He looked over and saw the particular section of the script she was focused on: the midpoint of the screenplay, where his character destroyed a key witness for the opposition with a brutal cross-examination. The scene was one of his favorites, so he was surprised she seemed bothered by it.

“What’s wrong with the dialogue?” he asked, peering over her shoulder. “I didn’t think it was bad.”

“It’s not that it’s bad,” she replied. She glanced up at him and blushed slightly, hesitating.

“Never mind. I’m being too much of a lawyer here.”

Jason gazed firmly at her. He never compromised with acting, no matter how small the details. And for whatever reason, he found he valued Taylor Donovan’s opinion quite a bit.

“No, seriously. I want to know what you think.”

Taylor took in his earnest expression. She frankly had been surprised by his attitude during their ten hours together. Blowing off their meetings for a weekend in Las Vegas certainly had, in her mind, been a good indication of his work ethic. But, quite to the contrary, she would have to admit that Vason seemed truly interested in the various trial techniques she had demonstrated and had asked her many questions throughout the day. Some of them were even good ones.

So Taylor slid the problematic script over so that they both could read from it.

“Well, for starters, this scene is supposed to be a cross-examination, right?” She pointed to the troublesome sequence.

Jason frowned. “Yes. Why?” He moved in closer to get a better look at the script.

“See—your problem is that none of these questions are leading questions.” She saw his head tilt in confusion, so she explained further. “All of these questions are open-ended. You would never ask them on cross, because cross-examination is all about controlling the witness. You force the witness to say the things you want, and only those things. And you certainly don’t give the witness any opportunity to explain himself.”

Taylor picked up the script to demonstrate. “Like here—your character asks: ‘So what, exactly, was your intention that evening, Mr. Robbins?’ and a few lines further down you say, ‘Then tell us exactly what you were thinking when you realized your wife was dead.’ The problem is, those questions give your witness all sorts of wiggle room. You should say something more like this—”

She faced Jason to demonstrate and began to reinvent his lines.

“And your intention that evening was to tell your wife about the affair you were having, wasn’t it?” She slipped easily into the part. “Weren’t you, in fact, relieved when you saw your wife’s lifeless body floating in the swimming pool, Mr. Robbins?”

As she proceeded to demonstrate—off the top of her head, no less—a modified cross-examination, there was no doubt in Jason’s mind that she had just made the scene about five times stronger. He watched, impressed, and it struck him how much he liked looking at her while she worked.

In fact, he realized, he just liked looking at her.

At that moment, Taylor seemed to notice that he was staring at her. She stopped and smiled in embarrassment.

“Sorry. I’m completely boring you with all this, aren’t I?”

That smile did the craziest things to him. Jason tried to brush this off, clearing his throat. “No, not at all,” he told her. “Please—continue.”

Taylor cocked her head, curious.

“You’re awfully serious about this, aren’t you? I mean, playing a lawyer can’t exactly be your most challenging role.”

Jason studied Taylor for a long moment, considering her question. Then he leaned in—close enough so that his arm brushed lightly against hers.

“How long have you been practicing law?” he asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

Taylor blinked, a bit surprised by the transition. “Six years. Why?”

“How many cases have you won?”

She smiled matter-of-factly. “All of them.”

“Do you prepare any less now, just because you’re more familiar with what you’re doing?”

“No, of course not.”

“Why not?”

“Because I always want to do the best possible job.”

Jason looked at her pointedly. “Ditto.”

Taylor tilted her head in concession. “Fair enough.”

Jason smiled with her, and for a moment they were just two people being themselves, without anything else mattering.

Until the ring of his cell phone shrilly interrupted the mood, that is.

With a good deal of reluctance, Jason turned his attention away from Taylor and pulled his phone out of his jacket. He checked to see who was calling, then glanced over in explanation. “Sorry—it’s my publicist, Marty. He has a fit if he can’t reach me.” He rolled his eyes in exaggeration.

Taylor smiled. Kind of like partners, she thought.

“Marty! How are you?” Jason answered his phone with affection, knowing full well that he drove the man crazy. As Jeremy liked to joke, Jason’s publicist was the busiest man in show business.

Taylor watched as he listened to whatever news his publicist conveyed. She saw that his expression turned strangely serious.

“I understand,” Jason said, sounding very disappointed. Taylor wondered if he had just lost out on some part. “I guess it was to be expected.” With a terse good-bye, he hung up the phone.

Taylor noticed that Jason stared at his cell phone for a moment longer. When his eyes looked up and found hers, she could’ve sworn he seemed angry.

“Well, Ms. Donovan. It seems we have a problem.”

TAYLOR STARED OUT the lobby windows of her office building, at the enormous mob of paparazzi that had gathered outside. Hovering like vultures and perched with their cameras, they waited in anticipation for their five-hundred-thousand-dollar shot to emerge. She saw that a few photographers had even gone so far as to climb the trees that flanked the building’s courtyard.

“It’s a madhouse out there,” she murmured in amazement, taking in the scene. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many cameras in one place.”

Jason stood behind her, not amazed in the slightest.

“Any idea how they found out I’m here?”

Mesmerized by the media circus, Taylor didn’t notice the sharp edge to his voice.

“Probably one of the secretaries, if I had to guess.”

She looked away from the windows and noticed that the office building was deserted. She had worked late many evenings since coming to Los Angeles, so she was familiar with the routine.

“They lock the other doors after seven,” Taylor said. “This is the only way out.”

“How convenient.”

Jason didn’t bother to hide his bitterness. For some reason, he felt like he’d been punched in the gut since the moment Marty had called to let him know that someone had tipped off the media to his whereabouts. Of course, he should’ve known that Taylor Donovan would inevitably use his name to make one for herself. How typical. He just couldn’t figure out why it bothered him so much this time.

She suddenly turned away from the windows and faced him. This is the part, Jason thought, where she feigns annoyance, then asks how she looks as she primps for the cameras. Ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.

And so Taylor shrugged, as if accepting the fate of their situation. “Well, I guess this is where you do your thing,” she said, gesturing to the door that was their only way out. “Have fun.” And with that, she did the unthinkable.

She walked away.

She had gone only a few steps when she glanced back at Jason, apparently with one final thought. “It’s been . . . interesting, Mr. Andrews,” she said. Then she hurried off toward the elevator bank.

Jason stood there, speechless. Funny how he seemed to be like that quite a bit whenever he was around her.

He watched for a few moments, thoroughly confused, as Taylor walked away. Then he finally managed to find his voice.

“Wait!”