I frown. “Here as in…?”
“As in here,” she hisses, pointing toward the window. “Like, in the building.”
Maggie and I exchange a look before Genna removes her glasses. “Are you sure?”
Jolene shakes her head so fast her curls bounce. “Yes! That’s the thing! I asked the security guy?—”
I arch a brow. “Of course you did.”
She ignores me completely. “—and he said Will is here as a guest! Just casually hanging around, chatting with people like it’s totally normal.” She clutches her empty mug to her chest like a heroine in a period drama. “This is my chance.”
Genna smirks, playing along. “Isn’t he, like… thirty-five?”
Jolene glares. “So? I can totally go for a mature man.”
I snort.Mature? The same Will Winters who was once caught smearing chocolate on his dick at an after-Oscars party? That mature man?
“He’s really here?” Genna asks, her skepticism wavering.
Jolene jumps in place. “Yes! Come on, let’s go find him!”
Genna pushes back from her desk. “That, I need to see. My sister will die.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “You girls go.” Then I glance at Jen, who’s been listening with mild amusement. “You too. Get an autograph for your daughter.”
She hesitates, but the intrigue is clear on her face.
“I’ll hold down the fort,” I assure them, waving them off with a grin. “Good hunting.”
As soon as they disappear, I turn back to my spreadsheet, diving into reconciling numbers until my eyes start to blur.
A sharp knock against the desk beside mine snaps me out of my trance. I blink, momentarily caught off guard.
Will Winters is standing in front of me.
And—because the universe is a cruel and chaotic force—he looks even more infuriatingly handsome in real life than he does on-screen.
Dark-blond hair, blue eyes, golden stubble, and that million-dollar smirk—perfect teeth and all.
He leans slightly on the edge of Jolene’s desk, radiating the easy confidence of a man who’s never once had to second-guess himself.
“Well, hello there,” he drawls, that deep Americantwang as effortlessly charming as it is deliberate.
I glance around, taking in the very empty desks of my gossip-loving colleagues. Traitors.
The head of PR, who I suspect is the reason he’s here, gives me an apologetic, questioning look.
I clear my throat, straightening in my chair. “My colleagues are in a meeting.”
Will’s smirk deepens like he knowsexactlywhere they are. “Sure they are.” He leans casually against the desk beside mine, utterly unfazed. “And you? Not part of that very important meeting?”
I arch a brow. “Clearly not.”
His grin doesn’t waver. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“I’m Amelia,” I say flatly. “And I’m far from being asweetheart.”
Something flickers in his gaze, something almost imperceptible. Then he grins, back to full Hollywood charm.
