Somewhere I'll Find You (6 page)

With her hands sliding from his chest, Jenny roughly pushed away.  “I hope that you’re satisfied, making a complete idiot out of me!  Have a good laugh, it’s the last you’ll have at my expense!”  Stalking away,
Jenny was too stunned to notice
the admiring glances from the surrounding crew.

With a low whist
le, Daniel praised whatever god
had inspired him to put that bit on film.  He knew that if the camera had captured even half of the chemistry that he had seen, he was going to be making a desperate pitch to the studio execs.  That girl could make the difference between a mediocre film and something that would be a large draw.  Knowing that their current leading lady desperately wanted a role in another film, he was willing to gamble that Olivia would be more than grateful to be given the chance to withdraw.

Calling it a wrap, Daniel stubbed out the remains of his cigarette, walking swiftly away.  He had little time to have that film processed and pitched to the bosses.  But if he could, there was one other question.  How was he going to sell the idea to the very angry young woman who had just stormed away?

But Daniel had never allowed adversity to stop him. 
What
he w
anted was that girl on film, and
come hell or high water, he always got what he wanted.

* * * *

The elegant vestibule of the Getty Museum was filled with the glitterati of four continents.  Amidst the orchids and dwarf oranges, royalty rubbed elbows with rock stars, film stars, and the wealthiest of society.  Champagne flowed, diamonds glittered; the suits were strictly Armani and the gowns were haute couture.

Paige looked on, stifling a sigh.  It was a world she had made her own, becoming intimately familiar with it out of necessity.  Being seen and making small talk was as much a part of her livelihood as writing the script for the next successful film.
So is agreeing to do things like this . . . As much as I don’t want to.
  When the wildlife trust for which the benefit was occurring had cast around for someone with Paige’s level of knowledge of the collections being showcased, the managers at the Getty had
almost
immediately signed her up for the task.  She stifled a wry smile. 
I suppose it’s their way of thanking me for the last time, but I could have done without it tonight.

Donations from various parts of the state had been marked and catalogued, with proceeds to benefit th
e popular charity, and Paige had
little worries about the auction not being highly profitable.  It didn’t hurt, either, that a few in attendance expected the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge to put in an appearance before the evening was out.  But for all the glitz and glamour,
it held nothing for her;
Paige wanted
nothing more than
to take in the sight of the roses at the base of her house on Mulholland Drive.

Paige entered the antique-strewn ladies’ room, turning before the mirror before straightening out her elegantly severe black velvet suit.  She looked exactly like what she was: young, clever, and very sassy.  If the stuffed shirts around her didn’t like it, that was just too bad.  She had dealt with too many condescending businessmen since arriving in Hollywood and although she had done it well, it didn’t mean that she enjoyed it one bit.  She had grown weary of the groveling and ostentation side of the business.  All she wanted to do was make her appearance before going home to continue working on her current script.

She shoved back her glossy black hair and frowned into the mirror.  Outside, the premiere auction event of the season was about to begin
. A
n old friend from her college days –
who conveniently also happens to be seeing one of the museum chairs here at the Getty,
Paige thought wryly,
-
had talked
her
into accepting the museum’s position as auctioneer and overseeing the gavel
ing of the collection of studio
pieces tonight.  As an expert in the golden days of Hollywood, Paige knew how to fill her speech with a running commentary on the history of each piece.  She knew which article of clothing had been worn by what performer, or the history behind the film in which it had been used.
 
And if I don’t, all I have to do is touch it,
she thought grimly. 
But it’s information they pay me for – whether it’s in exposure or cash.
  As a result, her knowledge was respected by not only film aficionados
,
but also
by
the museum itself.

So, Paige forced a smile and smoothed her hair, reminding herself that this exposure not only helped a good cause but also gave her further access to the stuffed shirts that populated her industry.

“Ready to go?”  A soft voice asked as a bejeweled finger pressed her shoulder in a fond gesture.

“Serena,” Paige sighed with mild exasperation, “you’re a pest.  Why did I ever agree to this?  If I die from perfume inhalation, it will be your fault and yours alone.”  She made a face while rubbing her nose.  “Some of these women
marinate
in the stuff.  It’s already killing me.”

“But what a way to go.”  Serena Kozlov, Paige’s friend, stood six feet tall and drop-dead gorgeous in gold silks and satin.  She knew everyone worth knowing and
w
as familiar with, perhaps too much so, all their various vices.  Since Paige’s arrival in Hollywood, Serena had made it her mission in life to see her friend settled and happily married.

But Serena’s string of introductions had left Paige totally bored, and she was having no more of them, or so she had told Serena
on the last few occasions
, and Serena had finally given in and had promised to cease and desist.

But suspicion of Serena’s past actions was a difficult habit to break, especially when she had that old gleam in her eyes.  Paige sighed exasperatedly.  “What is it, Serena?  Don’t tell me that there’s another sweet, dear man you want me to meet.  I warn you, I’ve had enough with making small talk with strangers.”

Her friend gave her a sympathetic look.  “I
was
terrible, wasn’t I?  Well, you can breathe easily, because I’m done with that.  I’m only thinking of the man who has been asking questions about you.  See, over there.”  She opened the ladies’ room door and pointed.  “Beside the Japanese director.”

Paige studied the tall man striding past a marble column.  She had only time for a dim impression of broad shoulders and dark hair before he vanished into the jeweled crowd.  “Am I supposed to know him?”

“No, but I do.  His name is Michael Sinclair.  He’s the tenth Earl of Ashton, actually.”

Paige’s lips pursed.  “Serena …”

“Don’t go all New World Snob on
me
, Paige O’Neal.  Michael is a perfectly nice man who asked me to point you out.”

Groaning quietly, Paige shook her head.  “Serena, when will you learn?  I’m not interested, no matter what number your Earl is.  He’s just another aristocrat with probably too much money and blue blood for the likes of me.”

“You’re wrong, Paige.  He’s very quietly involved with quite a few charities in England, spending a great deal of time and money helping their wounded military.  I’d tell you more but he’d shoot me, since he’s very sensitive about his privacy.”

“So am I,” Paige replied pointedly.

Serena smiled.  “Well, I assure you, he doesn’t know much about you.  As a matter of fact, he said that you were far too young to be an expert on anything that predated 1980, and we all know better than that.”

Paige rolled her eyes.  “Just what I need, another pompous ass.  I love you, Serena, but really, you seem to attract those kinds of men the way they grow oranges in Florida.  And these auctions seem to pull them out in droves.”

“But he’s a most
attractive
man, Paige.  There’s something different about Michael.  It’s his eyes, I think.  He looks at you and really
sees
you.  There’s something seductive but dangerous about that kind of total focus in a man.”  She shrugged.  “Then again, I’ve already had two glasses of Taittinger, so my judgment is probably a bit hazy.  Now, I must be off.  There’s a man waiting for me who has a blank check from a very fine department store and I mean to see that he spends every dime of it here tonight.”  She winked at Paige.  “And a few more after that.”

Knowing Serena, she’ll do just that, too,
Paige thought, as her friend moved back into the crowd.  For a brief moment,
she
was envious of her enthusiastic friend, who always seemed to know just how to put people at ease and bring out their good points.  Unlike Paige, who seemed too serious, too competent, and too . . . Capable?  Yes, that was the word.  She’d had to be capable after losing her mother at a young age and then worrying about her footloose father before losing him, too.

Sighing, Paige picked up her evening bag before heading for the columned auction room.  Capable or not, she had made a promise to Serena, and the sooner she completed her obligation, the sooner she could make a quiet and hasty exit.

Halfway between the potted plants and the carved ice sculptures, a man blocked her way.  A very tall man with raven black hair.

“Ms. O’Neal?”  A black brow arched, accentuating his fantastic green eyes.

Paige looked into those cool eyes and tho
ught that they were too knowing and
far too confident. Not that he didn’t have reason to be.  His formal black jacket was just about perfection, and his tanned face spoke of just the right amount of sun.

Probably from shuttling between Monte Carlo and the latest haunt in the West Indies.

This mean
t
to Paige that he was a complete washout, no matter how right Serena had been when she had
spoken of his good looks
.

“Maybe.”  Her eyes skimmed his body, noticing the exquisitely cut shirt that came from one of the finest tailors on Savile Row.  His wrist held a worn but extremely valuable Swiss designer watch that would have paid a year’s mortgage on most homes
, she noticed
.
 
Even out here.  Definitely a rich boy.  Too rich for me.
  “But probably not.”

There was a flare of emotion in his eyes; something that Paige decided was a mix of anger and humor. 
It was a
combination that Paige found startling.

“Oh,” he asked quietly.  “And why not?”

Paige allowed herself a tight smile, “Because I don’t like your accent.”  For a moment, there was a flash of memory, of a smug British accent that warned of danger.  Ignoring the memory, she stepped back as a muscle flashed at his bronzed jaw. 

“I haven’t said that much, yet,” he purred, that accent of his digging deeply into her bones.

Paige pursed her lips.  “Then it’s because I don’t like the way you look.”

“I can take the suit off if that will help.”  Michael grinned smugly, keeping his voice low to discourage passersby f
rom
overhearing their conversation.