I frown at him good-naturedly and he laughs softly again. Is this an old habit, or a newly ingrained one? Why would Emily not point this out? I make a mental note to grill her during our next conversation.
“Maybe we won’t be that convincing onscreen,” I say, returning to the previous subject, which is not, I realize belatedly, grounds for non-self-conscious discussion.
“I doubt that. This is an adaptation of one of the most romantic novels ever written. There has to be chemistry.”
I give him a narrow-eyed look. “If this is your idea of ‘no pressure,’ it’s not working.”
“They wouldn’t have chosen you if the chemistry wasn’t there. I’m just pointing out what being a romantic lead opposite him might do to your private life. Such as, there’s no way Reid could do what we’re doing right now without bodyguards.” He moves behind me briefly so the elderly couple walking towards us on the pathway don’t have to squish together.
“I hadn’t thought about it like that,” I say as he falls in beside me. I think of Emily, who isn’t a crazed fangirl, but would still freak out if she saw Reid in person.
“Well. No reason to panic. Yet.”
“Yeah. Yet,” I echo.
Chapter 11
REID
Most of the cast is going to Kenichi for sushi. So far, Austin hasn’t been as backwater as I assumed it might be, though most of the city is more laid-back and casual than the parts of LA I’m used to.
One glance at Emma tells me she’s still adapting to the commotion caused when we all go anywhere. Tonight, Richter and Leslie Neale are joining us, which adds to the crazy. Leslie, cast as Mrs. Bennet, boasts an impressive film career spanning nearly forty years. Even still, she’s undeniably hot, and as famous for her romantic exploits (often with men decades younger) as she is for her professional capability. The tabloids love her.
The restaurant staff is either used to celebrities popping in, or they’ve been cautioned to remain composed. The effect on the patrons is a different story. Cell phones angle towards us as we’re ushered to the table, voices whispering from person to person alongside us, like waving grain. Typical crowd reaction to celebrity in their midst.
Graham and Brooke are behind Quinton, Tadd and me on the way in, Emma and the other girls ahead of us. I haven’t seen Graham with Emma, so I’m not sure if they’re acquainted. If Emma left the club with Graham, or someone else, she did so damned discretely, because no one appears to have any idea. I step up to her now, say quietly, “Hey beautiful,” my hand at the small of her back. She glances up, the faintest blush spreading across her cheeks. The room instantly begins to speculate about us. I can feel it.
We’re led through the restaurant to a long table, offset from the others, set parallel to the back wall, which is covered in shoji screens. Semi-private, conversationally speaking, we’re visually conspicuous. I take Emma’s elbow and lead her to the center of the side facing out, and MiShaun files in next to her. Richter takes one of the ends with Leslie Neale to his left, and Quinton takes the other end, everyone else filling in. Graham sits next to Brooke, directly across from us. He smiles at Emma, which tells me they’re definitely acquainted.
The staff hovers, cordial and professional greetings are spoken, menus handed over shoulders, drink orders taken and filled. While Richter and Leslie are ordering, Quinton leans up and asks the rest of us, “We going out after?”
“I heard there’s a cool blues place around here somewhere,” Tadd answers.
MiShaun regards him skeptically. “You like blues?”
“I like music, especially live music.”
“Do you play anything?” She sips her sake.
“I play guitar,” he answers. “Just enough to be dangerous.”
“Graham plays guitar,” Brooke says then, and from my viewpoint it looks as though she follows this announcement up with a hand on his leg under the table. “He’s amazing.”
“Uh-oh,” I say quietly, leaning close to Emma’s ear, “looks like Brooke has decided on this film’s prey.” She looks confused, so I elaborate. “You know—one guy from every film. I’m not sure what the policy was on her little cable series.” This is gossip, not fact, but hey, I didn’t originate it.
Her voice is equally hushed. “That’s, um, kind of sleazy.”
I laugh. “You think?”
“What?” Brooke sips a Japanese beer, her eyes narrowed at me. Emma tenses while Graham watches our tête-à-tête from across the table, his expression guarded.
“Nothing, nothing, keep your shirt on,” I say. “We were just wondering who’d be more dangerous with a guitar—Tadd or Graham.”
Brooke arches one brow and narrows her eyes even more. “What’s the verdict?”
“Well, I’ve never heard Graham play, so it’s hardly something I can decide here.”
“Maybe we should stage a little competition in my room later,” Brooke suggests. “They can both play for all of us.”
“Sounds cool,” Tadd says. “Alas, I didn’t bring my guitar this trip. I forgot my laptop, extra contact lenses, hell, I barely remembered pants.” Emma laughs softly next to me. She’s so damned cute I can barely stand it.
“You can borrow Graham’s,” Brooke says, turning to ask Graham after the fact, “Is that okay?”