That someone turned out to be Susie Langston, a young designer Greg had hired to do costume work for one of his productions. Susie had gone on to design dresses for several A-list actresses on the red carpets during awards season and make a pretty decent name for herself.

But she still had time for Tru whenever she needed fashion advice, and that made Tru a friend for life. Because she had absolutely no fashion sense.

Her work wardrobe consisted of black, blue, and gray slacks and skirts, and white, gray, and the occasional pink shirts and blouses. How freaking boring could you get?

Hell, she hated to wear makeup because she always managed to poke herself in the eye with the mascara wand or look like a kid who’d put on too much blush. She’d learned some tricks over the years from various makeup artists but basically she figured less was better.

Tonight, a little mascara, a little blue shadow, a little blush, and a little gloss went a long way.

And made her feel like she was looking at a stranger in the mirror.

A sexy stranger.

And why do you want to look sexy?

Didn’t every woman wants to look sexy when she went to dinner?

Guess it depends on who you’re going to dinner with.

Her phone rang, and she grabbed it without checking the screen. It’d be Greg, saying he was outside waiting for her.

“Hey, I’m ready. Just let me—”

“Tru, I’ve got a problem.”

Shit, not Greg. But she knew the voice. “Talk to me, Valerie. What’s going on?”

Through the line, Tru heard Valerie Curran take a long draw on a cigarette. Or her pipe. It all depended on how much trouble she was in.

“Shit, Tru. I hate to ask, but I need to talk to Greg. I’m having more trouble with Shane.”

Those two short sentences from the young, first-time director told Tru everything she needed to know.

“I’ll carve out some time in Greg’s schedule for him to come to the set tomorrow. Don’t worry about anything. Greg knows what’s going on. He’s dealt with Shane before.”

Valerie began to vent two weeks’ worth of frustration with her cameraman, and Tru listened to every word as she made her way down the stairs from her bedroom to the living room of her townhouse on Bainbridge Street. She loved this old building, built sometime in the late 1800s. She loved this neighborhood: a little trendy, a little family-oriented, and so very alive. So different from her sterile, modern apartment in Los Angeles.

Grabbing her pashmina from the chair by the door, she commiserated with Val as she made sure she had everything she needed transferred to the Kate Spade clutch that perfectly matched her pumps.

By the time she’d talked Val off the ledge, she saw a car double-park in front of her building. It had to be Greg, and she knew he wouldn’t just beep the horn to get her attention. The guy was a Boy Scout when it came to stuff like this. It also made him catnip to women. The guy had manners. She’d met his parents and knew exactly where he’d gotten them.

“Val, I’ve got to go now, but I’m going to talk to Greg tonight, and we’ll get this figured out tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Tru. I really appreciate this. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“No—” She opened her door and stopped cold. “Problem.”

Sebastian stood on her front step. Looking so un-Sebastian-like, she actually blinked a few times before she realized her mouth was hanging open.

Snapping it closed, she slipped her phone into her purse, then turned to close and lock her door, sucking in a surreptitious breath. By the time she turned back, she hoped she had what would pass for a pleasant smile.

“Hi. I didn’t realize Greg was picking you up, too.”

“He didn’t. He asked if I could get you. He and Sabrina are running late.”

Which meant she and Sebastian would be alone in a car together. No Greg and Sabrina to provide a buffer.

Let’s hope we don’t kill each other before we get to the restaurant.

“Great. Okay.” Damn, did that sound pissy? She brightened her smile a little and headed toward his car. “I guess we should leave. Not good for all of us to be late.”

Aware that Sebastian was right behind her, she walked just a little faster. She’d never really noticed how tall the guy was before. Standing next to Greg, Baz always looked a little on the short side and kinda scrawny. And scruffy. His jeans were always torn, his t-shirts typically included swear words or raunchy jokes or names of bands she’d never heard of.

Now dressed in a fitted black suit with a gray shirt—no tie, of course—he looked hot. Handsome in a way she’d never noticed before.

Oh, that’s not good. Really not good.

Reaching for the door handle, she tried to get the thought out of her head . . . and felt his hand beneath hers as he got to the handle first.

With a quick gasp, she drew her hand back, then hoped like hell he hadn’t noticed her reaction. As if she was scared of him. Or affected by his touch.

She wasn’t. Not at all. He’d just startled her.

Uh-huh.

Offering what she hoped was a cool smile, she slid into the front seat of his classic black Camaro. She’d never been much for cars, but her dad had a thing for classic muscle, and he’d have been all over this one.

The inside was as lovingly detailed as the outside, the leather seats butter soft and the vinyl dashboard spotless. Her dad would highly approve.

As Sebastian folded himself into the driver’s seat, she caught a whiff of aftershave and turned to face him, realizing he’d cleaned off the scruff he’d been sporting recently.

It made him look younger. And so much more . . . lickable.

As he turned the key, he shot her a look. “What?”

She shook her head, trying not to look guilty. She had no reason to feel guilty. That was ridiculous.

“Nothing. You . . . shaved.”

She wanted to groan. How stupid could she be?

“Well, damn, I guess I can be civilized.”

She winced. “Sorry. That wasn’t a comment—”

“It’s alright. It was starting to annoy me. Never liked beards. They’re itchy.”

“You look better without it.”

Now she wanted to smack herself on the forehead and stuff a gag in her mouth. What the hell was wrong with her tonight?

“High praise coming from you.”

She had to bite her tongue to contain her pissy response. She’d told herself she wasn’t going to let him get to her. And she wasn’t going to unnecessarily antagonize him.

Deep breath.

“Yes, it is. You look handsome.”

He snorted. “Wow, you almost sound like you believe it.”

Flowers. Puppies. Inhale. Exhale. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. You look great tonight.”

Well, what do you know? That shut him up.

Of course, the silence held for only a minute or so. But she never would’ve imagined what came out of his mouth next.

“You look pretty amazing yourself.”

Heat flashed through her body, arrowing straight from her nipples to between her thighs.

Oh, no. No, no, no. That wasn’t going to happen. It couldn’t happen. There was just so much wrong with—

Sebastian cleared his throat . . . and saved her from embarrassing the hell out of herself when she tried to say thank you. Because she was pretty damn sure it would’ve come out in a husky whisper.

“So, this couple we’re meeting. Greg didn’t give me a lot of details.”

Relief flooded through her. It didn’t wash away the heat still flooding certain parts of her body—which she shouldn’t be thinking about—but it was a start. “Well, it’s a father and daughter. I haven’t met them, but Greg and the dad go back. Like, I think, to high school. Now he’s some bigwig at a financial firm and has some local investors interested in getting into the movie business.”

“Greg said the daughter wanted me specifically to be there. Any idea what that’s about?”