Just the Sexiest Man Alive
Page 53
Deciding to take a closer look, she grabbed her martini and headed over to the sliding glass doors.
“Do you mind?” She gestured outside.
Scott shook his head. “Not at all. Make yourself at home.”
Taylor stepped out onto the deck and felt the cool breeze cutting across the Hollywood Hills. She leaned against the railing and gazed out at the twinkling lights of the city.
For what had to be the hundredth time that week, she wondered what the hell she was doing.
She had debated over and over whether she should cancel her date with Scott. She had a whole list of reasons ready: she was too busy with her trial, she barely knew him, she didn’t want to get involved in a relationship in Los Angeles, et cetera. But none of those reasons had sounded particularly convincing, even to her.
Scott Casey had asked her out on a date.
Scott Casey.
Taylor knew that millions of women would die to be in her position that night. And that had been the clincher: she had realized that if she couldn’t say yes to a date with Scott Casey, then she seriously needed to examine what was stopping her. Or rather, who was stopping her.
And that was something she did not want to think about.
Scott popped his head out onto the deck. “Dinner should be ready in about five minutes. Do you want another drink?”
Taylor glanced down at her empty martini glass. “Sure, that’d be great.”
Determined to have the best night of her life—because that’s what a date with Scott Casey should be—Taylor followed him inside.
“SO WHERE DID you learn how to cook?”
Scott (or his assistant) had elaborately set the dining-room table with dozens of flickering candles. Music—what sounded suspiciously like the Garden State sound track—played throughout the house through unseen speakers.
Scott smiled in response to Taylor’s question about him. “You don’t know this?” He appeared surprised when she shook her head, no.
“Chef’s school,” he told her.
“Really? When did you do that?”
“Back in Sydney. That’s how I got started in acting.” Scott peered at her curiously. “You really don’t know this?”
Taylor shook her head again. Okay, she got it. She lived in a hole.
So he gave her the rundown. “Well, one day this casting director walked into one of my classes, looking for culinary students for a daytime cooking show. I got the job, and I did the show for about a year. But I really got into the acting side of things, so I got an agent who sent me on a few auditions. My first real acting gig was on a prime-time show for that same network, and from there I moved into film, smaller roles at first, then bigger, until finally I got the call about A Viking’s Quest. And then the rest, as they say, is history.”
“That’s a pretty interesting story,” Taylor said, impressed.
Scott grinned. “Thanks.” He reached across the table and laced his fingers through hers. “But enough about me. I want to know all about you, gorgeous.”
Normally, Taylor hated questions like that. They were so interview-y. Good conversation should just flow organically, from the moment.
She quickly tried to think of a topic she and Scott had in common. “Well, I mentioned before that I’m from Chicago. Let me ask you something—was it hard when you first moved to Los Angeles? Did you miss home?”
But Scott waved this off, uninterested. “We can talk about that some other time. What I want to know is how I ever got lucky enough to get a beautiful girl like you to go out with me.”
Taylor burst out laughing. Surely he had to be joking with a line like that. She stopped when she saw the confused look on his face.
“Wait—you’re serious?”
Scott pulled back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, sorry.” Taylor bit her lip and tried to disguise her misunderstanding by gesturing to the windows that ran along the dining-room wall. “So, that’s really some view you have there.”
Scott smiled. “Yes, it is.” He turned back to Taylor with what was presumably a “seductive” look. “But not as good as the one I have right here.”
Taylor laughed again. “All right, now I know you’re joking.”
Scott abruptly sat back in his chair. “I’m just trying to pay you a compliment, Taylor,” he said defensively. “I didn’t realize it was that funny.”
Taylor shut up. Again.
Okay . . . so . . . awkward moment here . . .
It appeared pretty safe to say that Scott didn’t go for the whole dry/sarcastic humor thing. She would just have to come up with some other material. Too bad she really didn’t have any other material.
An uncomfortable silence followed, and Taylor was just thinking that perhaps she might compliment the salt and pepper shakers sitting on the table—they were the loveliest shade of pewter, when—
—thank god, her cell phone rang.
Taylor dove immediately for her purse, which sat on the chair next to her. “Sorry, I have to keep it on for work,” she apologized to Scott. How terrible—she found herself almost hoping it was some kind of work emergency.
She checked the caller ID and instantly recognized the particular 310 area code number that showed up on the phone’s display. A number that just happened to belong to one Mr. Jason Andrews.
Taylor defiantly flung her hair back. Oh, sure—like she was going to take his call right then. She was a little busy.
“Do you mind?” She gestured outside.
Scott shook his head. “Not at all. Make yourself at home.”
Taylor stepped out onto the deck and felt the cool breeze cutting across the Hollywood Hills. She leaned against the railing and gazed out at the twinkling lights of the city.
For what had to be the hundredth time that week, she wondered what the hell she was doing.
She had debated over and over whether she should cancel her date with Scott. She had a whole list of reasons ready: she was too busy with her trial, she barely knew him, she didn’t want to get involved in a relationship in Los Angeles, et cetera. But none of those reasons had sounded particularly convincing, even to her.
Scott Casey had asked her out on a date.
Scott Casey.
Taylor knew that millions of women would die to be in her position that night. And that had been the clincher: she had realized that if she couldn’t say yes to a date with Scott Casey, then she seriously needed to examine what was stopping her. Or rather, who was stopping her.
And that was something she did not want to think about.
Scott popped his head out onto the deck. “Dinner should be ready in about five minutes. Do you want another drink?”
Taylor glanced down at her empty martini glass. “Sure, that’d be great.”
Determined to have the best night of her life—because that’s what a date with Scott Casey should be—Taylor followed him inside.
“SO WHERE DID you learn how to cook?”
Scott (or his assistant) had elaborately set the dining-room table with dozens of flickering candles. Music—what sounded suspiciously like the Garden State sound track—played throughout the house through unseen speakers.
Scott smiled in response to Taylor’s question about him. “You don’t know this?” He appeared surprised when she shook her head, no.
“Chef’s school,” he told her.
“Really? When did you do that?”
“Back in Sydney. That’s how I got started in acting.” Scott peered at her curiously. “You really don’t know this?”
Taylor shook her head again. Okay, she got it. She lived in a hole.
So he gave her the rundown. “Well, one day this casting director walked into one of my classes, looking for culinary students for a daytime cooking show. I got the job, and I did the show for about a year. But I really got into the acting side of things, so I got an agent who sent me on a few auditions. My first real acting gig was on a prime-time show for that same network, and from there I moved into film, smaller roles at first, then bigger, until finally I got the call about A Viking’s Quest. And then the rest, as they say, is history.”
“That’s a pretty interesting story,” Taylor said, impressed.
Scott grinned. “Thanks.” He reached across the table and laced his fingers through hers. “But enough about me. I want to know all about you, gorgeous.”
Normally, Taylor hated questions like that. They were so interview-y. Good conversation should just flow organically, from the moment.
She quickly tried to think of a topic she and Scott had in common. “Well, I mentioned before that I’m from Chicago. Let me ask you something—was it hard when you first moved to Los Angeles? Did you miss home?”
But Scott waved this off, uninterested. “We can talk about that some other time. What I want to know is how I ever got lucky enough to get a beautiful girl like you to go out with me.”
Taylor burst out laughing. Surely he had to be joking with a line like that. She stopped when she saw the confused look on his face.
“Wait—you’re serious?”
Scott pulled back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, sorry.” Taylor bit her lip and tried to disguise her misunderstanding by gesturing to the windows that ran along the dining-room wall. “So, that’s really some view you have there.”
Scott smiled. “Yes, it is.” He turned back to Taylor with what was presumably a “seductive” look. “But not as good as the one I have right here.”
Taylor laughed again. “All right, now I know you’re joking.”
Scott abruptly sat back in his chair. “I’m just trying to pay you a compliment, Taylor,” he said defensively. “I didn’t realize it was that funny.”
Taylor shut up. Again.
Okay . . . so . . . awkward moment here . . .
It appeared pretty safe to say that Scott didn’t go for the whole dry/sarcastic humor thing. She would just have to come up with some other material. Too bad she really didn’t have any other material.
An uncomfortable silence followed, and Taylor was just thinking that perhaps she might compliment the salt and pepper shakers sitting on the table—they were the loveliest shade of pewter, when—
—thank god, her cell phone rang.
Taylor dove immediately for her purse, which sat on the chair next to her. “Sorry, I have to keep it on for work,” she apologized to Scott. How terrible—she found herself almost hoping it was some kind of work emergency.
She checked the caller ID and instantly recognized the particular 310 area code number that showed up on the phone’s display. A number that just happened to belong to one Mr. Jason Andrews.
Taylor defiantly flung her hair back. Oh, sure—like she was going to take his call right then. She was a little busy.
