Temptation's Kiss. Janice Sims

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      “Why don’t you sit down first,” T.K. joked. “I’m getting a crick in my neck from having to look up.”

      Farrell laughed and took the seat closest to Patrice’s. He didn’t even glance in T.K.’s direction anymore, just looked at Patrice with a smile on his face.

      “Farrell, I’d like you to meet—” T.K. said.

      “Ms. Patrice Sutton,” Farrell said with a contented sigh. “I just saw you in She Fell. Wow, not only was the science-fiction story line kickin’, but you were awesome as Victoria.” He shook his head as if he were amazed that he was sitting across from the warrior-woman Victoria. “How long did it take you to get in shape for that role?”

      “Six months of grueling aerobics and weight-lifting,” Patrice told him, happy to meet someone who had enjoyed She Fell. It was the film she was proudest of. A friend who was a writer had specifically written the character of Victoria for her. In the story, Victoria was sent through a man-made black hole to a warlike planet by her evil but brilliant physicist husband who got rid of all his enemies by sending them God-knows-where via the black hole. He had drugged and sent Victoria through because she was going to divorce him for infidelity. The film follows Victoria as she rises in power as a warrior. In the end, she returns to Earth and exacts revenge on her husband.

      “Who’s your trainer?” Farrell asked.

      “Jose Baltodano,” Patrice happily supplied. She was always willing to refer anyone who wanted to get into shape to her friend.

      T.K. cleared his throat and playfully glared at Farrell. “Let me get this straight, you came over here to monopolize my date’s time?”

      Farrell grinned at him. “Turnabout is fair play, my brother.”

      Patrice smiled at that. T.K. had obviously flirted with Farrell’s dates in the past. Then it hit her: T.K. had referred to her as his date. She looked into his eyes. He winked at her.

      “I have to protest, my brother,” he said to Farrell. “I just met Patrice myself. You could have at least given me a twenty-four-hour head start before you began poaching on my territory.”

      Patrice laughed and rose. “I’ll let you fellas figure out the proper poaching etiquette while I visit the ladies’ room. Excuse me.”

      She overheard Farrell say, “She’s too young for you, old man. She’ll give you a heart attack.”

      “I’m willing to risk it,” said T.K.

      Smiling, Patrice kept walking.

      In the ladies’ room, a feminine room replete with a settee, she sat down and dialed Blanca’s number.

      Blanca answered right away. “Well, how’d it go?” she asked breathlessly.

      “It went very well,” Patrice said as she crossed her legs and got comfortable on the plush covered settee. “They want me.”

      “I knew it!” cried Blanca, sounding happy and calculating all at once. “You didn’t accept, though?”

      “No, I told them I would let them know tomorrow.”

      “Why do you keep saying they and them?” asked Blanca curiously.

      “Because T.K. sat in on the meeting, too,” said Patrice, calmly dropping the bomb and waiting for the explosion.

      “What?” yelled Blanca. “Mark must have really liked you. This is fantastic. I don’t know if I’ll be able to wait until tomorrow for you to give them a yes.”

      “Are you saying you’re going to break your cardinal rule?”

      “Rules are made to be broken,” said Blanca. She laughed softly. “Patty, do you know what this means? Forget about working for two years on the sitcom and those really fine movies you’ve done that brought you a little bit of fame. They were dues you had to pay to get here. You’ve arrived!”

      Patrice was laughing, too. “It feels good to be wanted.”

      Blanca took a deep breath. “Where are you now? I promised a celebration, remember? Where do you want to go tonight? Anywhere you want to go, it’s my treat.”

      “I hate to be a party pooper, but I’d prefer to spend a quiet evening at home. Thanks for the offer though. I’m having lunch with T.K. right now,” Patrice told her agent. She explained about having to phone a taxi and T.K.’s offer of a lift.

      “His parents raised him right,” Blanca said of T.K.’s being a gentleman. “Okay, I’ll tell you what. Before you two part, assure him that you’ll be delighted to work with him, and I’ll give Mark a call about the contract.”

      “Will do,” Patrice promised.

      “Congratulations,” said Blanca sincerely. “I’m really proud of you.”

      “Thanks, Blanca.”

      After hanging up, Patrice rose to check her makeup in the wide mirror over the double sinks. A woman walked in and hurried to a stall.

      Seeing nothing wrong with her face, she left the bathroom. When she got within sight of her table, she saw that Farrell had left.

      T.K. got up and pulled her chair out. “Farrell remembered a previous engagement.”

      Patrice met his eyes. His look was enigmatic. She wished she could have heard their conversation in her absence. “Too bad,” she said. “I’d never met him before. He seems like a nice guy.”

      “He is,” T.K. assured her.

      He looked up, spotted their waiter and gestured to him. “The waiter wanted to serve our meals while you were gone, but I told him to keep them warm until you got back.”

      “That was considerate of you.”

      “I’m a considerate guy.”

      Patrice let her gaze roam over his face, admiring the strong, masculine shape of his jaw, the fullness of his lips. He smiled the whole while as though he were perfectly fine with her lusting after him with her eyes.

      No harm in looking, Patrice thought. The harm comes in acting on your desires. She didn’t plan to do that. She did not become romantically involved with actors she worked with. Work was work, and play was play.

      Rumor had it that T.K. didn’t share her opinion on the subject. He had been linked with a few women while they were working on a film together. He didn’t make it a habit like some actors she knew, but the fact that none of those relationships had worked out concerned her. At thirty-six, he had never been married. He could be gay. Nah, she immediately dismissed that. Back in the day it had been possible for Hollywood to hide the fact that some of its leading men—and women—were gay, but these days the tabloids uncovered anyone who was in the closet. She hated tabloid journalism, if you could call it journalism.

      She realized they had been looking into each other’s eyes the past five minutes without saying a word. She laughed. “I often thought that you were mesmerizing on the big screen, but I never suspected you might be in person.”

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