Page 7 of The Kissing Part
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Shayla
“What’s your plan for tonight?” Owen asks.
We’re standing in the meeting room of his office, which is obviously a living room in a one-bedroom apartment. They’ve done little to make it more office-like. Framed arty black-and-white photos hang on the walls, most likely Mackenzie’s picks. A utilitarian faux-wood table and black swivel chairs dominate the living room space. I peek into the bedroom, which has a long wraparound workspace against the walls and three chairs. Guess that’s command central.
“My plan is to meet with you, and then go back to my hotel,” I say before wandering back to the kitchen area. At least this is a cozier space with warm wood cabinets, a farmhouse sink, and a round table with chairs. I’m a fan of good interior design. If I weren’t an actor, I might’ve become an interior designer.
Owen follows me in. “I meant your security plan for tonight. Is Frankie meeting up with you later?”
“If I ask him to. I’m hungry. Are you hungry?” I open the refrigerator, which is stocked with fresh fruit and vegetables, as well as homemade salad dressing, mixed nuts, and cheese. Thank you, Mackenzie. Her mom always emphasized the importance of eating healthy to feel and look good, and she took that to heart. I like to eat the same way, and actually, I have to. If I gain weight, it means wardrobe changes and less marketability. Sad but true for the industry.
I pull out raspberries, cheese, and the mixed greens.
“Help yourself,” Owen says with a hint of sarcasm.
“Thank you.” I set the food on the counter and open a cabinet, searching for a plate. “I’m used to making myself at home in a variety of places. Comes with the territory. New locations for every project.”
“We have chamomile tea.” His deep voice sounds by my ear. Goosebumps rise on my arms in contrast to the heat of his body at my back. He remembered I like chamomile tea at night.
He reaches over my head to get a wooden box.
I turn, nearly in his arms.
His gaze heats as our eyes meet up close. “Here.” As soon as I take the box, he retreats to the kitchen table.
“Thanks.” I pull out a tea bag and glance over my shoulder to where he’s sitting at the table, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. I have the sudden urge to curl up in his lap, the only place I’ve ever felt like the world couldn’t touch me. He’s one of those rare breeds of men who’ll hold you with no further agenda. Dare I say he was a cuddler? But that was seventeen-year-old Owen. He might not be that person anymore.
I set the tea kettle to boil and assemble my dinner on a plate. I’m sure this is Mackenzie’s box of teas. I’m getting together with her and Harper on Saturday in the city. I can’t wait. It’s been too long. They came out to visit me in LA three years ago, and that was the last time I saw them.
A short while later, I join him at the table with my late dinner.
“So tell me about your stalker,” he says.
I fill him in as I eat. He listens carefully, asking lots of questions on the various run-ins I’ve had with Matt.
“So basically he’s hoping he can use you as a prostitute just like in the movie,” Owen concludes.
“That’s right. He often refers to the fact that he can afford me.”
“I assume you have a restraining order.”
“Yes. He still managed to break into my house in LA and somehow found me at a retreat in Belize.”
He blows out a breath. “He must have money to afford traveling. Have you seen him in New York?”
I take a sip of tea. “Not yet, but I have a feeling he’ll show up in the city. Much easier to blend with the crowd.”
“What’s your situation at the hotel?”
“I’ve got the penthouse suite. Two bedrooms with a terrace. Claire said Frankie could take the room below mine by the private elevator to monitor anyone who might approach.”
He exhales sharply. “Mom’s had her share of stalkers over the years. She didn’t tell us all the details, but I looked it up online. She once found a guy naked in her bed.”
“She told me.”
He shakes his head. “It’s sick that just because you appear on a screen, people think they have a right to you.”
