not thinking clearly.â
âOn the contrary, this is the most focused Iâve been since I started thinking about the anniversary.â He moved toward the door, only slightly unsteady on his feet. âLock up when you leave,â he called, even though he knew Tim would.
He headed for the elevator, planning to hit the sheets immediately. But when his alarm went off the next morning, he realized he had no memory of getting from the restaurant to his suite, much less getting into bed. Since he was still wearing his suit, he apparently hadnât put too much thought into the endeavor.
With a groan, he sat up, one hand pressed against his temple to keep his brain from spilling out his ears. He almost called the front desk to have them stop the damn construction, until he realized the pounding was all in his head.
Memories of the night before flickered through his mind, scattered and indistinct. Lisa. Lisa was the only impression that stood out. The only real memory in a haze of illusions. Lisaâ¦and his plan.
Stumbling into the bathroom, he pressed his hands against the counter and stared at the mirror. His reflection stared back, stern and unblinking. Could he really do this? Did he still want her so muchâand did he want retribution so muchâthat he was willing to make sex a bargaining tool? That he was willing to sacrifice his hard-and-fast rule against filming inside the restaurant?
He took a deep breath. Anger or lust, he didnât know, it didnât matter. The answer was still the sameâ yes.
Ken shut his eyes against his reflectionâs reproach.
Lord help him, yes.
Â
H UGOâS WAS JUST AS sheâd remembered it. A popular breakfast spot on Santa Monica Boulevard in the heart of West Hollywood, it was a favorite hangout among gays and straights, the trendy and the hungry. When sheâd lived there, it had been Lisaâs favorite place to grab a weekend breakfast, and sheâd become addicted to the pumpkin pancakes.
Her stomach was already growling as she pulled into a parking space behind the restaurant. She sat in her rental car for a moment, gathering her courage. This was it. In an hour, sheâd either have Kenâs help or she wouldnât.
And if he turned her down, she didnât have a clue what she was going to do. Maybe pick up a copy of Daily Variety to see if she could find a job doing grunt work on a low-budget film.
No! She pounded her fist against the steering wheel, then quickly looked around to see if anyone had noticed the whacked-out woman in the blue Honda. She needed this job, was terrified of failing once again, and she was going to convince Ken to help herâno matter what the cost.
With a deep breath, she slid out of the car, then started walking toward the front entrance. A dozen or so people loitered near the door, newspapers in hand, as they waited for the hostess to take them to a table. The inside wasnât any better. The crowd was so thick, Lisa could barely fight her way to the hostess station.
âIâm sorry,â the hostess said after Lisa explained she was meeting a friend. âWeâre only seating full parties right now. If you donât see your friend, youâre probably here first.â She poised a pencil above a yellow pad. âName?â
âNeal,â Lisa said. With a sigh, she slipped away, then leaned against the wall. Sheâd intentionally showed up a little late so she wouldnât seem overly eager. So much for that little scheme, since Ken wasnât even there yet.
A warm hand closed over her shoulder. âLisa,â Ken said.
A bone-deep warmth flowed through her, and she trembled. His voice alone made her pulse burn, igniting long-forgotten passions that she had absolutely no business letting rekindle. She was over him. They were history. And sheâd do well to remember that.
She turned to face him, hoping her smile was professional, and that it didnât