in a minute.”
Goose bumps spread across my flesh. What the fuck was he doing here?
“Daniel?” I couldn’t see him, but I knew that unmistakable voice. I detected the sound of pages being turned, mingled with the gentle melody of the classical music playing in the background. Then Daniel spoke again, his deep, theatrically trained voice resonating:
“Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all.
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chilliest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.”
I stood there, motionless, my limbs floating—at least it felt that way. The words of that beautiful poem brought back a memory that I couldn’t place.
“Emily Dickinson,” I murmured to myself, “I love that poem.” I noiselessly walked over to the library and saw Daniel, not on one of the sofas, but on the floor, books spread about him, his head cast downwards, as he thumbed through an old leather-bound volume. Why that particular poem? Was it random? Hope is the thing with feathers. Did he mean me? That I was hoping? Hoping for a real relationship with him? The little bird that didn’t ask for even a crumb? Because it was true; I had never asked anything of Daniel, but I had hoped. Hopelessly hoped. I shook myself out of my reverie and back to the point in question . . .what was Daniel goddamn Glass doing here, anyway?
He said nothing, just continued to thumb through the book. He didn’t even turn to look at me, so absorbed as he was. I wondered if he could sense my presence. Finally he raised his head.
“Do you always slink up on people that way?” he said wryly. I had forgotten how much his eyes affected me. Just a glance was all it took. My stomach somersaulted on itself.
“Do you always gatecrash my meetings?” I retorted, a faint smile sneaking on my lips.
“I was invited here.”
He was wearing a blue T-shirt that accentuated his pectorals and the color of his eyes, and a pair of worn jeans. All I could think of was the delicious package tucked away inside, and a flash of one of my sexy dreams replayed in my brain.
“Janie! You got here!” It was Sam Myers bursting through a side door, with Pearl Chevalier in tow.
Daniel gathered the books together and put them on the coffee table in front of him. He turned and said, “Damn, I was hoping to have a moment alone with you, Janie.”
Samuel thundered into the room, donned in a cream-colored suit that was too tight for him. Beads of sweat glittered on his forehead. I was tempted to hotline a call to my makeup artist to take away the shine. He was smiling inanely. This whole situation was confusing to say the least.
“Janie, so glad you could come,” Pearl said, offering me her cheek. Her skin was perfect—smooth and flawless. She really was beautiful and very un-LA, sophisticated, dressed in nude high heels and a navy blue suit. Another man came into the room, seconds later. One of the producers? He was debonair. Tall, dark, and unbelievably handsome. Not dissimilar to Daniel; an unusual, original face, but with green eyes, not blue—equally piercing, though.
“Janie, so ‘appy to mit you,” he said, his French accent taking me by surprise. I realized it was Pearl’s husband, the billionaire owner of Hooked Up, Alexandre Chevalier. He shook my hand. All three of them were beaming at me. I glanced over at Daniel, and he winked, his lip slipping into an ironic curve, which suggested amusement. What the hell was going on?
“Who’d like a drink?” Samuel exclaimed with a hearty wheeze. “Champagne, anyone?” He made his way to the bar and took out a bottle of Bollinger from the icebox. “Pearl, honey, would you get some glasses? You know where they are.”
“We don’t want to jump the gun,” Daniel warned.
“Oh, I think we have cause for celebration,” Samuel snorted.
“Well, Janie, I just wanted to say hi,” Alexandre said, kissing my hand with a flourish, “welcome aboard The Enterprise, and see you around.” He turned on his heel and strode out the door.
Samuel puffed out his large belly. I thought his suit buttons would pop. “Take a seat, Janie, make yourself comfortable. Daniel, explain to our Rambling Rose, here, what’s going on.”
I made my way over to