Page 15 of Charmed by You

“You know about that?” Aaron had been a green productionassistant on the Bright Eyes set when I first met him, and by the timeI left the show, he’d worked his way up to being an exec at the studio,overseeing not only Bright Eyes, but a dozen other shows in various stagesof development.

Now that he’s joined the Hollywood elite with Freeway Flix,he’s working to develop a reboot of the show that had launched both ourcareers. And, yeah, he wants me to be part of it.

I’d rather eat glass.

“Why?” Simon asks when I tell him that I turned down Aaron’svery generous offer to have me onboard for at least the first season.

I shrug, then look out my window. “I’ve moved on. Not keenon going backwards.”

“And?”

I snap my back straight as I whip around to face him, hatinghim for being so damn perceptive. “And nothing. My career, my choices.”

He doesn’t react, but I can feel him studying my face. Istay completely still, forcing myself not to explode. Not to lay into him anddemand to know who the hell he thinks he is.

“So that’s why the reporter’s been bugging you? He wants toknow why you’re not working on the reboot? Why not just talk to him? Tell himyou’re in a different place in your career and be done with it.”

I push open my car door. “You were hired to protect me. Notto do media intervention.” I slide out, then peer back inside, meeting thoseeyes that are looking back at me, flat and expressionless. Like he knowseverything inside me but is determined not to let it show. “Stick with what youknow,” I snap, then slam the car door.

He’s out of his side in an instant, then cocks his headsharply, indicating that I should follow him to the door. I do, then stepinside when he opens it and ushers me in. The place is small, I’d guess twelvehundred square feet, with a tiny entrance hall that opens onto a living areathat flows into a combination kitchen and dining area. Moving boxes are stackedbehind a sofa that faces a media center with a television, sound system, andshelves for vinyl, CDs, DVDs, and books.

A sliding glass door leads to a small backyard, and I cansee a tiled patio that leads to a grassy area with a hammock. The whole thingis enclosed by a stone fence.

“It’s cute,” I say, then nod at the boxes. “Did you justmove in?”

“A few months ago. My place in Chicago is on the market.”

I take a seat at the small, round dining table. “So you’renew to LA?”

“Newly returned,” he says. “Born in New York. My motherdragged me here when I was twelve. I bought this place when I turned twenty. Iplanned to stay, but—well, I didn’t live here long. Started traveling, got intosecurity. Ended up in Chicago working for Devlin Saint—he’s a friend of Damienand Ryan’s. So I turned this place into a rental. Now I figure it can be homebase.”

I’m an expert at watching faces and listening to voices morethan actual words. What I see and hear is pain, and I want to ask him. Butthat’s personal. And personal isn’t where I should be going with this guy.

So instead, I say, “It’s a great place.”

He scoffs.

“What?”

“We’re staying here tonight, princess.”

I bristle at the harsh tone. And the fact that I don’tunderstand where it came from. “I thought we were going back to my place.”

“Changed my mind. Sorry if the house is below yourstandards. Coffee?” He doesn’t wait for me to reply, just heads to the coffeemaker and starts to fill the carafe with water. “I don’t have a fancy espressomachine. You’ll have to deal with Mr. Coffee.”

Now I don’t just bristle. I’m ramrod straight and onehundred percent pissed off. “What the fuck is your problem?”

He shoots me a hard look over his shoulder, then goes backto what he’s doing.

“Are you irritated because I said I like this place? Onecompliment and you morph into an ass? Oh, wait. You were already an ass.”

“Compliment? Try condescending pat on the head.”

“No. That’s not—”

“I mean, I know it’s not like your castle, and I’m sorry tomake you go slumming, but I think it’s the best thing for the night, just incase we were followed. Better to stick for a bit, and I promise you, thesecurity at this place is at least as good as what Mario just installed. It maynot look like much, but I assure you it’s as safe as your fortress.”

“Fuck you,” I say. “And fine. I’ll sleep on the couch. Foryour information, you sanctimonious ass, I do like this place. Itreminds me of the first house I bought when I finally—finally—movedout of Beverly Hills and that ridiculous cake-topper of a house my dad had metrapped in.”