Page 54 of The Producer: Aaron

I smile and tilt my head, studying her reaction. “Do you have aguilty conscience?”

She blushes slightly and looks around, afraid that someone could eavesdrop on this conversation. I think she is coming to terms with the implications of our relationship going public and is considering how to respond.

“I don’t know. Yesterday I had sex with my boss in my trailer. I don’t think that’s in my job description,” she whispers with a conspiratorial tone.

Her answer catches me so much by surprise that I can’t hold back the laughter that rises from my chest, earning me curious glances from the technicians who wander around the set. I don’t think anyone here has ever seen me smile, let alone witness my laughter.

“I think your boss would forgive you for that oversight.”

“Do you think?” She raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms.

“I’m sure.”

“Why are you here?” she returns to her initial question.

“To pick you up to take you out for dinner.”

She stares at me for a few moments with wide-open eyes. “Seriously?”

“Dakota, I’m serious when I say I have no problem with our relationship. Why should I worry about showing up to a restaurant with you?”

“Because people will start talking, and the paparazzi won’t leave you alone,” she points out. She’s right, it’s a somewhat tricky situation, especially for her, but nothing that can’t be resolved with a statement from the publicist.

“Let them talk.” I wink at her and see her blush.

“Okay, give me time to change,” she tells me before running toher trailer, and I watch her until she disappears behind the door. Only when I look away from her do I realize that some of the assistants are watching me curiously. I shrug and smile, and the gesture is so out of character with what they expect from me that they stare with their mouths wide open, and it amuses me. I have to look crazy in their eyes.

***

The restaurant I chose is one overlooking the ocean. The Nobu in Malibu is one of those restaurants that has the reputation of being a celebrity trap, but I actually like it because the people who dine here don’t linger. I had to ask for a favor from a friend to be able to find a table with such short notice since there is a waiting list of months. Sometimes, however, dropping my last name has its perks.

The only con is that there are often paparazzi stationed here. They know that some celebrity always comes to dinner here. When I help Dakota get out of the car and leave the keys to the valet, I notice some of them stationed nearby.

“They are already in turmoil,” Dakota whispers when she catches sight of them.

“Are you worried?” While there is no problem for me because I am used to managing the press and what they write about me, I didn’t consider that it could be stressful for her, especially knowing her difficulty in dealing with public situations.

“No, at least now we know that this story is public.” She smiles at me as I put my hand on her lower back to accompany her to the entrance. I observe her as we approach the door, and it seems she is not worried about what awaits us.

The table they give us is one on the patio overlooking the small beach. Not one of the most secluded tables but definitely suggestive with the sound of the waves crashing on the sand.

“I’ve always loved this place,” Dakota admits as she smiles at me from across the other side of the table.

“It’s a bit touristy, but the food is good, and there’s a nice atmosphere,” I confirm.

She smiles at me again and tilts her head, studying me when the silence lasts for several moments. For the first time since I met her, I’m running out of words. I’ve never gone out to dinner with a woman and worried if she feels comfortable in public with me. The women I meet usually can’t wait to be photographed in my company, and it has never been a problem for me to please them. After all, it has always been good publicity for both.

“Did I say something wrong?” I ask when she is no longer speaking.

“Doesn’t our conversation about this restaurant seem a bit strange to you? I mean, now that we are on a real date, we get embarrassed and start talking about the weather.”

I look down and shake my head. She is right. This situation is strange. If we had been at home, we would have talked about books, the critical news of the day, and something significant about our lives, not about the atmosphere of this restaurant. I realize that, for the first time, I’m nervous about dating a woman I’ve been living with for months.

“It’s true, but nothing in our story is normal, don’t you think?”

She nods and sips from the glass of water the waitress brought us along with the menu. I notice nervousness in her gestures, and I’m happy I’m not alone.

“Yes, we certainly didn’t start the traditional way.” She smiles. “The real question is, how will this story continue… if it continues.” Her words die on her lips as her cheeks become redder.

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