ready; but even though she’d tried to steel herself as much as possible against any feelings she might have towards the man, the sight of a bouquet of flowers in his hand shocked her so much that she nearly began to cry.
“Are you okay? Are these bad flowers?” Mansour looked stricken. “They’re my sister’s favorite—I know I probably should have asked you what you like, but I wanted them to be a surprise.”
Riley quickly shook her head, accepting the bouquet and hurrying to leave the apartment as quickly as possible; she still wasn’t sure whether or not Alex had managed to bug her space.
After hastily putting the fragrant lilies in some water in her apartment, Riley did her best to regain her composure as they headed down to the lobby. By the time Mansour opened the passenger side door to his car, holding it to let her in, Riley almost felt back to normal—almost as though she might be able to get through the date after all.
As Mansour walked around the front of the car, Riley took a moment to notice that he was dressed a little more smartly than he’d been for their first date; he was wearing a pair of slacks and a button-down shirt, though it looked more comfortable on him than any piece of business attire had any right to.
Mansour had given her no hint of what their second date together would be, and Riley had assumed that it was another dinner-date. As he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road, Riley let herself relax enough to make small talk.
“I feel sometimes like I got in on the wrong side of the business,” Riley observed. “It seems like all of the production crew are busier than I am on any given day.”
Mansour laughed. “Why would you want to be busier than you are?”
“I hate to say it—I know I definitely shouldn’t say it to the big boss on set—but sometimes I do get bored, sitting around waiting for my scenes to come up,” Riley admitted. “Especially after all that time sitting in a makeup chair, it seems like a waste.”
“Well, production has it’s own pitfalls,” Mansour pointed out. “There’s a lot of waiting around on our end, too.”
“So basically we’re agreed that making a film is alternating moments of bliss and absolute tedium,” Riley said with a grin.
“Oh definitely,” Mansour said. “One of my friends from Yale went on to become a musician; apparently it’s the same in his business.”
“Every once in a while, I feel like I probably should have at least tried college before running off to LA,” Riley told Mansour. “At least then if my career never takes off, I’d have a fallback option.”
“Fallback options are kind of…” Mansour pursed his lips in thought. “If you have something to fall back on, you don’t have as much incentive to just throw yourself into whatever you’re trying to do.”
“That’s a good point,” Riley said. After a few more minutes, she realized that they were heading through downtown and towards the highway. “So where are we going for this magical second date?”
Mansour glanced at her and grinned. “It’s a surprise,” he told her.
Riley’s heart started beating faster, her throat tightening in instinctive fear. Oh God. Oh God, what if he knows? What if he’s taking me to—the cops or something? Had Alex interpreted her lack of information as trying to call his bluff, trying to pull out of their agreement? Had he already passed along the recording to Mansour?
“A surprise?” Riley struggled to keep her voice even, her manner light. “Come on, Mansour, you can tell me what it is. I promise I’ll still act surprised when I see it.”
“You’re a fine actress,” Mansour said, grinning again. “But I would rather see real surprise.”
“Well,” Riley said, trying to think of a way to convince him. “What if—what if the place you’re taking me has something I’m allergic to?”
“Are you allergic to anything?”
Riley blushed. “Penicillin,” she replied dryly, and Mansour chuckled.
“Okay; I will tell you—to settle your mind—that where we are going, no one is going to try and give you penicillin.”
Riley snorted, chuckling in spite of her nervousness. “Am I even dressed appropriately for where we’re going?”
Mansour glanced at her, taking in her outfit. “Absolutely,” he said with a nod.
Riley groaned, leaning against the back of the seat in exaggerated frustration. The sundress she’d picked out would be suitable for almost anywhere.
“Oh—how about this: what if it’s something I’m terrified of?”
Mansour pressed his lips together, and Riley saw the conflict in his expression between doubt and amusement. “If we get there and you hate it, then I can come up with alternate plans right then,” he said, reaching out and taking her hand in his. The contact sent a pleasant, electric tingle through Riley’s body, and she felt herself warming up all over.
She continued trying to get him to divulge some detail of where they were going as Mansour drove for around thirty minutes. He finally got off of the highway in Santa Monica, and Riley tried to figure out for herself—from the very, very limited hints at her disposal—what his plan might be.
She had almost forgotten her instinctive fear that Mansour was taking her somewhere to pay for her betrayal, but the thought leapt to the fore of her mind once more as he pulled into the Santa Monica Pier. Most of the boats were either moored or out at sea, but as Mansour navigated the space, she spotted a small speedboat waiting in the distance, clearly ready to make way in a matter of moments.
A sudden, panicked idea flashed into Riley’s mind: Mansour was more than wealthy—he had the kind of money that led some people to think they could get away with anything. What if he had decided to take her out to see, tie her up, and dump her there to drown? He seems so nice, so sweet—but how many men in the industry aren’t absolutely ruthless at the core?
Mansour parked in a spot next to the waiting boat, and Riley tried to decide how she could get out of the date; should she try to flee? Would he just send someone after her? Riley got out of the car when Mansour opened the passenger-side door, numb and cold all over with dread; but the next moment she spotted a waiter standing on the dock next to the boat, holding a tray with champagne. People don’t give champagne to people they’re going to dump in the middle of the ocean, Riley thought .
“Is this where we’re having dinner?” she gestured to the boat.
Mansour grinned, taking her hand and leading her towards the vessel. “Not quite,” he said. “That boat’s just a shuttle to the yacht.”
Riley accepted the champagne hesitantly, stepped into the boat, and in moments the engine roared into life and their journey was underway. The boat sped across the water into the darkness, and Riley’s fears about Mansour having discovered her duplicity evaporated as she sipped her champagne.
“Have you ever been on a boat before?” Mansour’s arm brushed hers, and then he draped his arm around her waist.