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“You know what you could have tucked inside instead?” she said as she set the box down. “The recipe.”
“Ah, but if I give you that, then you won’t need me to bake them for you. I know what I’m doing. As long as I hold the recipe hostage, you have to keep me around for the brownies.”
“Fair point,” she said. “I can’t see any other reason why I’d keep you around.”
“Then I guess I should have included the photo.”
She laughed. That felt like flirting.
The flight attendant came by with a tray of orange juice, water, and something else.
“Sparkling water?” Daphne said, pointing at the bubbly clear liquid.
The attendant smiled. “Sparkling wine.”
Daphne took one of those glasses. So did Chris.
When the attendant moved on, Daphne leaned over and whispered, “It’s still morning, and we aren’t even off the ground yet, and we’re getting booze.”
“Now you know why I pushed for business class.” He held out his glass. “To an amazing tour for an amazing book.”
Her cheeks warmed, but she clinked glasses, saying, “And to an amazing fake author.”
He laughed and sipped his wine.
“Would you like a brownie with that?” she said, lifting the box.
“If you’re willing to share.”
“I am.”
CHRIS
In LA, a car picked them up at the airport. Not a taxi, either. A black town car, complete with chauffeur who met them at the luggage carousel and insisted on taking their luggage. The car also held a full snack service of food and beverages. Chris was trying very hard not to gawk and giggle like a kid whose parents rented him a limo for graduation. Daphne was doing plenty of grinning, as she had on the plane, and he was just going to play it cool and enjoy her excitement.
The snacks came in handy once they hit the city and the car moved so slowly he could have walked alongside it… backward. He’d heard of LA traffic. A client had lamented it during a recent meeting, and Chris had commiserated as if he’d suffered through it a hundred times. Truth was, he’d never actually been to LA.
Being in traffic gave them time to come up with a list of questions to ask the film people, since they’d now need to go directly to the meetings. They were supposed to have two hours at their hotel to freshen up, but this traffic meant they’d be changing in a restroom. Daphne seemed a little panicked by that, but he assured her that no one cared if they weren’t looking their best. They weren’t actors—just a novelist and his assistant.
That reasoning worked until they reached the meeting hotel with only five minutes to spare. They dashed to their respective restrooms for a quick freshen-up. For Chris, that meant changing his shirt and shoes and splashing water on his face. He expected Daphne to take longer, but she was out before he was. She’d put on a dress, restyled her hair, and applied makeup.
“That was fast,” he said.
“Being a wee bit stressed, I figured it was better not to linger in the immediate vicinity of toilets.”
He laughed at that. He considered offering himself up as a tribute for make-out stress relief instead. Nope. Play it cool. Give her no concerns that he expected this trip to include a hookup. It was all about getting to know each other.
They hurried down the hall toward the room indicated on Lawrence’s email.
“Did your bathroom have linen hand towels?” he whispered to Daphne as they walked.
“And three kinds of designer-label hand soap,” she whispered back. “I was tempted to slide one into my luggage. It’s a hotel. They’re freebies, right?”
“Tell me which one you wanted, and I’ll make sure it falls into my pocket.”
She laughed and also relaxed. He took hold of the smoked-glass meeting-room door, opened it, and ushered her in. He stepped through with an apology on his lips only to find…
“No one’s here,” Daphne whispered, as if someone might step from behind the giant potted plants. “Did we get the right room?”
