Page 37 of Love: Take Two

"I'm fine," I assure him, though to my utter embarrassment, I'm still sputtering. He retakes his seat, looking doubtful.

"You just startled me, is all," I finally manage. I risk a tentative sip of my latte before I remember, "You didn't answer my question. Since when do you speak French?"

Noah turns back to the monitor and shrugs.

"A few of my clients speak it as a second language, so I figured I should learn it. It's also helpful for when people try to talk shit behind your back."

He raises his eyebrow as he says the last sentence, but he keeps his eyes on the screen.Busted. I toy with the pendant of my necklace, irritated.How does this man continue to catch me off guard?

"I wasn't talking about you, if that's what you're worried about. I just meant it's not fair that we're stuck out here, so far away from the action."

It's not a complete lie, and I sigh in relief when Noah nods his agreement.

"We're not too far removed," he answers. "And hopefully any action over there stops when the director yells cut."

He turns briefly to give me one of his distracting smiles. You'd think I'd find them grating since he hands them out so freely. To the line producer, the assistant helping set up catering, the female guard at security—not that I noticed. But each one seems genuine, meant solely for the person he's speaking to at that moment. Meant to make them feel special and seen.

And then Iamannoyed because Noah Park shouldn't be making me feel like this. Not with our history, and not when his golden boy almost brought production to a halt only weeks ago.

He interrupts my pondering on how to make myself impervious to his charms with a deep chuckle at one of Tabitha's lines.

"She's got a way of making the most inconsequential line hilarious," he praises. "Something about her delivery reminds me of Alan Arkin."

And just like that, my defenses are back down again. Because he's right. Though most of her roles don't take advantage of her comedy chops, Tabitha is naturally funny. MaybeI don't have to be impervious to his charms. Maybe we just need a truce.

I tap him on the shoulder and hold out my hand. He regards it skeptically.

"What's that for? Do you want to arm wrestle over who has to talk their client into backing down? Because I'm not afraid to beat a girl."

I press my lips together but fail to hide my smile.

"No, silly," I laugh lightly. "I propose an agreement. We put our claws away for the sake of the movie. We're professionals, and you and I both know this is going to be an unbearable few months if we're at each other's throats the whole time."

"Giving up already?" he teases with a smirk. I roll my eyes and start to pull my hand back.

"Well, if you'd prefer to keep fighting—"

"No, no!" he rushes to say, taking my hand in his. It's warm, and his fingers have the slight roughness of a man who takes care of himself but doesn't avoid work, as my mother would say. I like it. Too much.

"I agree things will go more smoothly all around if we get along. Let bygones be bygones and all that."

"Hmph," I answer, my lips pursed. "I don't know about all that, but if you can keep it classy, I can too."

His smirk widens into a grin, but he squeezes my hand, then releases it. A truce.Let's hope it lasts.

When Edward finally yells cut and we break for the day, it's already dark. True, that's to be expected in mid-December, but it's late and I am worn out.

The gaffer ran an extension cord for our laptops, and I convinced a PA to bring some real chairs with lumbar support so I'm not sore by the end of the day. I couldn't possibly speak for Noah, but hips and thighs like mine can't survive for more than an hour crammed in a tiny canvas chair. I stand to stretch and twist, working the kinks out of my spine.

"Same," Noah says, tilting his head to each shoulder with a relieved grunt.

His tie is long gone, and the top button of his shirt is open, exposing powerful muscles bunching beneath taut skin. It's not indecent, and yet the thoughts in my head are decidedly risqué.

I glance up to find his heated gaze on me, and I curse myself.

Stupid celibacy streak!Persistent horniness has obviously addled my brain. If I'd known I was going to spend the next few months alongside my first real crush, I would've gotten some dick to tide me over.

"So," he starts, his eyes still gleaming, "what do you say to some celebratory drinks to close out the night?"