TWENTY MINUTES AGO, when Jason had jumped into the Aston Martin and sped down to Taylor’s office, his actions had seemed perfectly rational. There wasn’t a person in Hollywood who didn’t immediately drop everything to take his call. So when Taylor hadn’t returned the three—count them, three—messages he had left with her secretary, he had assumed she was blowing him off. And he’d been furious thinking this—especially after the progress he thought they had made last Friday.

Unfortunately, they now appeared to have reverted back to the whole “Mr. Andrews” routine. But before Jason could say anything to clear up what obviously was just a simple miscommunication on the part of someone other than him, the gray-haired guy at the head of the conference table stood up.

“What the hell is going on here, Taylor? You told me you and Mr. Andrews had completed your project.”

Quick to make amends, the gray-haired guy headed over to Jason with his hand outstretched. “Mr. Andrews . . . I’m Sam Blakely, head of the litigation group here at Gray and Dallas. I’ve spoken on the phone with your manager a few times.”

Jason shook his hand. “Of course.”

“I was under the impression you and Ms. Donovan had finished your work together,” Sam said quickly. “I want to sincerely apologize for any problems or inconvenience she has caused you.”

Being taller, Jason could see over Sam’s head to Taylor, and his eyes met hers at the partner’s unctuous words. If looks could kill right then, Jason had no doubt he would’ve been lying flat on the ground with an expression of wide-eyed shock on his face and a twelve-inch hatchet lodged deep in his forehead.

Taylor came around the table to defend herself. “I’m not sure what the problem is either, Sam. It was my understanding that Mr. Andrews was very satisfied with the assistance I provided him last Friday.”

“Clearly, that’s not the case,” Sam snapped at her. “Otherwise, why would he be here?”

Jason saw how surprised Taylor was by the angry tone of the man who presumably was her boss.

“I . . . I don’t know why he’s here,” she faltered, turning to Jason in confusion. And in that brief moment, she suddenly looked utterly and completely lost.

It got to him. When Jason saw Taylor like that, he felt something odd . . . something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time . . . an unfamiliar emotion that took him a few seconds to place.

Guilt.

Jason saw that he needed to remedy the situation. If for no other reason than to avoid future hatchet-in-forehead death glares from Taylor.

So he turned to her boss. Of course he could fix this—he had won an Oscar for chrissakes.

“I think I may have created some confusion here,” Jason said. “Taylor and I did indeed finish our work last Friday. Today, I was calling her about a separate issue—a new matter on which I hoped she could share her immeasurably learned legal expertise.”

He winked at Taylor, proud of this last detail. Now this Sam character would think she had brought in new business for the firm.

He was a hero.

But the Sam character apparently wasn’t buying it.

“A new matter on which you need the advice of a sexual harassment attorney?” he asked skeptically.

Jason paused to think about this—damn lawyers with their pesky questions—when Taylor jumped in.

“That’s right,” she said, picking up Jason’s lead. “Mr. Andrews mentioned this to me during our last meeting. He owns a production company, and was looking for advice on some employment issues that have recently arisen at his office.”

Jason nodded along—hey, it worked for him. “Yes, yes, that’s right—employment issues that have arisen at my production company offices. Of course.”

Sam eyed them both suspiciously. “What kind of issues?”

Taylor didn’t bat an eye.

“Well . . . it appears that Mr. Andrews has some problems determining what is and is not appropriate behavior in the workplace.”

Jason—who had been nodding along—stopped and glanced over sharply. “Excuse me?”

Ignoring him, Taylor shook her head in grave disapproval. It was quite a performance.

“Unfortunately, it seems that Mr. Andrews has a fondness for telling dirty jokes around the office.” She leaned in toward Sam, whispering. “And not even good ones—juvenile stuff. Fifth-grade humor, really.”

Seeing Sam’s eyes dart over toward him, Jason shifted uncomfortably. Normally he was all for ad-libbing, but this was going a little far off script.

“Umm . . . Ms. Donovan, perhaps we should discuss this in—”

“And another thing,” she immediately cut him off, “he apparently demands that the women in his office address him only as ‘Your Hotness.’ And when speaking about him in the third person, he wants them to refer to him only as ‘The Hotness. ’ ”

The Derek guy, who still sat over at the conference table, snorted loudly at this.

Jason threw Taylor a look of warning. “I really don’t think—”

“—And of course there was the incident last week,” she said, cutting him off once again.

“The incident?” Sam asked, looking slightly uncomfortable.

With a coy glance clearly thrown in for Jason’s benefit, Taylor turned to Sam to explain.

“Last week, Mr. Andrews thought it would be amusing to sound the fire alarm and yell over the intercom that it was—quote—‘Time for all the cute girls to run around naked.’ ”