I’d have to play it by ear. She definitely appeared moonstruck over that asshole Asher Steadman. My fingers tightened around the steering wheel. God, she pissed me off.
It was the most alive I’d felt in a long time, and I had to admit I was looking forward to our future interactions.
As I pulled up to the hangar the security guard had directed me to, I saw a door open and there she was, hovering in the doorway. My blood pumped as if I’d just downed a quart of caffeine.
By the time I made it to her, she’d disappeared inside the building and was holding the door open from the shadows. It closed behind me and there she was.
Jane in cut-off jean shorts, a red-and-black plaid shirt tied at the waist, and red and black sneakers. Long hair in a messy half-bun-ponytail thing that spilled all over the place. Barely any makeup.
I wanted to wrap her shapely tan legs around my waist and fuck her into next week.
“You’re a mess.” She was a mess. It didn’t mean she was any less beautiful.
She made a face. “Is that what you came here to tell me? I’m working.”
“Show me around.” I moved past her, heading out of the short entryway and into the massive space. There were several soundstages inside.
A hand gripped me by the arm, and I glanced over my shoulder as Jane pressed a finger to her lips. I realized they were filming. A very famous actor was in the middle of delivering a line to another very famous actor. My eyebrows rose. I’d never been on a film set before. It was kind of interesting.
The soundstage they were on was made to look like a New York penthouse apartment. It was amazing how realistic it was, and it occurred to me that it was partly Jane’s doing. She was the art director.
Another tug on my arm wrenched me from watching the scene play out. Jane gestured silently for me to follow her, and I shot a look at the actors before going after her. We disappeared out of the hangar into the back of the building.
“Was that Reesa Orland and Jack Sheen?” I asked Jane’s back as she marched down the white hallway.
“Yeah.” She stopped at a door, pushed it open, and gestured for me to go through first.
I smirked and waved my hand for her to precede me.
Jane quirked a brow. “You’re being a gentleman now?”
“No. Walking in first gives you my back. Wouldn’t want you to stick another knife in it.”
She huffed, anger flickering in those pretty eyes.
I followed her into the room and shut the door behind us.
Taking in the space, I reckoned there was an office buried under all the props. “So, this is what you do, huh?”
“Small talk? Really?”
“No, not really.” I held out my hand. “Give me your phone.”
“Why?”
“So that when I have plans we need to enact, I don’t have to chase you down.”
With a beleaguered sigh, Jane pulled her phone out of her back pocket. “Number.”
“Give it to me.”
“I’m not an idiot, Jamie. You’re not getting my phone. Just give me your number.”
“Were you always this paranoid?”
“Not until my ex-boyfriend bribed my neighbor to sublet her apartment to him so he could plot his asinine and completely uncalled-for revenge against me.” She smiled sweetly. “On that note, has anyone suggested therapy?”
“Ah, sweet Jane, I really am enjoying getting to know this side of you.” I threw her a dirty look before I rhymed off my number. Almost immediately my cell rang in my jeans pocket.
“Now you have my number.”
I quickly saved her number to my contact list.
“Is that it?” Jane asked, leaning against a cluttered desk. “Or was there something else you needed?”
Seeing photographs on the desk, I realized this was Jane’s office. I ran my eyes over her legs as I brushed past her. “That’s a loaded question.”
“Stop, I’m blushing,” she replied dryly. “What are you doing?”
I’d picked up one of the two framed photos—a photograph of Jane and her friend Cassie from art college. It looked like it was taken while Jane was still in school. I tried, and failed, not to notice how sad her smile was in the photo. “What happened to Cassie?” I asked, even though I couldn’t take my eyes off my ex in the photo. Were we still together when this photo was taken? Was it before or