Part 1 (2/2)
”No, Aaron. No way.” Ross stopped walking. ”I didn't attend the Royal Shakespeare Academy to sing in a commercial. And a j.a.panese commercial at that.”
”Technically you wouldn't be singing,” Aaron said. ”The toilet would sing.”
Groaning and trying to repress the feelings of humiliation that bubbled up, Ross started walking again. ”I'm not that desperate yet. Thanks very much.”
”Then you'd better make sure that Savannah producer is gonna come through with the bucks for the film you want to direct.” Aaron's bark sounded particularly harsh across the cell.
”I'm on the way to meet with him right now.”
”Good...Oh. I want to warn you about that a.s.shole tabloid reporter, Stewart Milton,” Aaron continued. ”The one who's been writing all the c.r.a.p about you.”
”What about him?” Ross asked, turning right to head down another block, this one lined with town home-style, Victorian-era homes.
”He flew out of L.A. for Savannah yesterday.”
”Why? Aren't there enough celebrities in L.A. for him to hara.s.s?”
”Yeah, but he's after you buddy-boy,” Aaron answered. ”The word going around is that he has a personal grudge against you.”
”Why? I don't even know him.”
”You slept with his wife.”
”I haven't slept with anyone's wife,” Ross shouted then glanced around him and lowered his voice. ”I think I'd remember.”
Aaron told Ross her name.
”That was six years ago. And she wasn't involved with anyone when we dated.” Shaking his head, Ross stepped over a gap in the bricks of the sidewalk. All he needed now was to break a leg. ”Ridiculous.”
”Yeah, I agree. But, apparently, she can't forget you and the guy is jealous.”
”Brilliant,” Ross said, cringing inside.
”Think about the toilet commercial,” Aaron advised.
”Out of curiosity, would I be sitting on the toilet while it's singing?” Ross asked.
”No. Cleaning it.”
”Goodbye, Aaron.”
The footsteps continued closer to Mo.
Please turn around. The whispered incantation screamed inside her head. Mo's eyes scrunched and her teeth clenched. The steps came closer, closer, closer. Abruptly, the footsteps stopped. Mo could've sworn they stopped a few cars away. Or was that just wishful thinking?
”My, my.” A deep, masculine voice, tinged with an attractive British accent, spoke from behind her. ”What have we here?”
Yep. Wishful thinking.
”Do you require a.s.sistance?” The mocking tone of the voice made Mo's teeth clench tighter. More footsteps clicked against the cobblestones before halting again.
”No, I'm fine.” She struggled to sound nonchalant, but had to shout to be heard. Craning her neck, Mo saw through the driver's side window to two feet shod in leather loafers. Tailored gray suit pants encased the legs just above the shoes. ”Go on about your business, sir,” Mo choked out.
He chuckled. ”It's not everyday that one sees a woman's derriere so beautifully displayed. So you may appreciate that I prefer to remain right where I am.”
Mo tried to move and stopped.
It probably wouldn't be the best idea to swish the protruding portion of her anatomy just now.
The man peered through the window at Mo. His face, topped by well-groomed black hair, nagged at her with its familiarity. Mo, under other circ.u.mstances, would have described his face as yummy.
”If you're not going to leave, why don't you make yourself useful and pull me out?” Mo surprised herself with the suggestion.
”Why didn't you go in feet first?” he asked.
”I was trying to go with the grain of the skirt, of course,” she joked.
”You do know a skirt doesn't have a grain?”
”Okay, Mr. Literal. I guess you think the phrase 'half c.o.c.ked' actually means half a-” Mo cut herself off. ”s.h.i.+take,” she screamed with frustration.
”Pardon?”
”You know?” Mo groaned. ”The mushroom?”
”Forgive me,” he said. ”I don't comprehend your culinary reference.”
”If you must know, I've sworn off swearing and food-type words seemed like the most satisfying subst.i.tute since I'm also on a diet.”
He didn't need to know that her boss had wanted her to cut out the obscenities to satisfy the agency's more gentile clients.
”I was killing two stones with one mushroom,” she continued.
”You have your idiom confused, but I follow your meaning,” he noted. ”And perfectly logical-in some alternate universe. But may I say you clearly don't need a diet?” He returned to peer at her through the window again. ”You look quite perfect...from the bits I see.”
”Thanks, I think.”
”Why did you-” he began.
”Does it matter? I'm starting to get a stomach cramp and a headache,” she shouted. ”Just help me!” Oh, how she'd love to slap that smirk off his yummy face.
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