Just the Sexiest Man Alive(58)

“No, go on,” she told him. “I’d like to know whatever it was you were going to say.”

Scott looked pained to have to tell the story. “Well . . . Jason once dated this girl I know. She’s a supermodel—”

Of course she was a supermodel.

“—and apparently,” Scott continued, “she and Jason took a trip to London together. For some photo shoot or something she had there. But on their third day together, he left the hotel after breakfast, telling her he was going to get fitted for suits on Savile Row.”

Probably for the legal thriller he was filming, Taylor thought. So this was something that had happened fairly recently.

“But it must’ve been one hell of a long fitting,” Scott marched on, “because your ‘friend’ Jason didn’t come back to the hotel. Ever. He just left the poor girl alone in London, without even saying good-bye. She thought he was dead or had been kidnapped or something, until she saw his picture in the Daily Mirror the next morning. The British paparazzi had caught him at the airport, happily boarding a flight back to Los Angeles.”

Taylor remained silent after Scott finished his story. Frankly, she didn’t know what to say in response. Assuming the story was true, was she surprised to hear that Jason could be so callous? Was she disappointed? Angry?

She stared at her wineglass, feeling Scott’s eyes on her. She knew she had to say something.

“Wow. I guess I don’t know why Jason would do something like that.”

“Because he can.”

Scott took hold of Taylor’s wineglass and set it off to the side, out of their way. He spoke cautiously as he peered at her from across the table.

“You know, Taylor, some people say he can get any woman he wants.”

This struck a nerve with her.

Taylor thought about Scott’s words. Really? Was that what people said? Right then, she knew what she had to do.

She reached over and pulled Scott toward her. And she kissed him—a long, deep kiss. When she pulled back, she stared directly into his eyes.

“You know what, Scott? I think you better start listening to different people.”

SITTING ON HER living room couch, Taylor’s mind drifted back to the present.

Okay, sure, it had been a good kiss. And in the interests of full disclosure, the kiss in the kitchen, when they were cleaning up after dinner, hadn’t been too shabby, either. Nor the two in the foyer by the front door. Nor the really long good-night kiss against her car.

Yes, Taylor decided, all in all it had been a very nice first date. He had cooked for her, complimented her, even said all the right things about calling her the next day, and—for crying out loud, he was Scott Casey.

But.

Something was missing.

Taylor curled up and rested her head against the soft suede pillows of the couch.

She had just gone on a great first date with a handsome international movie star, and she thought something was missing. But she couldn’t deny it, something had indeed been lacking in their date.

Because not a single kiss with Scott Casey had held a candle to her one almost-kiss with Jason.

Taylor closed her eyes in frustration. Hell, she supposed, it didn’t matter that her night with Scott had ended with only a kiss. Because she was as good as f**ked anyway.

She needed somebody to talk some sense into her.

She needed somebody to give her a swift smack upside the head and a good, strong kick in the ass.

She needed Val and Kate.

Quickly.

Twenty-one

THE WITNESS’S MONOTONE voice droned on endlessly.

Watching from the defense table, Taylor glanced over to see how the jury was reacting to the woman’s testimony, which had been going on for hours with seemingly no end in sight.

She saw that three of the jurors had already nodded off and that the remaining six appeared ready to drop like flies any moment. She watched as the juror in the far back corner began bobbing her head like a high school student in history class. Wait . . . wait for it . . .

The juror’s head dropped back against the seat, and her mouth fell open.

Taylor grinned. Another one bites the dust.

Seemingly oblivious to these goings-on, Frank stood at the podium asking one long, drawn-out question after the other. Apparently, he was unaware of the torture he was inflicting upon these jurors he would later ask for $30 million.

“. . . And like I said earlier,” the witness rambled on, “on many occasions, I would overhear my manager refer to women as ‘chicks.’ ”

“How many times did you hear your manager use that word?” Frank asked.

The witness took a moment to answer, as if needing to compose herself. Taylor tried to keep from rolling her eyes at Derek, who sat next to her at the defense table.

“Oh, I couldn’t even guess,” the witness tearfully responded. “My manager used that derogatory term too many times to count.”

Frank nodded sympathetically. “Then perhaps we should go through all the occasions you can remember your manager using the word ‘chicks.’ One incident at a time, in detail.”

This was too much. Taylor rose from her table.

“I have to object to this line of questioning, Your Honor.”

The judge peered over at her. “Grounds?”

“Well, for starters, it’s entirely too boring for four o’clock on a Friday afternoon.”