With His Consent (For His Pleasure, Book 13) (5 page)

Scarlett leaned her head back against the seat and tried to relax. But it was hard.

She wasn’t sure if it was because Bryson was so close, or because she was excited now to see this hotel they were going to. Her body felt filled with nervous energy, and she got up and stood in her seat, stretching her legs and glancing around the almost empty car.

A beautiful young woman was sitting a few feet opposite them, and Scarlett noticed her stealing glances at Bryson. Great, Scarlett thought, everyone’s going to be staring at us because of his black eye. Bryson looked kind of like a street thug, she thought, biting back a smile. She sat back down in her seat, hoping that the owner of this hotel wouldn’t judge Bryon for being all bruised up. Maybe they could tell him that --

“Excuse me,” a voice said. It was the girl from the other seat, the one who’d been staring at them. She was standing in the aisle now, and she brushed her brown hair away from her face. “Excuse me, are you Bryson Taylor?”

Bryson looked up from his laptop, distracted. “Yeah. Do I know you?”

The girl laughed and looked away, but in a very practiced way that Scarlett found obnoxious. This girl wasn’t nearly as embarrassed as she was pretending to be.

“No, you don’t know me. I recognized you from your picture in the paper. You know, the whole fight at the club?” She gave another shy smile, but this time there was a slight intent behind it – obviously this girl was dumb enough to find Bryson’s crazy antics attractive. “Anyway, I just had to come over and say hi, because I read about you in Variety and I’m so excited to see Bridge and Tunnel when it comes out.”

Hunter grinned, his work seemingly forgotten “Thanks.”

“Could I trouble you for an autograph?”

“Of course. I love meeting fans,” Bryson said. Scarlett rolled her eyes. She was sure this was definitely the first fan Bryon had ever met in his life, and the first autograph he’d ever signed.

The girl blushed, making Scarlett hate her all the more.

Bryson turned to Scarlett. “Could I borrow your pen to sign an autograph for this lovely girl?”

Scarlett rummaged through her bag. “You should try and remember to bring your own pens from now on.”

“Sorry. Next time.”

She handed him her pen and he held it in the air. “What should I sign?”

The girl bit her lip. “How about my shirt?”

“Your shirt?”

“Seriously, it would be so cool.”

Maybe he should sign her tits, Scarlett thought. She’d probably really think that was cool.

As Bryson joked and talked and flirted with the brunette, Scarlett seethed with jealousy. And on top of that, she was angry with herself for being jealous in the first place.

You don’t even really like him. It’s just that you’re spending time with him and
he’s attractive and maybe not as big a jerk as you first thought.

But Scarlett knew there was more to it than that. She hated this feeling—she hated that suddenly she actually cared what Bryson was thinking and doing and that she wanted to be a part of it.

Finally, mercifully, the woman left with her signed shirt and her story that she’d go back and tell all her little friends.

Scarlett was still grouchy as Bryson handed her back her pen. “Thanks.”

“You should have just gone ahead and given her your number.”

“Maybe if she’d asked, I would have.”

“Figures.”

“What does that mean?” he said, turning to her.

“It means, you shouldn’t be flirting and goofing off when you have rewrites to do and people depending on you.”

Bryson’s smile faded and his expression darkened. “Last I checked, you weren’t my teacher, or my babysitter.”

“Maybe you’d do better if I was.”

“You know, I like you Scarlett. And you’ve put up with a lot of crap because of me recently. So I’m going to just pretend this little conversation didn’t happen.” He turned back to his laptop and started typing away.

***

Finally, they arrived in Stamford. Neither of them were talking as they walked down to street level and found a cab. Bryson told the cabbie they were going to the Rangeview Hotel, and then they were on their way.

Sitting silently in the taxi, Scarlett was starting to cool down. She was also starting to regret her childish outburst.

Of course he was flattered about being asked for his autograph. If the shoe had been on the other foot, she’d have felt exactly the same way. And even if he’d been flirting with that girl—so what?

Bryson was not her property, and if he wanted to flirt with, or even sleep with, all the women who would soon be throwing themselves at him—that was his choice.

She cleared her throat.

Bryson glanced at her. “You okay?”

“Sorry.”

“What?”

“I said, I’m sorry.”

He smiled. “Me too.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about. I was the one who acted like a brat.”

“Listen, Scarlett. Obviously I’m not a boy scout and I’m not expecting you to be perfect either. If we work this closely together, we’re bound to have a few stupid arguments and tense moments. I appreciate you saying you’re sorry, though.” He grinned.

Scarlett had to look away from him, because his eyes were simply too alluring right then. It was as if she was seeing him for the first time—really seeing him. He wasn’t just good looking, she realized.

Bryson was flat-out gorgeous, and he was sexy too. How could she not have seen just how problematic it was going to be working like this with him?

She’d always gotten into bad situations with men, and now she was about to do it again.

Unnerved, she grew silent again and looked out the window, not speaking until they reached the hotel.

When they arrived, she was impressed.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, staring up at the building.

“Yeah, it’s pretty much perfect. Old, majestic, with plenty of character and it completely fits the tone of my film,” Bryson said as they stood curbside and admired it.

“Of course, most of this is assumptions I made when I was looking at pictures online.

But like I said, I have a good feeling about this.”

They went inside and a very stuffy, older woman greeted them.

Bryson explained to her that he was here as part of a scouting team for a feature film location, and that he’d spoken to the manager and been had given the go-ahead earlier that day. “So I was wondering if we could take a little tour, see some of the rooms and discuss the film schedule with the manager.”

The woman stared at him for a long time. “You need to speak with the owner of the hotel, sir.”

Bryson looked perplexed. “But I just told you—”

The woman shook her head. “Our manager was misinformed. We’ve had film crews here before and it’s been a disaster. Major Hollywood production companies always want to film here, because our hotel is old and beautiful. We had Julia Roberts here just last year for a movie.”

Bryson frowned. “Okay, so then I guess I’m failing to understand the problem.”

“After the last film shoot on the premises, our owner said he no longer wished to continue dealing with the disruption to the hotel that it entailed.”

“We can pay you a very generous sum for any inconveniences,” Bryson said, shooting her his most charming smile.

But the woman wasn’t impressed. “They always pay, but it’s not enough to account for the disruptions and the damage and every headache. However, if you’d like to try and convince our owner to change his mind, you’ll need to speak directly to him and not a manager.”

“Okay,” Bryson said, shrugging. “When can I speak to the owner?”

She went and typed something into her computer. “I’m just checking his calendar,” she said.

Bryson turned and gave Scarlet a reassuring smile. Scarlett tried to smile back, but she was worried. They didn’t have enough time to keep scouting locations.

Everything had gotten to the point where it needed to be done now—or even before now.

“You can speak with the owner tomorrow morning at nine when he comes in.”

Bryson straightened. “Tomorrow?”

“Yes, that’s when he’s available. And in any event, I wouldn’t hold my breath.

He’s made it very clear to me that he no longer wishes to have movies being filmed at our hotel.”

“Yeah, you said that already.” Bryson sighed, the first hints of frustration showing on his handsome face. “The problem is, I spoke to the hotel manager and he gave me a very different story. I made arrangements and plans based on the idea that this hotel was available to me. It’s very important that we not just be given the runaround on this—“

“I’m not giving anyone the runaround,” she said. “The manager you spoke with is new, and was not aware that our owner had strong opinions on the matter. The manager was wrong to have promised you anything, and he will be informed of his error when I see him again.”

Scarlett stepped in just as Bryson was about to say something else that she knew would only serve to inflame the situation. “Thank you so much for your help,” she said.

“We’d love to talk to the owner tomorrow when he comes in.”

The woman arched an eyebrow. “Well, I can’t promise he’ll have much time for you—but you might be able to get his ear for five minutes. He’s very busy with our hotel business, as you might imagine.”

“Of course,” Scarlett said.

“Please excuse us for a moment,” Bryson said to the woman, then pulled Scarlett aside and out of earshot. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What do you mean? I’m getting us a meeting with the owner. It’s the best chance we’ve got.” Actually, it was the only chance they had, but she knew better than to tell him that.

“Screw it, I’ll figure something else out.”

“Bryson, we’re in trouble and you know it. Let’s just give this guy our best pitch tomorrow and pray for luck.”

Bryson sighed, considering what she was telling him. He checked his phone.

“Fine. Then we better get back to the train. And we’ll have to meet first thing tomorrow morning to make it out here in time.”

Scarlett shook her head. “That seems silly. Let’s just get a couple of rooms for the night and then we’ll be able to be relaxed and ready tomorrow without having to rush around.”

Bryson stared at her evenly. He exhaled and nodded. “Yeah, okay. We’ll just have to roll the dice and hope for the best.” He grinned. “It’s worked for us so far.”

They walked back to the front desk. The older woman was watching them warily.

“Something else I can assist you with?”

“We’d like to book two rooms for the night,” Bryson said.

She typed at the computer and her eyes narrowed, lips pursed. “I’m sorry but I’m afraid we don’t have two rooms available. We’re all booked up, except for one room.”

“Does it have a couple of beds at least?”

“No, I’m afraid there is just one queen sized bed in the room.”

Bryson looked at Scarlett and raised his eyebrows in question.

“Might as well,” she sighed. In her stomach, she felt a strange flutter of excitement. They were going to share a room—maybe even share a
bed
.

Was it wrong that she was glad that this circumstance had presented itself?

Bryson finished booking and paying for the room, while Scarlett pretended to hardly even notice or care. Meanwhile, she was fighting an internal battle between two opposing parts of herself.

The one part, excited and almost giddy at the prospect of having so much time with Bryson, time where anything could happen between them. The other part of her—

perhaps the more rational part—was nervous that this was a big mistake, and told her that she must keep it professional at all costs.

The last thing you need is to complicate an already complex situation.

Forget about Bryson as a romantic possibility. If you do something to sabotage
your new chance at a career, you’ll never forgive yourself.

She knew it was true, and she felt determined not to fall into the old traps. It was time to grow up and stop giving in to every silly crush and temptation that came along.

Besides, who even knew if Bryson had a single bit of interest?

“…grab something?”

She snapped out of her tumultuous thoughts to find Bryson staring at her with a bemused grin.

“Huh?”

“I asked if you wanted to grab some food—they’re still serving dinner in the dining room. It’ll give us a chance to sample the atmosphere and get a feel for the place.”

“Oh, sure.” She smiled at him, hoping her nerves didn’t show.

“Cool.” He flashed her the room keys, and slid one of the keys into her hand.

As he did so, his palm made gentle contact with hers and she felt a rush of warmth in her body. “Thanks,” she said, suddenly reduced to simple one-word responses.

Bryson led her to the dining room, which was down a wide, ornate hallway that was decorated with old paintings. They admired the beauty of the surroundings as they made their way down the hall.

Eventually, they came to the dining room, which was also large and expansive, replete with candelabras and white-clothed tables. There were many empty tables and Scarlett didn’t know if it was because dinner service was nearing an end or if it was just so enormous that the room wasn’t often filled unless it was a special function.

A maître d with a stereotypical pencil thin mustache seated them at a small table for two near a window that overlooked the back gardens, which were lit in such a way as to give them an ethereal glow.

“Madam,” he said, pulling out her chair.

“Thank you,” Scarlett laughed, as she sat down.

The maître d handed them each a menu and the wine list. He recommended one of the wines in particular, and then told them their waiter would be over momentarily.

Bryson looked at her. “Too much?”

“I don’t think so. Do you like it? For the film, I mean?”

He glanced around. “I do. And it’s big, plenty of room for cameras and crew without being crowded in. The fight scene in act two—” he stopped himself. “I forgot, you haven’t read it yet.”

She looked down. “I want to, though. I’m sure it’s very good.”