Why Resist a Rebel - By Leah Ashton Page 0,21

your contract?’

‘Have I held up filming? Have I embarrassed you professionally?’

‘You will if you don’t go,’ she said simply.

He smiled. ‘Then you just need to get me to go.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘How?’

‘Dinner.’

He hadn’t planned this. Hadn’t planned anything beyond saying no to Paul and seeing what happened next.

With Ruby there wasn’t a script—things just happened.

But dinner, suddenly, was the perfectly obvious solution.

‘That’s blackmail,’ she said, with bite.

He shrugged. ‘Yes.’

No, he most definitely was not a gentleman.

She sighed loudly and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. ‘So if I agree to dinner, you’ll attend the premiere.’ It wasn’t a question.

‘And make you look like a miracle-worker in front of your producer.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘I’d rather you’d just gone to the premiere and never brought me into this at all.’ She paused, meeting his gaze.

Her expression was sharp and assessing. ‘Dinner at that French bistro on Saturday night—you booked that for...whatever this is.’

Maybe he had? At the time it’d been about riling her up, teasing her, irritating her with the idea he had a date with another woman. Childish, but he hadn’t had a plan. Not consciously, anyway.

‘Yes,’ he said, because he knew she’d hate that answer.

‘God, you’re so, so sure of yourself, aren’t you?’

He didn’t bother replying. Instead he walked past her, then settled himself onto one of the small navy-blue couches. ‘Why don’t you take a seat? We can work out the details of our date.’

‘No, thank you,’ she said, very crisply. ‘I need to get back to the office. I don’t have time during my workday to waste on this. Call me later. Or even better, email me. More efficient.’

Lord, he liked her. So direct. So to the point.

She spun on her booted heel, then paused mid-spin.

‘So this is your way of maintaining your one-hundred-per-cent never-rejected perfect score or something?’

‘You can think of it that way if you like.’

She groaned. ‘You think you’re very clever, don’t you?’

Considering he’d just achieved exactly what he wanted, he didn’t consider it necessary to reply to this question either.

She continued her exit, but at the door she, just as he expected, had to deliver a final parting shot. Just as she had yesterday.

‘You know what, Mr Cooper? Everything I’d heard about you before this week was good. Glowing even. Everyone likes you. Everyone loves to work with you. So, I reckon you must really be a great actor. Because, quite frankly, I don’t think you’re a very nice person.’

This time he had no pithy retort, so he just let her go.

After all, she was partly right. Right now he didn’t feel like the Dev that everyone liked, as she said. The Dev that loved his job and that was beloved of many a film crew. The Dev with a million friends and a lifestyle that most could only dream of.

Right now he didn’t know what type of person he was at all.

Ruby had laid out every single item of clothing she owned on her motel-room bed. Not just the clothing she’d brought with her for this film—everything she owned.

Years ago she’d got into the routine of selling her clothes before departing for a job overseas—eBay was brilliant for that purpose—rather than lugging it with her across the world.

She’d always thought it rather a flawless plan. She had a keen eye for an online shopping bargain, so she was rarely out of pocket, and, more importantly, she had the perfect excuse to buy an entirely new, season-appropriate wardrobe every six months or so.

The rare occasions she did date, it was always between films, so having a favourite, guaranteed-to-feel-awesome-in outfit was not really all that essential. She knew well in advance if she had a premiere to attend, so she could plan ahead—and besides, the full-length formal gowns were really only for the talent at those events, not the crew.

So. Consequently here she was, hands on hips—and not far from putting her head in her hands—with absolutely nothing to wear on her date with Dev.

It was tempting, really, really tempting, to rock up for her date in jeans and a ratty old T-shirt. So her clothing choice would make a very obvious statement about how she felt about the whole situation.

But, unfortunately, she just couldn’t.

Turned out she was—much to her despair—incapable of being truly cool, and strong, and defiant. In this way, at least. Nope. Just as she’d been agonising over her clothing choices for work each day, she wanted to look her best on Saturday night.

Yes, it was pathetic. Yes, it