Dirty Sexy Alphas (Twenty Book Box Set) - Hannah Ford Page 0,216

things. Is that so wrong?”

“No, not at all,” I said.

He swirled the wine in his glass as he watched me, waiting for me to say more. If he was so willing to answer, I’d be willing to ask.

Obliging my instincts, I went further. “Is your staff—like your driver Steve and Helen back there—carefully briefed on your new girls? Has anyone ever had a slipup and called someone by the wrong name?”

“I like to make everyone feel comfortable,” Leo said, his expression relaxed. “My assistants help to make sure all my guests feel welcomed. No matter who they are.”

“Even if they’re just some failed actress from nowhere Maine?”

“I want to hear more about this place you’re from” he said, by way of changing the subject.

Boy, he was smooth. I had to admire it, even as it angered me a little.

But still, I didn’t want him to know too many details about me. The less he knew about me, and the more I knew about him, the better.

“Don’t change the subject,” I said. I ran my hands over the soft buttery leather of the chair. “I just want to know how many other women have sat here.”

“We’re not doing that numbers game,” Leo said, his tone hardening now. “Sophie, don’t ruin this by asking too many questions.”

I had to get my story somehow. I needed to know more about him. As Helen brought us dinner—scallops and risotto on real china—I told myself to be patient.

“Let’s talk about why you’re really here,” Leo said, setting down his fork. I’d always heard that airplane food was terrible—if you got anything more than peanuts—but the food on that plane was the best thing I’d eaten in months. Better than anyplace Paul ever took me, that’s for sure.

“I thought I was just here to keep you company,” I said, my heart jumping as I once again braced myself for my cover to be blown.

His eyes held mine like they often did. When Leo Armstrong looked at me, I didn’t want to look away. “What I mean,” he said, “was, we need to talk. About the script.”

“The screenplay you gave me to read,” I said, relieved yet again. I’d let myself get caught up in everything else. Talking about the screenplay sounded like much more fun than trying to find out about his other women. I got my bag from behind the chair and pulled out the stack of pages.

“Tell me what you thought,” Leo said.

“I thought it was good,” I said, flipping through the pages.

“Be specific.”

I felt like I was being put on the spot by one of my college professors. But I wanted to impress Leo, so I started again. “I guess it’s just not my kind of movie.”

“Why?”

“Because,” I began. “I don’t know. I’m just not into these revenge stories. Drunk driver kills this woman, and then this crazy guy goes on a rampage of destruction to track down the driver and make him pay for what he did. I mean, did he have to blow up the police station in the process? It seemed a bit much.”

“A man seeking to avenge his wife’s death is a bit much?”

“That’s not what I meant,” I said, as Helen cleared away our dinner plates and refreshed our wine. I leaned down and slipped off my heels, letting my toes feel the soft carpet of the plane. “I just think that I need to know more from this guy. Jake, that’s the killer’s name, right?”

“You mean the man who is seeking revenge? Or the man who killed his wife?”

I cocked my head. “You know what I mean.”

“It’s an important distinction,” Leo said.

“It’s just an action movie,” I laughed, wondering why he was pushing so hard. “What does matter?”

“It matters,” Leo said, “because these characters are real. Or they should feel real, no matter if they’re seeking out a foreign enemy or someone from their hometown. You should feel something from the characters, understand their motivations. It matters, Sophie, because this is my business, and if you’re telling me that this is all just cheesy shit that doesn’t matter, then I have an earnings statement that says viewers all over the world think differently. This may not be Kill Bill, but it should be the best movie viewers pay to see on the night they choose to see it. Understand?”

I nodded. “Yes. I understand.”

“These aren’t caricatures and if they are, tell me—and tell me how you’d fix it.” He ran his fingers through his hair, taking in a