Chapter 3 Megan
MEGAN
Someone appears from out of nowhere and rolls across the hood of the taxi as we’re about to leave the film studio.
The driver slams on the brakes, and the car screeches to a halt.
Amber screams. I wrap my arms around her head and cover her face on the back seat. I’m shaking. I don’t know what happened. I didn’t even see anyone coming, but it didn’t sound good. Our taxi driver just killed someone.
Then the passenger door is yanked open, and he’s back.
The demi-god with olive skin and brooding brown eyes. He isn’t even out of breath— which confirms my previous assumption that he isn’t human—while my heart is leaping about like a frog on hot cement inside my chest.
“I’m sorry,” he says while I’m still trying to figure out what the hell just happened. “I couldn’t let you leave without putting things right.”
Sorry for what? Kissing me in front of a room filled with strangers with access to cameras? For almost killing himself beneath the wheels of the taxi I just happen to be riding in? Or for being an absolute fucking psychopath with a death wish?
He glances at the silver-haired man in the driver’s seat whose hands are frozen to the steering wheel and raises a hand in a gesture of peace. “Please accept my apologies. My driver will see that you are paid for any inconvenience caused.”
“Are we done here?” I glance pointedly at the open passenger door that he’s leaning on. We’re not going anywhere while he’s standing in the way.
“Is she okay?” He gestures to Amber, who hasn’t moved. “Your daughter.”
“She isn’t my…” I leave the sentence hanging. I don’t have to explain myself to this maniac. “She’s fine.”
Amber pulls out of my embrace and eyes him suspiciously. “Are you an actor?”
He smiles, and my love-starved heart performs a backward flip.
Why does he have to be hot as well as crazy?
“No. Nothing that glamorous.” He reverts his full attention to me.
“The footage is being erased as we speak. If your husband has seen it, I’ll accept full responsibility.
Just tell me what needs to be done, and I’ll do it. ”
“My husband?”
He glances at my left hand. “Your boyfriend then.”
I’m staring at his full lips and perfect white teeth and have to drag myself back to reality when I realize that he’s waiting for my response.
I shake my head. He doesn’t need to know that I don’t have space for a relationship in my life.
This is the guy who thought it was acceptable to drag me in front of a camera and use me as playboy target practice.
There’s a mischievous gleam in his eye when he looks at me. “Let me take you to dinner then. So that I can apologize properly.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath from Nikki who is sitting on the other side of Amber. I ignore her.
“Thank you, but no. I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
The smile grows wider. He clearly doesn’t understand rejection. “There’s something I should show you.”
My eyes instinctively travel down towards his groin area which—oh my fucking good God—is bulging way more than is acceptable in broad daylight. He notices, of course he does.
“Seriously?” My mouth is so dry, the back of my throat clicks when I swallow, giving me away. “You expect me to come to dinner with you after what you’ve done.” The audacity of the guy!
“After what I’ve done?”
His left eyebrow quirks upwards, and it’s kind of cute. I bet he couldn’t twist those perfect features into an ugly expression if he tried.
“You haven’t seen it, have you?” Strangely, the serious tone disturbs me more than when he threw himself in front of a moving vehicle.
“Seen what?” I’m not even sure that I want to know the answer.
“Let me buy you breakfast. Brunch. Whatever you want. Please. I’ll prove to you that I’m not an asshole, and that my intentions are honorable.”
Oh God, I love the way his tongue rolls over the word ‘honorable’.
I mentally shake myself and process what he’s trying to say while Nikki nudges my back with her elbow. “Meg,” she whispers. “Hear the man out.”
I nearly give myself whiplash glancing around at her. Why is my best friend in all the world encouraging me to get up close and personal with a suicidal maniac?
“Why?” I mouth.
“Please.”
I hear the pleading in her voice, and I remember with a jolt that this isn’t all about me. This is Nikki’s big chance. Whoever this guy is, he must have some influence over what goes on inside that studio. I mean, no one stopped him when he dragged me onto the set and stuck his tongue in my mouth.
My pulse quickens at the memory.
I turn back to him. “Give me one good reason why I should.”
Okay, so it isn’t quite a yes, but this guy is too accustomed to getting what he wants, and I don’t have to fuel his massively over-inflated ego by falling headlong into his arms.
Another guy appears behind him. He hands over his phone, and the demi-god turns it around so that I can see the screen. My heart stops its acrobatics and goes eerily quiet when I watch myself on the screen.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
This cannot be happening.
I’ve been so careful to keep a low profile, staying off social media when everyone around me thrives on it, and never letting Amber out of my sight. For what? For this fucking idiot to destroy everything because he knows exactly how drop-dead gorgeous he is.
“Take it down.” My voice is barely audible over the hum of the car engine. “Take it down now.”
“It’s already been taken care of.”
He isn’t messing around now. He might not understand why it’s so important to me, but he seems to know that it is. The guy almost got himself killed trying to speak to me when he could’ve just disappeared from my life and enjoyed all the clicks our kiss reaped on YouTube.
“Why should I believe you?”
He takes my hand. It isn’t a romantic gesture, he doesn’t raise it to his lips and kiss it, he simply holds it, letting me know that he’s there.
“Because I recognize fear when I see it.”
I chew my bottom lip so hard I almost draw blood. “How?” I shake my head.
Am I supposed to believe that this is more than just another chat-up line because the kiss failed? What could a guy like him possibly be afraid of?
“Long story. Which I’ll explain over breakfast. If you’ll accept?”
I sigh. “I don’t know.” I can’t even think straight.
How many people have already seen the video? I should be thinking of Amber, not contemplating a date with Mr. Hottie. I need to work out my next move.
“I promise I’ll keep you safe.” He’s persistent, I’ll give him that. “I messed up. I’m the one who should put it right.”
“I think you should go, Meg,” Nikki whispers in my ear. “Mr. Sabatelli owns the studio.”
That explains a lot.
I study his face. He’s so beautiful it almost hurts my eyes. Almost.
There’s still the issue of the video to be resolved. But I guess if he’s offering to clear up his own mess, having breakfast with him is the least I can do.
“Okay,” I say. “But Amber comes with us. And only if you promise that there’ll be no photographs, or videos, or people following us around and asking for your autograph.”
He chuckles. “Deal.”
He stands back and holds my hand while I climb out of the car. No one has ever done that for me before, and it would make me feel special if I wasn’t so anxious and confused.
I lean in and unfasten Amber’s seatbelt.
“Where are we going, Meggie?” she asks.
“We’re going to get food. Are you hungry?”
She nods and peers up at Mr. Sabatelli from beneath long thick eyelashes. “Can I get pancakes?”
He crouches in front of Amber, bringing himself down to her level, and I wonder if he has children of his own. My eyes instinctively seek out his wedding finger, and my heart springs back to life when I don’t find a ring or a circle of untanned skin.
“You can get pancakes with as many toppings as you can eat.”
The accent is like melted chocolate on my tongue, and it isn’t until I’m sitting in the back seat of his bus-sized car that I realize I didn’t even say goodbye to Nikki.
Giovanni—he says that we can call him Gio—points out landmarks to Amber as we drive through the city.
Universal Studios. The Walt Disney Concert Hall.
The famous Hollywood sign located up in the hills.
He makes everything sound exciting, and Amber sits forward in her seat, soaking up the sights that I haven’t yet gotten around to showing her.
“Look, Meggie.” She points out of the window at a woman performing somersaults on roller skates. “Can I get roller skates when we go home?”
“Where is home, Meggie?” My heart skips frantically when he says my name.
“The UK.” Surely, he can tell by the accent.
“Whereabouts in the UK?”
Why does he want to know? It isn’t like we’re going to see each other again after this date, if it can even be called a date.
Men like Giovanni Sabatelli probably date models and actors and wealthy heiresses.
They don’t date cake makers who live in a dingy apartment in a shitty part of East London on the other side of the Atlantic.
“East London.” Amber answers for me.
“What brings you to Los Angeles?”
“Nikki, my friend, is an actor.” Here’s the part where I make this situation work for my best friend.
“A great actor. You should see her on stage.” Deep breath.
Calm the hell down, Meg, and stop gazing into his beautiful eyes.
“Anyway, she landed this role, and her parents paid for me to come out here with Amber for a vacation.”
His expression gives nothing away, but I get the feeling that he’s taking it all in, storing it up for later.
“I’m glad you did.”
He is?
A shiver travels through me, his words lingering in my ears and keeping me warm despite the air conditioning inside the car.
Until I realize that we’re pulling into an airport.
LAX.