5. Celina #2
Before she could respond, Osias moved closer with predatory grace.
His posture shifted subtly, becoming more protective, but he stopped just short of intervening.
The restraint felt deliberate—he was close enough to act if needed, but far enough away to let her handle the situation herself.
The consideration made something flutter in her chest.
“Of course,” she said to the fans, slipping into the warm professionalism that had become second nature. “I love that you enjoyed the film.”
As they positioned themselves for photos, she caught Osias watching the interaction with obvious fascination. Most men in her life either ignored her fans completely or treated them like obstacles to be managed. He seemed genuinely interested in observing this aspect of her world.
“Thank you so much,” the first woman gushed after they’d taken several shots. “You’re even more beautiful in person.”
“That’s very kind. I hope you have a wonderful evening.”
As the fans walked away, practically vibrating with excitement, Osias approached with that same measured confidence she’d noticed in his office.
His hand moved toward the small of her back—not quite touching, but close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his palm through the thin fabric of her dress.
“Shall we?”
The simple question sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. There was something commanding about the way he guided her toward the restaurant entrance, something that made her feel both protected and desired.
Inside Mancini’s, the ma?tre d’ recognized them both immediately. His professional smile never wavered, but she caught the slight widening of his eyes as he processed the significance of Celina Bates and Osias Fellan arriving together.
“Right this way, please.”
They were escorted to a corner table tucked away from the main dining room—not quite VIP but offering the kind of privacy that allowed Hollywood’s elite to conduct business without constant interruption.
Osias pulled out her chair with old-fashioned courtesy that felt genuine rather than performative.
“Thank you,” she murmured, settling into the plush chair.
When he took the seat across from her, she noticed how he seemed to fill the space, his presence magnetic and intense in a way that made her heart race.
“What can I start you with this evening?” their server appeared with practiced discretion.
“Vodka tonic,” Celina said automatically.
“Macallan 18, neat,” Osias added, his attention never leaving her face.
After the server departed, an unexpected silence settled between them.
Not uncomfortable but charged with the same electricity she’d felt during their handshake earlier.
She found herself studying the strong line of his jaw and the way his blue eyes seemed to flash almost golden under the dim lighting.
“Are you hungry?” The question carried an undertone of concern that caught her off guard.
“I’m fine with just drinks.”
His eyebrows drew together slightly. “Celina, did you eat today?”
The direct question made her pause. When was the last time someone had asked about her basic needs without it being part of a larger agenda? Rennick monitored her schedule, Trent ensured her safety, assistants managed her appointments—but none of them simply asked if she was hungry.
“I didn’t really have time after our meeting. The filming schedule was pretty intense.”
“Then we’re eating as well as drinking,” he said with quiet authority, signaling their server without breaking eye contact. “You can’t survive on liquor and good intentions.”
The comment surprised a laugh out of her. “That sounds like something my best friend Daya would say.”
“She sounds like a smart woman.”
When their server returned, drinks in hand, Osias ordered for both of them with the confident efficiency of someone used to making decisions. Normally, she bristled when men assumed they knew what she wanted. But this time, she found his take-charge attitude oddly appealing in the romantic setting.
“So, how was the rest of your day?” he asked after their server disappeared again.
The simple question threw her completely off balance. Nobody ever asked how her day had been—they assumed she had everything under control, or they told her how she should feel about whatever had happened.
“It was actually pretty good. Braxton was very professional on set.”
Something flickered across his features—tension, surprise, something darker she couldn’t interpret. “Braxton is your co-lead?”
“Yes, and I know you two are brothers.” She kept her voice carefully neutral, not wanting to wade into family dynamics she didn’t understand. “To his credit, he’s a great actor.”
“He can be very motivated and focused when he wants to be,” Osias said, but the words carried an edge that suggested complicated history.
Sensing dangerous territory, she shifted topics smoothly. “So, I wanted to discuss the projects we might explore together.”
His entire demeanor relaxed as they moved to safer ground. “Well, I reviewed your portfolio thoroughly after you left. The project that caught my attention was A Promise to Keep.”
Her pulse quickened with genuine excitement.
A Promise to Keep was one of the scripts she’d been most passionate about—a character-driven story about two people who meet under impossible circumstances and promise to always find their way back to each other, no matter what obstacles life throws between them.
“That’s exactly the project I was hoping you’d be interested in,” she said, leaning forward slightly. “The director is incredibly talented but unknown, and the story explores themes about loyalty, sacrifice, and what it means to choose love even when it’s difficult.”
“It sounds like the perfect project to work on together,” he said, his deep voice carrying a warmth that made her wonder if he was talking about more than just business. “We could make it something special.”
Their food arrived, interrupting the moment but not the electricity crackling between them. As they ate, conversation flowed with surprising ease. She found herself genuinely enjoying his company in a way that felt both professional and dangerously personal.
“Why did you start Bates Films?” he asked eventually, his tone gentle but direct.
The question hit deeper than she’d expected. She set down her glass and considered how much truth she was willing to share with this man who seemed to see too much already.
“It was a way to get through my grief,” she said finally. “My mother died unexpectedly two years ago while visiting me on set in Europe. She always lived life so fully and loved stories that mattered. I wanted to honor that.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said simply. “That’s a beautiful way to carry your mother forward.”
The wave of grief that followed his words was swift and overwhelming.
Instead of the usual pressure to compose herself or move past the emotion, she felt Osias reach across the table and cover her hand with his.
He didn’t offer platitudes or try to fix her pain.
He simply held her hand and let her feel what she needed to feel.
The gesture was so unexpected, so perfectly calibrated to what she actually needed instead of what people assumed she needed, that she almost started crying right there in the restaurant. For once, someone was holding space for her grief without asking her to perform her way through it.
As his thumb traced gentle circles across her knuckles, Celina realized with startling clarity that she could fall for this man. Easily. Completely. Catastrophically.
And instead of pushing that dangerous possibility away, she was already looking forward to more moments like this.