God give me strength. Some days she really, really wanted to change her name. She hesitated on her path back to the trailer, slowed and then stopped, wishing her burning cheeks would cool down. The doctor may well be dashing and delicious to look at with his cropped dark hair and startling blue eyes, and so what if he had a body that the leading man on set would die for? Jake Lewis was a pompous jerk in a suit and she didn’t want him to think he’d got the upper hand.
But he was the only doctor here so she needed to be nice to him because finding another one might take another couple of hours. And she was pretty sure Cameron would change her mind, again, and insist on seeing a doctor before the day was out. So Lola was stuck between the two of them trying to find a happy place. ‘Yes? What now?’
Dr Lewis’s lips twitched at the corners, but he kept his distance. ‘You didn’t finish your tea.’
‘I don’t want it any more, thank you.’ She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice, she really did, but it shone through regardless.
He stepped forward and beckoned to her. ‘But I’m told on good authority that it might help. And it’s going cold.’
‘So?’ She stuck her hands on her hips and waited for his apology.
‘So, they’re going to clear it away if we don’t go back.’ The jerk jerked his head towards the canteen seating area. Two forlorn cups sat on the empty table. And, God, she was parched. With all this running around she hadn’t had a chance for a drink in ages. Dr Lewis just carried on as if an apology was the furthest thing from his mind and that he hadn’t just insulted her every which way he liked. ‘Come on, come back and finish it before they take it away.’
But no way would she sit with him again until— ‘No, Jake, I’m waiting for an explanation.’
‘I see.’ The twitch at the mouth turned into a thin line as he pondered her words. He really was very lovely to look at—but, then, so was everyone in LA, even the set carpenters were beautiful and always screen-ready. It was like living in a magazine or on an episode of Entertainment Daily.
This guy, though, he had an arrogance that shot through the better-than-good looks, a haughty jaw and a manner she didn’t particularly understand—it was as if he really didn’t want to be here. Who wouldn’t want to be surrounded by all this wonderful Hollywood chaos?
She tapped her foot. ‘Still waiting...’
‘Ah. Well, I haven’t ever waited tables, Lola, but I think it generally works like this: when customers leave a table—or rather stomp away—it indicates that they’ve finished and it’s okay to clear their used cups away.’
‘Too clever for your own good.’ She couldn’t help the smile. ‘And I didn’t stomp.’
His gaze ran from her face, down over her body and lingered a little at her backside. Which made her face heat even more. Her stomach suddenly started with a strange fluttery feeling and she wondered if she was coming down with the same thing as Cameron.
He nodded. ‘You so did. Little angry stomps.’
‘Condescending too? Great.’ He’d been watching her that closely? ‘Well, it’s hardly surprising given the circumstances. And I meant I’m waiting for an explanation of why you were so rude.’
‘Oh.’ He gave a small shrug. ‘That.’
‘Yes. That. An apology would be nice.’
He actually looked surprised, as if saying sorry was something he’d never ever thought about, let alone done. But he walked back towards the table and she felt intrigued enough to follow him. She just about caught his words, more of a mumble really. ‘I apologise if my words upset you.’
‘Not sorry you said them. Not sorry you jumped to conclusions. You’re just sorry I was upset? Where did you learn the art of apologising?’
‘You’re supposed to learn it? Is that what they teach in British schools? The art of apology?’ He stood at the table while she sat down—no doubt a play for power. ‘Figures.’
‘By which you mean?’
He lifted his cup to his mouth and took a sip. Grimaced. Put it back down again. ‘Look, things got a little heated back there. I think we need to start over.’
Hallelujah. Because she didn’t dare face Cameron and admit she’d scared the doctor away. Even if he did deserve it. ‘Yes, yes, we do.’
‘Excellent. First things first.’ He turned and walked over to the café truck, chatted briefly with the chef—even laughed! Laughed. The man had a sense of humour...but clearly had no intention of sharing much of it with her. Then he returned with a steaming cup of coffee. He sat, sipped and smiled. ‘Great. Now, where were we?’
‘You don’t like tea?’
‘No.’
‘So why didn’t you say anything before?’
‘You ordered and assumed I’d want it. I was being polite. It is possible.’ He leaned back in his chair and smirked. ‘I admit, I was an idiot.’
Still no I’m sorry. Interesting. ‘To be honest, Cameron can be difficult. I have to bite my lip an awful lot.’ She didn’t tell him about how she screamed into her pillow when she was so frustrated and utterly exhausted by her demands, or had fantasised about a jellyfish attack on that Hawaiian beach, while she had been knee deep in doggy-do with three over-excited, totally over-pampered Chihuahuas at the grooming salon.
An eyebrow peaked. ‘So why do you stay?’
‘Have you tried to get a job here, with everyone else all vying for something in the industry? She pays reasonably well—although it’s long hours. And because she’s the closest I’ve got to a film director since I arrived here. That’s my target, really. The longer I’m with Cameron the more I’ll meet the right people. I need her. I need this job. I know that sounds mercenary, like I’m using her, but I really need the contacts and exposure. Does that make me a bad person?’
He looked at her for a moment or two, and again she felt a strange rising sensation in her stomach, a need to look away but a compulsion to keep staring into those bluest of blue eyes. ‘Lola, I don’t know you, but from what I’ve seen so far I couldn’t imagine you’re a bad person. A little full on, maybe—’
‘My dad says I’m a chatterbox.’
‘I’m not commenting on the grounds that I may incriminate myself further.’ But he gave a wry smile in agreement. ‘Basically, you’re just doing what everyone else does—feathering your own nest. Making things work for you. It’s the way of the world. It’s why I’m here instead of back at the clinic, or back in Van Nuys, where I grew up. Networking, making connections. How are you going to get on in life if you don’t use your contacts?’
Well, that certainly made her feel a little better. Although he’d clearly given it a lot of thought and justified it all down the line. Was he one of those true workaholic types? Or was he just completely self-focused?
She’d met a lot of people like that here—really, she’d thought she was highly ambitious, but her over-achieving
