I shake my head in a negative. “No, sir. I…I can’t accept this assignment.”
“Grey, I don’t understand. This is vitally important. This is potentially the biggest film this studio has ever worked on. It could gross billions. What’s the problem?”
I don’t know what to say, how to explain without explaining everything. “I just…I can’t work with Dawson Kellor.”
Kaz leans back in his chair. “God. I was wondering if this would come up.” He sighs and fiddles with his pen, spinning it around his fingers. “I know Dawson has a bit of…a reputation. But I’ve been assured that his time away from Hollywood has matured him.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about at first, but then I remember reading a series of articles in various magazines about Dawson. He had a reputation as a hard-partying womanizing playboy. There was a scandal involving a married assistant, and then another one with a famous actress, also already married. And that didn’t even touch the endless parade of girlfriends he’d been photographed with. He had a different woman on his arm in every photograph, several of whom sold stories to the media about his predilections in the bedroom. He liked dirty sex, according to the stories. And a lot of it. The scandals mounted and swirled around him like a hurricane, but through it all he kept acting, and each role was better than the last, so he kept getting roles. Then there was an allegation of rape, and that was when Dawson vanished from the public eye for the last few years. This role as Rhett Butler is going to be his big comeback, his reboot of his career and his image.
“Did he make a pass at you?” Kaz asks.
I want to say he did. I want to put it all on Dawson, let his reputation win the fight for me. But I can’t. I shake my head. “No, it’s not that.”
“Well, then, I confess I don’t understand. What’s the problem?”
I’m near tears. I breathe and try to focus. “It’s…I just can’t, Kaz. I’m sorry. I just…can’t.”
Kaz pinches the bridge of his nose. “Grey, I like you. You’re hard-working, you’re smart, and you really seem to love the business. I want to hire you full-time. I really do. I think you could go far. But…if you refuse this, my hands are tied. Unless you have accusations to level at Dawson, you need to do this. This is the biggest opportunity of your life. It could make your career, but if you don’t do it, it will break it. I’m being honest with you.”
I do cry then, a few tears leaking out. “I get it.”
“Why don’t you go home and think about it?”
I nod. “I will, sir. Thank you.”
Rising on unsteady feet, I leave his office, ride the elevator down, and walk the two and a half blocks to the bus stop. I don’t hear him behind me until it’s too late.
“Where are you going?” His voice is right behind me, buzzing intimately in my ear.
I jump, and then hunch forward, away from him, away from his intense presence. “Home.”
“What are you afraid of…Gracie?”
I whirl in place and have to restrain my impulse to slap him. “That’s not my name. Don’t call me that, and don’t touch me.”
I step back. If he touches me, I’m lost. Something bad will happen. I know what will happen.
He closes the space between us, and despite the scorching early-evening heat, he’s perfectly unruffled. His hair is perfect, his clothes are dry. My armpits are sweaty and my forehead is dotted with moisture and my hands are shaking. It’s after seven in the evening, and I haven’t eaten since six this morning and am getting dizzy. But all this is irrelevant in the face of his proximity. He’s not even an inch away. My br**sts are brushing his chest. I remember how his eyes looked at me, how he devoured me with his eyes. He wanted me. But he saw me, too. Saw me, saw into me.
You don’t belong here, he said.
And then he kissed me. He’s that close again, and I’m drowning. If he presses his mouth to mine, I won’t be able to stop him.
My stomach growls then, and a wave of dizziness crushes me. I sway on my feet, and I’d fall if it weren’t for an iron arm around my waist holding me up.
“When did you last eat?”
I shake free of him. “I’m fine. I just need to get back to my dorm.” I stumble again as I try to get away from him. I lean against the bus stop sign, and struggle for steadiness and for breath.
“You’re not fine. Let me drive you home,” he says.
I wish it was home. It’s just a dorm room; it’s not home. I don’t have a home. I shake my head and cling to the sign.
He glares at me, seeming affronted by my stubbornness. “You’re going to pass out.”
“I’ll be fine.”
He shakes his head and spins on his heel. I hear him mutter under his breath: “Stupid ass.”
“I heard that,” I mumble.
He doesn’t answer, just strides away. I can’t help watching him; he moves like a predator, like a panther stalking through the grass. I clench my eyes closed. Something in him speaks to me, calls me. It’s not just that’s he’s so beautiful. It’s something in him. Some magnetic draw in his eyes and his presence dragging me into him.
Tires squeal, and a sleek mirror-silver car, the one I’d seen in the parking lot, roars toward me. No. No. I have to resist.
He skids to a stop in the middle of the curb-side lane, flings open his door and gets out, heedless of the traffic piling up behind him, unmindful of the horns and the shouts. As he moves toward me, his eyes are different. A blue-gray now, and angry. He jerks open the passenger door, wraps an arm around my waist, and easily and un-gently shoves me into the car. The door closes, and then he fills the driver’s side, and I’m assaulted by his scent, cologne and sweat. The car is cool, air conditioning blasting. Rock music blares from the speakers, something hard and heavy. I’m dizzy, so dizzy. The world spins, and all I see is Dawson next to me, a bead of sweat trickling down his tanned neck and under his shirt collar. All I know is the rocking motion of Dawson’s driving to the thumping drums of the heavy metal. I’m cognizant of the power of this vehicle, the effortless speed. I glance at the dashboard, and he’s doing sixty, weaving through traffic with mad and reckless skill. I remember that he did a movie in which he played a stunt driver, and the rumors were that he did nearly all of the driving stunts himself. I close my eyes as we carve through an intersection, blowing a red light and nearly causing a wreck behind us. I’m pressed against the seat, struggling to breathe.