She wore a relaxed smile as she lifted her wineglass for another sip, eyeing him over the top of her glass as if she were trying to read his mind. He made sure his face gave nothing away of what was in his head lest she run scared from his decidedly unprofessional thoughts. She might be slightly older than he was, but he was no oversexed, overgrown teenager. However many years were between them wasn’t worth spit in the real world of sexual attraction.
Tugging mightily at his professional mantle, he returned his head to business.
“You don’t fool me. You were saving the letters thinking they might make a juicy blockbuster movie out of the mobster’s ill-fated affair someday.”
“Maybe. With the help of some literary license and a little Hollywood magic.”
“How did you end up a costume designer? You look more like the starlet type.”
Her sexy smile faltered and he tensed his jaw, ready to make an apology when she answered.
“Iwasthe starlet type. Once upon a time.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“What?”
That shut him up. He didn’t know what he was apologizing for besides being presumptuous. He glanced at his half-filled old-fashioned glass of Knob’s creek and decided to forego the rest.
She cocked her head and gave him a questioning dare. He sucked in a breath at the overwhelming desire to lean in, take her face in his hands and plant his lips on hers. Instead he cleared his throat and remembered the mission. She was his client. He needed to know more about her. For professional reasons.
“What happened to the starlet?”
“Crashed and burned.”
“That’s a slick and meaningless answer. Tell me.”
“What are you? My therapist or my bodyguard?” She softened the reprimand with that smile she had, the half-kitten, half-tiger look. He waited her out once again. She stalled, taking another sip of wine. He predicted she’d fall asleep over Chicago.
* * *
She sighed.“I learned the hard way not to believe every promise made by an up-and-coming director.”Cal. Mae didn’t like thinking about Cal, and had no desire to share the story. Not really. Not usually.
“His name was Cal. He was the director and he’d led me on and I’d believed him… same sad old story that’s played out a million time in Hollywood.”
She felt the stab of disappointment even now. When Cal had said he loved her, when he’d promised forever, she’d believed him. That had been the last time she’d believe such nonsense. There were no Hollywood endings in real life as far as she could see.
Joe said nothing, had no judgment in his neutral expression. She said, “When he’d said I should be a star, not a designer. He was wrong. I’m happier as a designer.”
She didn’t admit to Joe that she wasn’t happier about ditching her hope of a Hollywood ending to a romance. She’d never let herself hope for that happily ever after since. Not that her mother had been a good role model. She hoped every time and it never turned out yet after three tries. Her father hadn’t encouraged belief in happily ever after either. He’d been married twice and now he seemed to have a new young lady—sometimes younger than Mae—on his arm every time she’d seen him which was once in a while for dinner somewhere he could be seen. He’d been a B actor back in the day and now he did bit roles here and there. Enough to keep him going. His real money had come as a song writer. Problem was, he didn’t like being behind the scenes. So he kept trying out for roles. Both her parents were diehard hopefuls, believing their dreams would come true if they held on and kept trying.
Mae was happy to work for her career dreams. Even if she often felt restless, like something big was missing. She tried desperately not to think about what that was. Especially not now as she looked at Joe. Hunky not-so-average-Joe.
* * *
“That’s it?You let go of your dream over one broken promise?” His heartbeat picked up as if her answer meant something, as if he had a stake in her dashed dreams.
She snorted. “Not exactly. I made a movie. A spectacular failure. It was enough to convince me to return to my true love. I’ve always been a clothes horse. It was my mother’s dream that was dashed when I abandoned my movie star career, not mine.”
He saw the truth in her eyes and nodded. It wasn’t as though he had a right to judge or approve, but he felt the approval nevertheless, unbidden and probably unwelcomed by Ms. Mae Monday.
“Is Mae Monday a leftover relic from your failed attempt at stardom or is it your real name?”
“I was born and baptized Mary Ann Monday, but my mother and everyone else has been calling me Mae since I was too young to tell them to cut it out.”
His smile was automatic. The last thing he needed was to be captivated by this too-slick-for-her-own-good child of Hollywood, this full-grown tiger of a woman playing at kitten with him to pass the time.
It’s not like he was inexperienced with women, but she was more sophisticated than most and he was a regular guy used to regular women. He ordered himself to stand down.