expecting, and fruitful though it was, she didn’t deserve the antagonism… but he couldn’t deny he liked the way his teasing made her cheeks go pink. Still, he softened his tone. “Don’t take this personally if you can help it, but I didn’t have you pegged as a woman scorned.”
“No?”
He shook his head. “More like an escapee. Thought maybe I was your getaway driver.”
Her lips parted, but no reply followed. Her look said he was right, that she had escaped. From what, Will couldn’t guess, but one thing seemed clear—her flight was no publicity stunt.
He felt another pang in his middle.
Will had designed his life as free from obligations and guilt as humanly possible, expressly to avoid the ugly emotions he felt now. He didn’t want to report on this woman anymore, but at the end of the day, she was nothing to him. He needed the money for things that mattered. Things that mattered far more than a few innocuous tidbits leaked to some slimeball editor thousands of miles away in Hollywood.
Leigh’s hackles seemed to lower. “You are,” she finally said. “You’re my getaway driver.”
She relaxed back into her seat and they were quiet for ten minutes or more.
Will pointed into the distance. “See that?”
Leigh squinted at a dot in the turquoise ocean. “Is that it?”
“Yup. That’s your hideout.”
“Wow. That is private.”
“Eleven square miles of paradise. Nothing but white sand and swaying palms and room service.”
“Sounds heavenly. Though it’s probably nothing exotic to you.”
Will laughed. “Are you kidding? I’ve lived on that tiny speck for seven years now, and I still wake up every day pinching myself.” The second he abandoned the prying, the sourness in his stomach eased.
“You live there?”
He nodded. “Fly people back and forth twice a day for a passable stipend.”
“Wow.”
“You say that a lot, you know.”
“Oh. Yes, I suppose I do.”
“You’re very easy to impress,” Will said as the plane began its descent. “I like that in a woman.”
“Yes. That would be a requisite for a man of your charms.”
He laughed again, then realized he might be in danger of actually liking Leigh Bailey, celebrity runaway bride or not. That didn’t bode well for his gig.
The island grew closer, and Will could make out two of the villas from this angle, two tiny blue swimming pools, two docks poking out into the waves.
“So you are famous, right?” he asked, banking the plane left.
“Not crazy-famous. B-list, I guess. Maybe B plus.”
“What are you famous for?” She’d been in some films he’d never heard of, but that was all he knew about her.
“When I was in high school, outside San Francisco, I was really into dance. And one summer I was fed up over not getting called back for theater auditions, so my mom drove me to L.A. to try out for a movie. And I got it.”
“What kind of movie?”
“About a shy, bookworm girl who goes away for a summer to Miami and meets all these hot-blooded ballroom dancers, and falls in love with this boy. Just another star-crossed teen romance with a dance-off at the end. That’s what I’m most known for. And I did a few romantic comedies and a couple indie films, and got talked into a cosmetics campaign. But nothing hugely amazing.”
“Looking to be the next big thing?”
“Quite the opposite.”
Will’s brow furrowed in surprise, and he hoped she didn’t notice.
“I’d happily wake up tomorrow as a complete nobody.”
“I hate to break it to you, but running away from your wedding’s not gonna do much to keep you out of the spotlight.”
“No kidding.”
“But
