“I really think you'll regret it later if you don't.”
Troy nodded, because Z was right. He would spend the rest of his life hating himself for doing what he'd done at the club without telling her it had been him. Because if he knew Giselle like he thought he knew her-and based on what he'd learned of her from that night, he believed he still knew enough-he was pretty sure she'd be at least a little wigged over the way she'd gotten caught up in the night and what she'd allowed herself to do with someone she'd considered a complete stranger.
“Thanks, Z. I'll think about it.”
But as Zahara stood and started gathering gear before they took their lunchtime break, Troy continued to waffle over whether or not he should poke the sleeping bear or simply let it lie.
Giselle's hand whipped a signature across the photograph. She capped the pen as she grinned up at the director of the film, Jeff Michel. “Tell your daughter I said hello.”
He chuckled and slipped the image into an envelope. “I'll have to put in earplugs first. Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure.” She twirled a strand of her hair around her finger and pulled it forward, laying it purposely over the mark on her neck, a bite from the devil she'd been struggling to hide for two days.
Her mind instantly drifted back to the moment he'd created it, and desire flared through her body. In some ways, it still seemed like a fantasy. Like it hadn't really happened. Like she'd only imagined it. Then she'd see some mark the interlude had left on her body, like a line on her wrist from the cuffs or this welt from his teeth, and the reality that she'd been so taken with a stranger she'd met him and had sex with him in public all within an hour would come rushing back at her with frightening speed.
She pressed a hand to her stomach as acid rushed in. Not for the first time, she considered going back to therapy. A one-time thing was bad enough, but she couldn't stop thinking about him. A man whose name she didn't even know. A man who'd probably already forgotten he'd even touched her. Really, how could she have done that? She'd never even had a one-night stand before. Talk about radical behavior. And when she thought about it too long, it truly scared her. What had spurred it? How did she keep it from happening again? What if she couldn't control it?
Brook came up beside Giselle with a fresh drink. She was wearing a beautiful midnight-blue cocktail dress that made her eyes pop even more than they normally did. Her black hair was wrapped into a fun little spring of curls on the back of her head, and her makeup was sexy, yet natural.
“So sorry to interrupt,” Brook said, then to Giselle, “Gloria would like to have a few minutes with you.”
“Not a problem.” Jeff nodded at both women. “Thanks again.”
As the director wandered back to chat with other guests, Giselle turned to Brook and took the drink. She'd been Giselle's first assistant on the road. They'd become instant friends, bonding over Giselle's heartbreak over Troy. And while her agents, managers, tour coordinators, and sponsors had wielded the power to hire and fire her band members and backup singers for bigger and better as Giselle had grown, she'd always kept Brook as her personal assistant.
“Thank you.” She drained half the tonic water and lime, sighing at the feel of the bubbles on her throat. “God, that's heavenly.”
She paused a moment to glance around the small banquet room Chad had booked for the mixer, wishing she could grab a drink from the bar. Wishing she'd picked up a Xanax on her way out of her room.
The setting was nice. A quaint space the perfect size for a gathering of a hundred or so. The lighting intimate, the room decorated in rich navy and gold. A bar sat against one wall, tables and booths dotted another area, a small dance floor filled one corner. Everyone seemed comfortable and engaged. Everyone except her band and her backup singers.
“I don't understand them,” Giselle said. “It pisses me off that they're so worried about what they might not get that they can't enjoy what they have. They've all made minimal effort tonight when it would only benefit them in every way to use this opportunity to both show that they're team players and to put out feelers for other work.
“They're all so damn talented, but every time one of these big mixers comes up, everyone gets tense, and all the gloves go on. The guys start bickering among themselves; they start asking me a million questions there's no way I could answer. Helen and Simone get quiet, start lurking and eavesdropping. God, I hate that. I swear someday one of them will stab me in my sleep.”
She hooked a thumb toward herself. “I'm the singer. I'm the one who's supposed to be temperamental.”
Brook burst out laughing. “I guess you didn't get the memo.”
Giselle sighed, and Brook's laugh made her smile.
“I think they're making up for your even-tempered good nature,” Brook said.
Giselle made a growling sound, turned her back on her band, and drank her bubbly water. “Whatever.” She glanced around the room. “Is this a friendlier group than normal, or,” she was going to say is that my imagination, but smirked and said, “am I just comparing them to my band?”
More laughter bubbled from Brook. “They're definitely a friendly group. They say it's just the ambience of a film crew. Everyone's casual and fun, sort of like a family.”
Giselle sighed. “Wouldn't that be nice?”
“No kidding.”
“Think they'll adopt us?”
“Bet we could persuade them. You could be their entertainment, and I could keep them organized.”
“We're a pretty good team.”
Brook lifted her brows. “I've also got my eye on one of the stunt guys. Man, talk about hot…”