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Surprise spun Tori back around. “What?”
“Garrett Black. Drives. A. Maserati.”
“Well, fudge sticks.” With the name, the familiarity fell into place. Garrett Black. She’d been thrown off because he’d cut his hair and lost weight, which explained the oversized suit. Of course the shadows hadn’t helped. “We may want to put off the introductions to another time.”
* * *
“Garrett, my friend, you made it.” Ray Donovan broke away from a small group near the terrace and met Garrett halfway across the room. They shook hands and Ray pulled Garrett into a full body hug.
“You threatened to pull your next movie if I didn’t.” Resigned, he squeezed back and then stepped away, creating the distance he preferred. “I’m no fool.”
Ray laughed. “You’re all kinds of a fool, but you’re not stupid.”
Garrett shrugged. There was no arguing with the truth.
“Let’s get you some food.” Ray led him to the dining room and the table spread with a diverse array of dishes, pretty, elegant dishes that probably appealed to the many starlets drifting about.
“I’m not really hungry.”
“My friend, you’ve got to eat, you’re wasting away. Get your nose out of the air. Just because food is beautiful doesn’t mean it should be dismissed. This is the best food I’ve ever had at a party. Try the bacon-wrapped meatballs and the chipped beef poofs. I particularly like the spaghetti stuffed garlic bites.” He tossed a bite-size nugget into his mouth.
“So I lost some weight. I had a broken jaw if you’ll remember.” Along with a crushed left leg and shattered collarbone. All compliments of an SUV crashing broadside into the car he was traveling in. He’d lived through it. His father hadn’t.
Garrett felt a pinch at his lack of grief.
“Some? That suit is hanging on you, buddy.”
Garrett glanced down. “So?”
“So, you’re the head of the studio now. You need to dress the part. Here—” Ray picked up the plate of spaghetti bites, tossed on a few mushroom caps and assorted other items “—let’s take this upstairs and you can tell me how you’re doing. Oh, whoa.” An attendant walked by with a plate of chocolate cupcakes. “Diane, be a doll and give that plate to my friend, would you.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Donovan.” The attendant handed Garrett the plate with a smile.
Ray took his booty and walked around the corner to a spiral staircase that took them to a loft overlooking the living area below. A wall of windows offered a spectacular vista of the ocean during the day. Tonight the view consisted of the dancing on the patio below. A four-foot-high glass balcony wall ran the length of the loft.
Garrett sat down in a cream leather armchair and set the plate down on a black glass table. Ray set the food on the ottoman and Garrett took a chipped beef poof. Kudos to Ray. The food was the best he’d had since the accident. He reached for another.
“How’s the leg?” Ray asked.
“Better. Therapist says it’s at 90 percent.”
“Wow, that’s great.” Ray went to the bar. “You were pretty messed up when I visited you in the hospital. So they put a pin in?”
“Several. Total reconstruction of my thigh and knee.” Four surgeries kept him in and out of the hospital for eight months. It’s only during the past two months he’d felt like he got his feet under him again. “Just call me Robo Director.”
“Robo CEO. You’re head of the studio now.”
“There’s something I never expected.” He accepted a Scotch, took a small sip, and set the cup down. He was driving and on meds. He’d come too far in physical rehabilitation to risk a setback now. “I have to admit I’m still wrapping my mind around the fact.”
“Really? You used to have a lot of ideas of what you’d do when you got the reins.” Ray dropped into the ivory bucket chair next to him.
“Not since Dad and I had a falling-out. I told you about that.”
“Sure, he insisted you take on director of creativity for the studio and then overturned most of your decisions.”
“I warned him to stop, but he did it once too often and I quit. He retaliated by blackballing me from the studio.”
“Ah. You didn’t tell me that.”
“Sorry. It wasn’t something I wanted to get around.” Just as he didn’t tell his friend about the studio’s damaged reputation. “Needless to say, I figured I was out of the will.”
But he’d been wrong. Or more likely Dad hadn’t gotten around to changing his will in the past six years. He still didn’t know what prompted the invitation to Thanksgiving dinner. Either way Garrett had his work cut out for him if he wanted to bring the studio back to its former glory. Gossip traveled fast and far in the movie business, which accounted for the loss of contracts. He didn’t want anyone knowing a continuing decline could put Obsidian Studios in financial distress.
“You’re an only child,” Ray pointed out. “The studio has been family owned for ninety years. Obviously in the end blood was stronger thangrudges.”
“I suppose.” Whatever the reason, the studio was now his, and Garrett refused to let it fail on his watch.
Looking for a diversion, he swung the chair around to overlook the crowd below. Absently he reached for another meatball. Immediately he spied the sleek ponytail of his bothersome valet. She stood in a hall just off the entry talking to another woman.
She’d lost her jacket and under it she wore a halter sheath dress square at the neck and ending a few inches above her knees. The little black dress at its classic best. It didn’t cling but draped her lithe figure, hinting at more than it revealed unlike so many of the other dresses shrink-wrapped on the women roaming the room.
His gaze returned to the women in black. He frowned and blinked. Then blinked again, wondering if the one sip of alcohol was enough to have him seeing double. No, there were two of them. The second woman’s dress was scoop-necked and she wore her hair in a lower tail clipped back rather than banded.
“Who are the dynamic duo?” He lifted his chin in the direction of the girls and Ray shifted in his chair to see who he referenced.
“Ah.” His friend’s blue eyes lighted on the women with unerring precision. “They are Lauren and Tori Randall, my event coordinators. They handled the premiere of Pretty Little Witches a few months ago.”
A dark brow lifted at that. Even cooped up convalescing, he’d heard of the successful event.
“The movie flopped,” Ray went on. “But people are still talking about the premiere. When I decided to throw a party, I had my assistant call them. The name of their company is By Arrangement.”
Garrett’s mouth quirked up at the clever name, a nice play on their being twins. Actually the name sounded familiar. Probably in connection with the premiere. The women broke up, his valet heading to the kitchen, the other moving off in the other direction. Garrett turned away. The woman had already taken up too much of his time.
He nailed Ray with a pointed stare. “When are you going to be finished with my house?” He’d rented his place to Ray for his current film project Gates of Peril while he stayed at the family manor adjacent to the studio. The drive was easier on his leg, but he’d like to get away from it on the weekends. “I’m getting tired of the dusty old manor.”
“Not much longer. Maybe a month.”
“A month? What the hell, Ray? I happen to know you’re also over budget.”
“Yeah, but the special effects are sick. Another month and two million should see a wrap.” The director shook his head. “The set is a circus. All kinds of people underfoot. Jenna Vick is stellar, but she just got engaged and she’s distracted by her fiancé. And the effects coordinator has his kids on-site because his sitter was in a fender bender.”
“Those are not the studio’s problems. You’re supposed to be finished with my place and shooting on the West Lot. Another movie is scheduled for that lot in two weeks. The studio takes a hit if they can’t start production.”
Ray shrugged. “Add it to the budget.”
Garrett shook his head. That’s exactly the attitude that led to the studio’s teetering reputation. “Ray, I love you like a brother, but the days of open budgets died with my dad. You have two weeks and one million. I’m closing your set to all nonessential personnel. Get your people under control, and get it done.”
* * *
Tori popped a candy-coated peanut in her mouth and surveyed the candy table. Perfect. Sticking to the colors red, black, silver and white, she’d used martini-shaped glasses large and small to create her design. Drops, gummies and foil-wrapped candies filled the dishes. White letters filled with dark chocolate-covered mints spelled out RAY. A black satin table cover and silver and red ribbons pulled the whole look together.
No sooner did she step back than guests converged on the treats. Oohs and aahs followed her retreat. In spite of her less than fortuitous encounter with Black, Tori counted tonight as a success. She’d received lots of compliments on the food and given their card to three prospective clients.
Reminded of Black, she moved to the entry and lingered near the living room where she had a view of the front door. Matt had found the claim ticket for the Maserati in his jacket pocket and brought it to her to pass on to the owner. She grimaced, as if she needed another run-in with Black.
As if her thoughts had conjured the man, he suddenly appeared from the crowd. And he was headed directly for her.
She summoned a smile. “Mr. Black, is there anything I can get for you?”
He lifted a dark brow at the use of his name. He glanced to the left where the food filled the table and a crowd surrounded the candy display, and then dropped to the martini glass she’d filled for herself.
“This will do.” Taking the glass from her, he dumped half the contents into his hand. “Thanks.”
Surprised by his sweet tooth and offended by his rudeness, she warned him, “Careful, I’m a peanut fiend, so I hope you aren’t allergic.”
“Nope. Did you enjoy driving my car, Ms. Randall?”
“It was the highlight of my night.” She stifled any reaction to the use of her name, unable to determine if it was a good thing or bad.
“Which reminds me.” With a sheepish smile she dug into her cleavage and retrieved his claim ticket. “I forgot to give you this.”
He accepted the paper, looked from it to her bust. Heat flared in his gray eyes before they lifted to meet her gaze.
“Sorry,” she murmured, shrugging, “no pockets.”
“No need to apologize.” He flicked the ticket with his thumb. “I may have to keep this as a memento of the evening.”
Okay, what did that mean? Good gracious. Was he hitting on her? Wouldn’t Lauren love that? As for Tori, sure he tipped the studometer, but his aloof, brooding attitude triggered one of her hot buttons, putting him off-limits even more than the fact he was a client.
Of course there was that gorgeous car. “If you need a designated driver, I’m happy to be of assistance.”
“Do I appear drunk to you, Ms. Randall?” The gravel in his voice took on a gruffness.
Oops, she’d upset him again. “No, but a girl can hope.”
“Very amusing.”
She shrugged and was rewarded by him taking the last of her candy.
“You don’t mind, do you?” he challenged her.
“Of course not.” Jerk. “I can get you one of your own if you’d like.”
“No, yours is good enough.”
Was he trying to outdo himself in boorish behavior or was it simply his default mode? Whichever, charming he was not. Then again she didn’t remember ever hearing the word attached to his name. Hardworking, brilliant and brooding were the words used to describe him. Usually as a director. Looking into his pale eyes she didn’t doubt the truth of them.
As a guest, he could use a lesson in playing nice with others.
“Good night, Ms. Randall.” He stepped past her toward the door.
“Drive safely, Mr. Black,” she said to his back. She wouldn’t want anything to happen to his beautiful car.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_fce6c849-2f35-586d-8323-64a13ef8df12)
LATE MONDAY AFTERNOON Tori worked on a spreadsheet displaying the menu for a fiftieth wedding anniversary scheduled for Thursday. She was making the final notes to the grocery list when the bell over the front door sounded.
“Be right there,” she called out as she took a moment to save her file. A quick glance through the glass wall of her office revealed the visitor was a man, but he had his back to her. By Arrangement rarely got drop by traffic. The nature of their business generally took them to their clients. In fact Lauren was out with a prospective client now, which left Tori to handle the man haunting their showroom.
Her toes searched under her desk for her shoes. She ended up kicking them farther back and bent to retrieve the ballerina flats. Happy she chose to wear black jeans today, which were slightly dressier than regular jeans, she walked out of her office, tugging at the hem of her olive sweater as she greeted the visitor.
“Welcome— You.” She stopped short at the sight of Garrett Black. He stood tall and broad in the middle of the showroom in another ill-fitting suit. “What are you doing here?” Hearing the strident tone, she cringed. “I mean, Mr. Black, how can I help you?”
“Ms. Randall.” He glanced around the converted restaurant, taking in the glass offices, the tables dressed in different styles for special occasions, the well-stocked bar. He lifted a brow at her.
“We occasionally host events here,” she explained. “Or we used to.” She and Lauren bought the restaurant four years ago for the kitchen because they’d outgrown her apartment kitchen for food prep. Business continued to bloom, and after six months, the front was converted to offices, storage and the current showroom.
He nodded and continued to wander. At one of the tables he picked up a fork, set it back down. His presence confused her. She and Lauren had great ideas outlined for the film festival, but the next series of meetings with Obsidian weren’t scheduled until the first part of December.
“Would you like to sit?” she asked him.
“No.” He faced her, shoved his hands in his coat pockets. “I’ve come about the toe prints.”
She blinked at him. “Toe prints?”
“Yes. Upon inspection of my vehicle this morning I found toe prints on the carpet of the driver’s side. I wanted to let you know I’ll be forwarding the cleaning bill.”
Tori listened with growing outrage. He had to be kidding. “No,” she corrected, keeping her tone easy. “Remember, I was barefoot when we met, but you stopped me before I got in the car.” His precious oh-so-fabulous car.
Aggravating man. How petty of him to try to get a car cleaning out of her, especially when money wasn’t the issue. He was upset because she’d made him feel. Anger, arousal, humor, she’d seen flashes of each emotion in the brief conversations they’d had.
Whatever had happened to him, and it went way further back than his accident, he’d cut himself off from emotion. She imagined the accident and losing his dad only added to the pain he hid behind a brooding facade.
All too familiar with the destructive force of repressed feelings, she easily recognized the anguish simmering in his silver eyes. She felt for him, but not even his manly beauty tempted her to go there again.
Caring for an emotional recluse was equivalent to treading through a mental minefield.
“You were the only one near the car barefoot. I assume you will want to take care of this matter promptly as it would be awkward working together on the film festival with this issue unresolved.”
She gritted her teeth. He was right. Having this issue hanging over By Arrangement while she worked the film festival was unacceptable. Arguing with him didn’t make sense, either. Not while Black was a client.
Plus, no way did Tori want Lauren knowing about this. She would never let Tori forget the need to wear appropriate shoes if she learned Tori was being billed for footprints. Yet she still protested.
“Between the two of us I’m sure we can figure this out.” Much as she disliked confrontation, Tori didn’t care to be pushed around or taken advantage of, either. “Let me see the prints.” She headed for the door and the parking lot beyond.
Hey, she had a right to challenge the totally bogus accusation. Innocent until proven guilty, she wanted to see the evidence, to defend her good name. The truth was she admired the beautiful machinery of the Maserati too much to mar it and she found the accusation insulting.
“You honestly believe I’d make up footprints?” The caustic question came from behind her. “For what reason? Some half-witted excuse to see you again?”
