Hollywood Name Game

They stepped out into warm Cal­i­for­nia sun­shine and a cool breeze. Rhett took one look at her wreck of a loan­er and began laugh­ing.

I’ll be right back,” he told her.

She heard a car’s engine approach and turned as Rhett pulled up in a black Range Rover. He got out and tossed her a set of keys.

It’s yours to dri­ve. Don’t give me a with­er­ing look, Cassie. It’s not a mer­cy loan. It actu­al­ly comes with the job. Car­reen used it all the time. Some­times, you’ll have things to pick up for me, like the mega-amount of gro­ceries today, so you’ll need a lot of room.”

And some­times I’ll need to park in fan­cy-schman­cy places, and you wouldn’t want me to embar­rass you?” she nee­dled.

Rhett mock sighed. “You’re absolute­ly right. You’re onto me. I am a shal­low, self­ish, stereo­typ­i­cal Hol­ly­wood star and wouldn’t want oth­ers to judge me by the bro­ken-down mess my assis­tant dri­ves.” He eyed her. “Come on, Cassie. You’ll have fun dri­ving a Rover.”

Hah! You have no idea where I live, Cor­ri­g­an. It’ll prob­a­bly be stolen from my park­ing lot before I make it to my apart­ment door.”

He shrugged. “So, I’ll buy a new one. You know us pam­pered Hol­ly­wood men and our toys. Get in it and fol­low me.” Rhett climbed into the sleek, blue Porsche and buck­led up. “Let’s go,” he called out the win­dow.

Cassie climbed behind the wheel of the Range Rover and fell in behind Rhett. Her heart pound­ed in her ears. How could he trust her with some­thing so expen­sive, espe­cial­ly when she’d totaled one of his cars yes­ter­day?

Who are you? Was she seri­ous?

Every woman in Amer­i­ca knew Dash DeLau­ria. He couldn’t pump his own gas or grab a lat­te in Star­bucks. A styl­ist came to his house when he need­ed a hair­cut. How could she not know who he was?

Who­ev­er she was, she was hot. Despite the sleek navy busi­ness suit and con­ser­v­a­tive shell under it that made her look total­ly estab­lish­ment. Despite the dull brown hair, which didn’t seem to go with the rest of her. The remain­ing pack­age?

It was every­thing Dash liked.

She was very tall and at six-three, he liked a tall woman. She had flaw­less, incan­des­cent skin. Green eyes the col­or of sum­mer grass that popped. With­out a doubt, she pos­sessed the most kiss­able mouth he’d seen in a long time. He already itched to put his lips next to hers and take them for a spin.

Who are you?” he replied, turn­ing the tables back to her. Maybe she was Mon­ty Revere’s per­son­al assis­tant. Or accoun­tant. She sure as hell wasn’t his housekeeper—but Dash would love to play house with her. Any­time.

I asked first.” She eye­balled him calm­ly but he saw the pulse point jump in her throat. Despite her cool and col­lect­ed out­side, he had an effect on this woman.

Who would you like me to be?” he asked, mim­ic­k­ing Julia Roberts in Pret­ty Woman.

Are you seri­ous? You’re flirt­ing with me? I don’t believe this.” Her eye roll would put any teenage girl to shame.

Oh, baby, you’d know if I was flirt­ing with you,” he teased, his inter­est in her grow­ing by the minute. Dash was nev­er inter­est­ed in women. They were always inter­est­ed in him.

She jerked the box from his hands and shoved the mon­ey at his chest. The minute she touched him, elec­tric sparks shot through him like he’d nev­er imag­ined.