10 A stranger

He's not married." Sarah scowled, her gaze still trained sideways, her entire attention seemingly focused on the single point of Hughes. "How could you not know Everett Hughes is single?"

"What do I care if he's single or not? What's so great about Everett Hughes? The guy dresses like a bum," Max mumbled under his breath. "His friend there—now she's a different story."

Joy chuckled at the same moment that Sarah whispered, "Be quiet. He's coming this way." Joy glanced in the direction where Sarah was staring and suddenly found herself looking into shadowed, gleaming eyes that were trained directly on her.

A memory flickered in Joy's brain and faded elusively. Something inside her quickened.

She looked away. It must be true what they said about Everett Hughes: His insouciant good looks and easygoing charm reputedly had the power to stun a woman. His sex appeal was utterly effortless, but that didn't make it any less potent. She was vaguely aware that Sarah went stiff as a board next to her.

"Oh my God," her friend whispered shakily.

"Joy?"

Joy blinked at the sound of the deep, resonant voice. Everett stood right next to their table, an expectant look on his face, his gaze fixed on Joy. Sarah was looking at her, aghast.

"Uh . . . yes, I'm Joy," she said, her feeling of disorientation only escalating. She crushed the napkin in her fist.

"Hi. I'm Everett. Everett Hughes?"

"I know who you are," said Joy, blushing at the stupidity of her statement. Everybody in the coffee shop knew who he was. Everyone in the country did. Why was he looking at her that way? "I'm sorry . . . I'm a little . . ." Confused, shocked, breathless.

He straightened. "You don't remember me, do you?"

"Well, I've seen several of your films."

"No. We met," he said significantly. When she just stared at him with blank incredulity, he glanced first at Max, then at Sarah. He must have decided he wasn't going to get any help from that department because he returned to Joy. "On the set of Maritime? Remember? Your uncle was busy, so you gave me the starburst tattoo."

The napkin she'd been clutching dropped heedlessly to the table.

"Joy, you didn't tell us you did Everett Hughes's tattoo for Maritime," Max said. "I'm Max Weisman, and this is my wife, Sarah." He held out his hand and Everett shook it. "We work with Joy at the Steadman School. On Joy's résumé, she said she did body paint and tattoos for some of Maritime's extras, but she never mentioned she did your tattoo. Modest," Max said, giving Everett a significant glance, which Everett didn't see. He was too busy studying Joy, his brow creased in consternation.

"No. I wasn't being modest. I didn't know," Joy said in a strangled voice. "I . . . I thought he was extra."

"Hi." Everett's companion approached their table carrying two cups. Sunlight turned her hair into a golden cascade of waves and curls. She gave everyone a friendly, frank appraisal and smile, and then nudged Everett with one of the cups. "Here's your coffee. Who are your friends?"

"This is Max and Sarah Weisman and Joy Hightower. Remember, I told you about Joy?" The blond woman's green eyes widened and she stared at Joy with increased interest. Joy wanted to slither beneath the table, she was so mortified. She couldn't believe this was happening to her. The man she'd shared that impulsive, crazy, steaming sexual encounter with on the set of Maritime had been him?

She'd gone down on Everett Hughes? "I'm Everett's sister, Katie. I've heard all about you from Everett."

A wave of panic flashed through her.

"I just mentioned how talented I thought you were. As an artist," Everett added quickly. She met his stare. His eyelids narrowed. Joy couldn't decide if he seemed confused or concerned as he observed her.

"And of course I know all about Hightower Special Effects," Katie continued. "Your uncle is very well respected in the business. Rill would do cartwheels to get Seth Hightower for Razor Pass," she murmured as an aside to her brother, then smiled at Joy. "You might even see him do a couple of tomorrow at the premiere to get your uncle's attention," she said, her grin widening as if she found the prospect amusing.

Joy inhaled slowly, commanding herself to focus. She'd been doing nothing but gaping like an idiot and blushing the entire time. "Are you referring to Rill Pierce?" she managed to ask. Katie nodded. "He's my husband. Do you know him?"

Joy shook her head. She'd never met the renowned Irish director, but she'd read somewhere that he'd done a screenplay adaptation of the post-apocalyptic classic biker novel Razor Pass and planned to direct the film. Everett himself had been slated to play the lead role of Slader.

"You'll get to meet Rill at the premiere tomorrow, then," Katie said brightly.

"Oh . . . I'm not going."

Katie's smile faltered. "No? Isn't that why you're in Chicago?"

"She works here," Everett said gruffly. He'd been standing there wearing a slight frown for the last minute, his gaze never leaving Joy.

"I teach at a high school near here," Joy said.

"She teaches drawing and painting," Sarah said in a rapid, pressured fashion as if she'd just found her voice and couldn't wait to use it. "It's an art school for gifted students."

"That's interesting," Katie said warmly. "I must have misunderstood Everett when he spoke of you. I thought you lived and worked in the Los Angeles area."

"I did. I moved here last winter."

"Well, how come you're not coming to the premiere? It seems a shame since you worked on the movie and all. Can't your uncle get tickets? Why don't you ask her, Everett?" Katie said, sipping her coffee and glancing at her brother casually. Joy's cheeks went from hot to scalding. "Oh no, that's not it—"

"Do you have other plans?"

Everett asked. "No, I just hadn't planned to go." "Well, why don't you? We can all sit together," Katie said. "Katie," Everett warned under his breath. "Well, I just meant—" Everett jerked his arm abruptly, waving toward an empty corner of the café. "Can I talk to you for a second? In private?" Everett asked Joy pointedly. A bomb going off would have startled Joyless. Four sets of eyes pinned her to the spot.

"I . . . well, yes, of course." Sarah shot out of the booth, making way for her. Joy stood and glanced at Everett warily. He gestured for her to pass in front of him. She led him to an empty corner and turned to face him, her forearms crossed beneath her breasts, and stared at the second button on his shirt. Her heart began to beat uncomfortably. "You cut your hair. I like it." She blinked and glanced up into his face. This close, she could make out the bluish-green color of his eyes beneath the shadow of the bill of his cap.

"Thank you," she murmured, studying his shirt again. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he said. "It's okay. You're not making me uncomfortable." He gave a soft bark of sarcastic laughter. Her gaze shot up to meet his, and this time it stuck. No wonder he was a movie star. Those eyes were like sensual laser beams. "When you didn't come to the statue after that . . . that time, I asked your uncle for your phone number. Seth and I always got along pretty well, but after that day, he got pretty tight-mouthed when it came to you. I guess I shouldn't have bothered him about it. You must have told him not to tell me anything about you."

"I never said anything to Seth about it," she blurted out. Tell her uncle she'd impulsively gone down on a stranger? Not likely. But that wasn't the most significant thing Everett had said. "And I did go to the statue," she said, anger filtering into her voice for the first time. How dare he claim she'd stood him up, when it happened the other way around? His expression shifted. "I waited for hours and hours for you by the statue after the shoot. I thought maybe you were held up, helping Seth, but when I went back inside, the studio was empty. Everyone, including Seth, was gone."

"That's not true," she said, irritation melting away the haze of mortification and shock that had settled on her since Everett had greeted her like an old friend earlier. "Why would you bother to say that when you know perfectly well that I'll know you're lying?" His expression stiffened. "Yeah, why would I? It would be stupid to lie about it. I was at that statue."

"I was at that statue." Something flickered across his face. "How long were you there?"

"More than an hour," she muttered after a pause, hating to have to admit the truth to him. "I thought maybe you'd been held up."

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"Of course I'm serious. Why would I lie about . . ." She faded off as something struck her. "The statue of the seven muses, right? At the entrance of the studio?" He shook his head mutely. "There's more than one statue at United Studios?" she asked, understanding dawning. "If there is, I didn't know it until now. I was talking about the statue of Leon Schuster," he said, referring to the founder of United Studios. "The one in that little park area by the café?"

"I was at the statue of the seven muses. By the front entrance."

"I've never seen it." Something about the flat incredulity of his tone told her he was telling the absolute truth. She exhaled shakily. Of course. Superstar Everett Hughes wouldn't use the visitor's entrance to the large studio.

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