Macon, who makes a pained grumble deep within his throat.
The tips of my breasts graze his chest with each breath I draw. His own breath hitches, and I make my move, leaning just close enough so that my mouth is by his ear. He doesn’t move an inch, but I see the tremor run through his shoulders.
I find myself smiling, though I’m too hot, too weak kneed to be truly amused. “Macon?”
He makes a sound that is the approximation of “Yes.”
I allow myself one nuzzle, the briefest brush of my nose against the curve of his ear—loving the way he tries to suppress a shiver—and then I make my voice hard and firm. “Bugger off.”
Macon rears back as though goosed, his brows raised high in surprise. His gaze clashes with mine, and then he’s laughing—a wry, self-deprecating sound that’s just a bit too forced. “For a second, I thought I had you.”
“Not a chance,” I say, making my own show of laughing the moment off.
But when we resume shopping, walking close enough that our arms occasionally brush, I wonder who is the bigger bullshitter here.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Delilah
The next day, when North pulls around with the car, Macon tells him we’re dining out for lunch. “We”—not him. I don’t want to be a “we.” I especially don’t want to have lunch with his agent. If the one-sided phone conversation I’d overheard is anything to go by, the woman is already dead set against me. Not my idea of a good time.
“No, I have menus to plan and a list of frivolous crap to take care of.”
Macon gives me a deadpan look. “None of the tasks I ask you to do are frivolous.”
“Oh, really? Sending some chick a batch of cardamom cupcakes with lavender frosting made by a specific baker that I have to drive all the way out to Laguna Beach to pick up, because of course they don’t deliver, isn’t frivolous? Hell, I can make those myself. I can even put happy birthday on them in little gold letters like you wanted.” Frankly, I’m surprised he hadn’t specified what font should be used.
“But they wouldn’t be from her favorite baker,” he tells me, then makes a sound of exasperation. “She’s my makeup artist. The woman I have to spend hours in the chair talking to. She needs to know she’s appreciated.”
I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to bribe people with goodies, Con Man.”
“Everyone here does.”
“So being yourself isn’t enough?”
At that, he shoots me a slanted smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Why, Ms. Delilah, are you saying that my personality is capable of winning people over?”
“You could charm the skin off a snake if you wanted to, and you know it.”
His chuckle is smug, and I turn away to look out the window so he doesn’t see my reluctant smile.
North takes us to Chateau Marmont, an old Hollywood hotel that looks like a castle holding court over Sunset Boulevard.
We’re whisked to a table on the terrace, nestled between rustling palms and heavy red hibiscus flowers. I want to scoff at the location because it’s definitely a place to see and be seen, but it’s also lovely in that way of LA restaurants, a secluded little fairyland of grace and beauty.
I order their take on a moscow mule and sit back with a content sigh. Now that I’m far away from the doctor’s office and soaking up the warm sun, I’m happy.
The drinks are arriving when a harassed-looking woman in a dove-gray Dior day dress hurries over.
“I’m sorry I’m late, darling,” she says to Macon, forestalling his attempt to rise by giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Traffic on the 101 is a beast.”
It’s always a beast. But I suspect she knows this and is more concerned about making a grand entrance. The woman is tall and thin, her long dark-brown hair flowing in perfect waves around her face. I know the effort it takes to have your hair turn out that perfectly; either she puts aside a few hours to get ready in the morning, or she has a standing reservation at a salon.
Regardless, I’m impressed and a little envious. I’d resisted washing my hair for as long as possible, but my own blowout gave up the ghost with this morning’s shower, and I am not nearly as adept with the flat iron as my stylist. Which means my hair now floats too thick and fluffy around my head.