Just the Sexiest Man Alive(8)
Standing there that night in her temporary Santa Monica kitchen, having finished unwrapping the flowers, she realized with a good deal of satisfaction that she’d barely thought of Daniel in the couple of weeks since she had moved to Los Angeles. That was a large part of the reason his flowers and card had come as such a surprise.
I’m sorry. And I love you.
What a nice sentiment. Daniel, apparently, was not finding it quite as easy to stop thinking about her.
With that thought in mind, Taylor reached over and flicked a switch just above her kitchen sink. The garbage disposal roared to life with a loud garbled crank.
She had found just the perfect spot for his flowers.
THE NEXT AFTERNOON at work, when she came out of her office for a much-needed coffee break, Taylor discovered a large crowd of what had to be virtually every one of the firm’s secretaries huddled around the credenza behind Linda’s desk.
Without diverting their gaze, the secretaries parted so that Taylor could get a look at whatever it was that had so captivated them.
A television.
Taylor could barely hide her disdain. Oh, come on—he wasn’t worth this much fuss. Whether it was the patronizing tone of his assistant during their conversation the day before or the brazenly sexist bravado of “The Women of Jason Andrews!” article, she had recently found herself developing several preconceived notions about the actor she soon was going to be working with. And none of them could exactly be considered positive.
She glanced over at the television, just in time to catch a quick montage of images of Jason Andrews flashing across the screen.
“Where did you guys get this?” she whispered to Linda, not wanting to divert the larger group’s attention from such obviously important matters.
Linda responded to Taylor without tearing her eyes away from the TV screen. “They aired an interview with him last night on E!, so I recorded it.”
Seeing the slightly dazed look on her secretary’s face, Taylor had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. She couldn’t help it—a vision flashed into her head: Jason Andrews walking through the office corridor the following morning, as the administrative staff swooned and fainted one by one to the floor as he passed by.
With that image in mind, Taylor turned her attention back to the television, where Jason was being interviewed in some posh hotel room. She couldn’t help but notice, as he leaned against the couch, how natural and relaxed he appeared—undoubtedly due to the many, many times he had been interviewed before.
Of course, she also couldn’t help but notice how good he looked on camera. She’d hazard a guess that his face was one of the most recognized in the world: the rakish dark hair, the perpetual glint of confidence in his brilliant blue eyes, and that trademark devilish smile. He pretty much was the standard against which male attractiveness had been defined for the past ten years.
Taylor recalled being at a party a few years ago where, as a game, Kate had asked each male attendee the same question: Who would they choose if—for whatever reason (gunpoint, to save the world, etc.)—they had to have sex with another man? Without exception, every man at the party had picked Jason Andrews.
“Is there really any other answer?” Chris, Kate’s boyfriend at the time, had laughed. He refreshingly had been the only guy not to utter the token “I’d rather die” protests before finally answering. The other men at the party had nodded in universal agreement: if (upon pain of death) the deed had to be done, Jason Andrews was the only way to go.
Taylor turned her attention back to the on-screen Jason as he stretched his long legs out in front of him. There was something different about seeing him on television that morning. It was kind of strange, but up until that point she somehow had never viewed “Jason Andrews” as a real person. He was so larger than life that he seemed more like some Hollywood creation than an actual flesh-and-blood man. So in many senses, she felt as though she was watching the man himself for the first time.
Taylor glanced at her watch. She supposed she could spare a few minutes checking out the interview before getting back to her dep transcripts. For research purposes, of course.
The reporter who sat across from Jason was a man in his mid-thirties who Taylor vaguely recognized from last year’s Academy Awards red carpet preshow. He launched eagerly into his first question.
“So let’s see, Jason, you’ve earned three Golden Globe nominations—one of those a win, and two Academy Award nominations, again with a win for your dramatic performance as an undercover narcotics police officer in Overload. Tell me: Is there anywhere you can go from here?”
Jason flashed that famous smile at the reporter’s question.
“Of course. I’m always looking for something that will challenge me.”
The reporter shifted in his seat, ready to move into tougher territory. “There are rumors you were interested in the lead role in Outback Nights, but that your salary—which currently is the top in the industry—was simply too high for the film’s budget. Care to make any comment on that?”
“Only that I wish everyone involved in that project the best of luck.”
Jason’s relaxed gaze gave away no hint of animosity. Taylor wondered if he was acting. Actually, she wondered if he ever wasn’t acting.
The reporter pressed on. “Do your best wishes extend to Scott Casey, who landed the role instead of you?”