And that was it. Those simple words affected Jason more than any others ever had.

“Taylor . . .” he said, pulling her closer to him.

But she shook her head. “Don’t. Don’t say anything. I just wanted you to know that. That’s all.”

She started to pull away, but Jason held her tight. “Don’t pull away from me. Not this time.”

“I have to.”

“Why?” he demanded. “Because of Scott?”

Taylor looked up at him. “We both know Scott isn’t the problem.”

“Then what?”

She paused at the question, her eyes troubled.

“It’s you, Jason—you’re the problem. I just . . . I can’t do this with you.”

Jason was momentarily taken aback by her words. Before he could say anything further, Taylor pulled away. He felt it—the moment her fingers slipped out of his. Then she hurried off, disappearing into the crowd.

Jason stayed there, on the dance floor, watching her go. A rush of emotions swept over him, and he knew then one thing, the only thing that mattered.

He loved her.


A LITTLE WHILE later, Jeremy found Jason sitting alone on a bench in front of a fountain near the back of Bredstone’s grounds. The party was a little distance away, back up the hill. The sounds of lively music and laughter drifted down in stark contrast to Jason’s somber mood.

Jeremy took a seat on the bench next to Jason. He sighed. “Yep, yep, yep . . .”

The two of them sat quietly for a long time.

“I know, I hear you,” Jeremy agreed.

More silence.

Finally, Jason broke it.

“It’s not a game with her anymore. If it ever really was.” He glanced over at Jeremy. “She doesn’t trust me.”

Jeremy considered this. “Should she?”

Jason faced the cold, hard truth. “I suppose I haven’t exactly been a good guy.”

Jeremy spoke honestly then, as only a best friend could. “You know, I remember when we were just two guys driving cross-country to Los Angeles in that crappy yellow Datsun you owned, hoping to somehow make a living in Hollywood. And also hoping that the car would actually make it to Hollywood.”

That got a slight smile out of Jason. He remembered that car well.

“These years that we’ve been in L.A.,” Jeremy paused, as if this was something he had been thinking about for a while. “I’ve watched as you’ve settled into this crazy, ridiculous life you’ve been blessed with. And I’m not going to lie to you—there were plenty of times when I’ve been worried about you. Plenty of times. Getting everything you want so easily, that changes a man.”

Jason watched Jeremy intently, waiting to be judged by one of the few people whose opinion actually mattered to him.

“And then this thing with Taylor . . .” Jeremy whistled disapprovingly. “Boy, did you ever fuck that up. That stunt you pulled with Naomi was a shitty thing to do. You know, you really can be a selfish, spoiled pain in the ass.”

Jason nodded. He looked at the ground.

“Except ...”

He glanced up at Jeremy.

“Except when it comes to the people you really care about. Because to them, you are generous and loyal as hell. Around those people, you are a good guy, Jason. And those are the people who, at the end of the day, will never doubt you. No matter how big a pain in the ass you can be.”

Jason grinned in relief—and also surprise. Jeremy never talked like this.

Jeremy pointed. “Don’t get all teary-eyed on me now.”

Jason laughed. “Wouldn’t dare.”

“So, now—about this thing with Taylor,” Jeremy said. “Yes, you’ve made a lot of mistakes. We both know what you’ve done in the past with other women. But I’m talking about the person you are with her. So again, my question to you is: Should she trust you?”

At this, Jason met Jeremy’s gaze. His eyes never flinched.

“Yes.”

Jeremy nodded. “Then stop playing games with her. Lay it all on the line. If she loves you, she’ll see the real you.”

Jason nodded solemnly. The thought of actually putting it all out there with Taylor made him quite nervous. Seeing this, Jeremy punched him in the shoulder good-naturedly.

“Look at you, Mr. Hollywood, all soft and vulnerable.” He beamed. “I’m proud of you, man.”

Jason pushed him away, embarrassed. “Get out of here with that.”

“No, I’m serious,” Jeremy told him. “As your moral superior, I can say honestly say that I’ve never been more proud of you than I am right now.”

Jason glanced over, eyebrow raised. “Not even in college, when I convinced those twins you were the guitarist from Guns N’ Roses?”

Jeremy pointed at him.

“That could be a close second.”

Thirty

“SO THEN WHAT happened?”

Taylor rolled her desk chair over to her credenza and grabbed a file from the bottom drawer. “So then I ran off the dance floor, and I haven’t talked to him since.”

It was Sunday afternoon, and she had come into the office to catch up on work. To save time on the Black & Pink post-game analysis, she had three-way called Val and Kate.

“And what about Scott?” asked Kate.

Yes . . . and what about Scott? Now that was an interesting question. Taylor filled them in on all the details.

After leaving Jason on the dance floor, she had hurried over to the bar where she had last seen Scott. She wanted to tell him she was leaving the party, not that she thought he’d mind terribly much, given the fact that they had exchanged about ten words total since arriving.

She was making her way across the veranda when she felt someone grab her by the arm. She looked over and saw Scott.

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

Without waiting for an answer, he led her off into one of the gardens, where they were hidden behind some trees. He stared at her angrily.

“Are you having fun out there, making a fool of me?” His eyes narrowed. “I saw you dancing with him, Taylor. The whole fucking party saw you with him.”

Despite the fact that she didn’t think Scott had exactly been the perfect date, either, Taylor felt guilty. She knew it was time to put an end to this little charade of theirs.

“I’m sorry, Scott, I wasn’t trying to embarrass you. I—”

He cut her off. “Christ, Taylor, everyone here knows you’re the Mystery Woman. The paparazzi have been going nuts, trying to get a shot of you and Jason together.”

Taylor started to speak, then caught something Scott had just said.

“Paparazzi? I thought you said those were just ‘industry photographers.’ ”

“Yeah, well . . . whatever. The point is, they think you’re here with Jason, not me.”

Taylor again tried to make amends. “Like I said, I’m sorry. We were just dancing.”

Scott scoffed sarcastically at this. “Oh well, if that’s all it was, don’t let me get in the way. Perhaps you should go back and find him. Although I should warn you—Jason Andrews’s dance card is usually pretty full. He doesn’t normally make it around to the same girl twice.”

Suddenly tired with the whole scenario, Taylor decided it wasn’t worth the effort to respond. “You know, I think I’m going to call it an evening,” she said. “I’ll just call a cab to pick me up.”

Scott appeared surprised by this. Then his expression softened.

“You don’t need to call a cab, Taylor” he said, his voice full of concern.

Mocking concern, as she learned with his next snide words.

“After all, I’m sure your ‘friend’ Jason would be happy to give you a ride home,” he said. “At least one of us should get to fuck you for getting you into this party.”

Taylor nodded. Okay . . . so that’s how it had to be. At least now there was nothing more to be said between them.

“Thank you for making this so much easier. Good-bye, Scott.”

He seemed surprised when he saw she was actually leaving, and blocked her way.

“Wait—are you serious? You’re really going to leave, just like that?”

“Yep, just like that.”

He grabbed Taylor by her arm. Apparently, she had struck quite a nerve.

“You think you’re so smart,” he hissed. “But do you know how many women would kill just to get one look from me? Who the hell are you, you fucking nobody? You’d walk away, just because of one dance with Jason Andrews? You think that’s worth it?”

Taylor peered up at Scott’s furious face. There really was only one thing she had to say in response to that.

“Absofuckinglutely.”

Finished there, Taylor pried Scott’s fingers from her arm and slid by. She cut through the garden on her way out, being careful to avoid the paparazzi.

And just as suddenly as she had appeared, the Mystery Woman left the party.


AFTER HEARING TAYLOR’S story, Kate and Val were silent on their ends of the line.

“What? Say something,” Taylor demanded anxiously.

Kate responded first. “You know, ending your date with an A-list movie star with an ‘absofuckinglutely’ really is so played these days.” She laughed. “Seriously, Taylor—where do you come up with this stuff?”

Taylor noticed that her other friend had been uncharacteristically silent. “Val, you’re awfully quiet.”

Valerie spoke slowly. “I just want to be sure I have this straight. You manage to score a ticket to the best party of the year with one of the biggest celebrities in town. But then you dance with another guy—who just so happens to be, like, the hottest man in the world—then you ditch your date and run out of the party like an obscene Cinderella, never to be heard from again.”

Taylor squirmed uneasily in her chair. “Well, it really was just the one obscenity—”

Valerie cut her off sternly. “Taylor Donovan.”

Then her tone changed. To one of pride.

“You are a friggin’ genius!” Val shrieked. “Everyone’s going to be talking about you! You are so going to be on the cover of Us Weekly this week!”

Taylor tried to control her friend’s excitement. “Don’t hold your breath, Val. They didn’t get any pictures of me.”

“That’s what you celebs always think. But then you end up topless on the cover of the Enquirer and you suddenly think, hmm . . . maybe it wasn’t such a smart idea to sunbathe nude in Cabo after all, maybe that was a camera stashed underneath the towels that pool boy was carrying . . .”

“So what are you going to do about Jason?” Kate interrupted, getting back to the business at hand.

“Nothing. There’s nothing else to do,” Taylor said. “I wanted to tell him that I’d been wrong about him because I thought it was something I needed to say. That’s all.” She paused. Then she lowered her voice, even though there wasn’t a single other person in the office that Sunday morning.

“Why? Do you think I should do something else?” she whispered.

“You know I can’t say that,” Kate told her.

“I can say it,” Val volunteered.

Taylor spun around in her chair, frustrated. “What am I doing? Seriously—I’ve got way too much work to do. I can’t be worrying about this right now.”

“If all you worry about is work,” Val lectured, “then one day you’ll come home and realize that it’s the only thing you’ve got.”

“It’s better than coming home one night and finding Jason fucking some supermodel on our dining-room table.”

The phone went silent.

Wow—that had flown out of her mouth before she’d even thought about it.

“You’re right, Taylor,” Val said quietly. “If you really think that might happen, then I think you did the right thing in walking away from Jason.”

There wasn’t anything else her friends could say. But a few awkward minutes later, when Taylor ended the call, she realized that she had never felt less victorious in winning an argument.


HATING THE WAY her conversation with Val and Kate had ended, Taylor did what she always did when she felt out of sorts: she threw herself into her work—a tendency that apparently (according to Val) was going to one day render her an angry, lonely old maid who yelled crazy gibberish and threw ratty gray house slippers at neighborhood kids riding bicycles past her house.

Fine—that may not have been word for word what Val had said, but Taylor took the liberty of filling in the implied innuendo of her friend’s “one day you’ll come home and realize that work is the only thing you’ve got” comment.

Taylor Donovan, expected life trajectory:

Associate.