Keely grinned. “He was eager for me to come see you this morning. He really liked Wynn and wanted me to pump you about how things went between the two of you. Mac nudged me last night. It was while you were throwing the dice. He told me to look at the way Wynn was watching you.”
“How?”
“Like there was something there. A connection. Wynn’s face betrayed his interest in you, Scarlett. That man already cares for you. I’m sure of it.”
“Hmm.”
“Just food for thought.” Keely stood. “I’m going to head home. Mac promised me a lengthy foot rub after we walk Jax.”
Scarlett hugged her friend. “That’s what I want,” she said softly. “A guy who’ll rub my feet when I’m pregnant.” She laughed. “Or even when I’m not.”
She walked Keely to the door. “Keep me posted on how filming goes this week.”
“Will do.”
“Love to Mac. And Jax.”
She closed the door and leaned against it.
Had she been too abrupt with Wynn? She’d painted him as other men she’d dated, lumping him with self-centered actors whose vanity and ego didn’t allow room for anyone else. Yet Wynn was a huge name in the business. Men like that rarely gave Scarlett Corrigan the time of day. Yes, she was attractive and smart but too many men of her acquaintance wanted their women drop-dead gorgeous, without caring about intelligence or personality. Much less ambitious ones, which she was in spades.
Was Wynn different? Is that why she’d felt such a connection with him?
If anything, she had patience. She would take Keely’s advice and see how it played out. If Wynn didn’t contact her about representing him, there might be hope. And if he did?
She’d make the best of it. Be the consummate professional. Solve whatever problem he had and know she was meant to look elsewhere for, lack of better words, the man of her dreams.
◆◆◆
Wynn parked his Triumph Spitfire and walked a block to Lymon McGraw’s office tower. He knew he was taking a chance by keeping the lunch date he’d made with Scarlett Saturday night. She’d said she was busy all Monday but when he’d pressed, she’d agreed to a working lunch. He was afraid if he called her assistant, Scarlett would back out. Better to show up, lunch in hand. He’d Googled her firm and knew they represented big names from actors to musicians to athletes. Wynn bet she wouldn’t want to be seen turning him away in front of her colleagues.
Sometimes, it did pay to be Wynn Gallagher, AKA Carbon Man, and noted Hollywood celebrity.
A car pulled up as he reached the tall, glass building. A disheveled delivery guy jumped out, two large white sacks in his hand. His jaw dropped the minute he spotted Wynn. He slammed the car door and rushed over, grinning from ear to ear.
“I didn’t believe it when they gave me the order, Mr. Gallagher.” He passed over the sacks. “I am a fan. Huge fan. No, huge doesn’t even begin to tell—”
“Thank you for meeting me,” Wynn interrupted, giving the man an easy smile and slipping him enough to cover the meal and a generous tip.
Looking in his hand, the guy said, “Thank you!” and then asked, “Could we selfie?”
“Sure.”
Quickly, a cell emerged and the delivery guy snapped the photo. Looking at it, he said, “You’re awesome, dude.”
Wynn gave him a wave and headed into the office building, walking briskly to the elevators. He didn’t want to get involved in any more conversations. Right now, he was a man on a mission. Like a heat-seeking missile, he needed to locate Scarlett Corrigan and put Operation Wynn Her Over into high gear. Fortunately, an elevator was going up and he squeezed in at the last minute. He could tell by the particular silence that blanketed the crowded space that most of the occupants had seen him get in and knew exactly who he was.
“Fourteen, please,” he said to the woman next to the control panel. She swallowed and nodded at him, quickly pushing the button and then turning to gape at him.
Wynn was used to it. He’d perfected the art of acknowledging people and then ignoring their stares, knowing he gave off something that said it was fine to gawk—just don’t engage him in conversation.
The doors opened but no one got out. That was typical. Fans would ignore where they were going in order to ride a few more floors with Carbon Man. Even now, he heard the subtle clicks as passengers took his picture with their cell phones. They’d also be curious as to where he got out and what was located on that floor. Hollywood was filled with spies for the tabloids, everyday working people who phoned in tips to bloggers, reporters, and the paparazzi. By the time he left Lymon McGraw, Wynn knew to expect people to be waiting for him and the Carbon Man sighting to have been logged on half a dozen Internet entertainment sites, maybe more. Twitter would be having a field day, wondering what he’d been up to at the prestigious law firm.
The elevator arrived at his floor and he exited. Glass doors awaited him and he breezed through them, balancing his sacks as he approached the reception desk.
A pretty brunette glanced up. She must have been used to seeing heavy hitters on a regular basis because she didn’t blink an eyelid. That—or she was one of four people in America who hadn’t seen an Alpha Tharra Universe movie.
“May I help you, Mr. Gallagher? I don’t seem to have you scheduled for an appointment.”
The receptionist did know who he was then. He said, “I made lunch plans with Scarlett Corrigan at a charity fundraiser Saturday night. She said her scheduled was booked solid for Monday but that we could squeeze in a working lunch.” He indicated the bags and gave her a
