to carry her forward, she joined him at the chairs and sank into one.
As he sat beside her, Charley’s seagull friends swooped down and landed on the deck railing a few yards down. After giving them a wary perusal, Simon redirected his attention to her. “Tell me what’s holding you back.”
Mustering up her courage, she poured out all her turmoil, sharing her doubts and disillusionment and dissatisfaction as she had with Zach—though not in as much detail.
Simon listened without interrupting until she finished, then leaned back in his chair, brow knotted. “I didn’t realize how unhappy you were—or that your discontent predates the incident with Jason.”
That wasn’t the reaction she’d expected.
He hadn’t yelled at her. Or berated her. Or tried to convince her that her feelings weren’t valid.
Either he’d suddenly developed compassion and understanding—or fear of losing out on a deal to have one of his clients star in a prestigious film was forcing him to put a long-rusty skill set to use.
Her money was on the latter—but she’d give him the benefit of the doubt.
“I think my misgivings have been simmering for quite a while. Jason’s death was . . . it forced me to confront them.”
“So you’re having a sort of midcareer crisis, questioning your goals. It happens.” He patted her hand, oozing empathy. “But that’s a different challenge than the decision about whether to accept this role. They don’t have to be dealt with together. Why not take the part and defer the question about where to go from there until after the film wraps?”
He knew why as well as she did.
“Because if the critics are kind and the film is a success, more offers will come in. The pace will accelerate. I’ll have even less time to think. Walking away now would be cleaner and less complicated than walking away afterward.”
“Walking away.” He drummed a finger on the arm of the chair. “That’s a very final step, Katherine.”
“I know.”
“What would you do if you left Hollywood behind? Acting is all you know.”
“No, it’s not.” Her defensive hackles rose. “I have other options.”
“Like what?”
“Like . . . like making candy.” The suggestion of such a radical career change appeared to surprise him as much as it did her.
He gaped at her as if she’d said she wanted to travel to Mars. “You can’t be serious.”
Maybe she hadn’t been when that idea had tripped off her tongue—but the concept wasn’t that bizarre.
“Why not? I enjoy it, and the truffles I’ve made during my stay here have gotten rave reviews.”
Simon rose. Walked over to the railing and looked out over the sea. Ran his fingers through his hair, leaving his pricey salon cut in disarray as he pivoted back to her.
Mr. Empathy was gone. The shrewd, deal-making Hollywood agent was back.
“I’m beginning to worry about your mental state, Katherine. Why on earth would you give up an acting career poised on the brink of success to spend your days making chocolate?”
“I like doing it. It’s satisfying. And I wouldn’t always have nosy reporters in my face.”
“It’s not going to pay like acting.”
“I’ve saved my money.”
“I know.” His lips twisted in disgust. “You live like a pauper.”
“I live like someone who knows the value of a dollar—and who craves financial security. Which I have. That gives me options.”
“Are you saying you don’t like acting anymore? That you wouldn’t miss it?”
“No. I do and I would. But I don’t like what comes with it at the Hollywood level.”
“So you’re going to give up everything you’ve worked for and open a little froufrou chocolate shop.”
At his belittling tone, she bristled. “I didn’t say that. I said I could if I wanted to. You asked about my skills, and that’s one I do have.”
He began to pace again. “Listen—if you want to get involved in the chocolate business, take the movie role. Get famous. Then I’ll go find a chocolate company that will sign you as a spokesperson. You’ll have the best of both worlds.”
The man just didn’t get it.
“I’m interested in making chocolate, not endorsing it.”
She could try to explain to him how she enjoyed the physical act of tempering chunks of chocolate until they were transformed into glossy goodness, experimenting with different flavors and ingredients to produce a product that was uniquely hers, inhaling the heady and comforting aroma as she worked. She could tell him how much she cherished having total control over her creative—and personal—life.
But he wouldn’t understand.
The façade of sympathy he’d adopted for a few minutes had melted