Just the Sexiest Man Alive

Thirty-two

TAYLOR STOOD FROZEN on her doorstep as Jason headed over to her. He wore jeans and a lightweight navy sweater that brought out the blue of his eyes from ten feet away. He looked casual and rumpled and uncharacteristically tousled about. Taylor thought he had never looked better.

He stopped when he got to the edge of her doorstep.

“I need to talk to you.”

“I thought you were in New York,” she said. She had watched his live interview on the Today show that morning before leaving for court. Not that she needed to admit that to him.

“I flew back this afternoon.” Jason gestured to her front door. “Can I come in?”

Taylor nodded. As Jason followed her into the apartment, she noticed that he seemed nervous. Frankly, so was she. The two of them had an awkward moment, fumbling around each other as they stepped through the archway to the living room at the same time.

Taylor stopped and gestured for Jason to go first. Then she politely offered him something to drink. He politely replied that a glass of water would be nice.

A person could’ve cut the tension in the air with a spoon.

Taylor headed into her kitchen, berating herself for acting like such a moron. Miraculously, she somehow managed to pour a glass of water without dropping or spilling anything. When she returned to the living room she found Jason standing in front of the fireplace, checking out the family photographs she had set out along the mantel.

“You look like your father,” he said as she handed over his glass of water.

“Really? People usually say I look like my mom.” Relaxing a bit, Taylor moved next to Jason to see which photo he was looking at.

“It’s the eyes.” He turned and studied her, as if searching for an answer to some unasked question.

“I’m glad you came here tonight,” Taylor found herself saying. She saw this put Jason at ease for the first time since he’d got there. “There’s something I need to talk to you about as well.”

“Okay . . .” he said hesitantly, presumably remembering an earlier conversation between them that had begun this very same way. “You go first this time.”

So Taylor took a deep breath. “I settled my case today. It’s over. Done.”

Jason was surprised by this. “Over? I thought you said you were only halfway through your trial.”

Taylor nodded. “And then there were supposed to be posttrial motions and then likely an appeal, too. But today the plaintiff made us an offer we couldn’t say no to. It’s a great result. In fact, it was such a great result that, well . . . the firm said they’re going to make me a partner.”

Jason’s face broke into an enormous smile. “Holy shit—you’re kidding!”

“But I have to go back to Chicago.”

That wiped the smile right off his face.

He said nothing at first. He carefully set his glass of water down on her coffee table, unnecessarily adjusting it on a coaster as if needing a minute. Then he straightened up with his arms folded across his chest.

“So what did you tell them?”

Taylor met his gaze.

“I told them yes.”

They both fell silent.

Jason began to pace in front of the coffee table. He looked shocked. And angry. He appeared to be struggling for the right words to say.

“But . . . what about everything you have here in Los Angeles?”

Taylor shook her head. “It’s up or out at my firm. If I don’t go back to Chicago, I don’t have a job.”

“That’s the decision they force you to make? Then screw your job.”

Now that fired Taylor up. “Oh well, I suppose that’s easy for you to say. Do you even remember the last time you saw anything less than seven figures on a paycheck?”

For her sarcasm, Jason rewarded Taylor with a glare. It made her feel quite defensive.

“I’ve worked really hard for this,” she told him. “Three years of law school followed by six years of killing myself at that firm. I worked nights, weekends, even holidays. All that, and your only advice is ‘screw your job’?”

Jason circled around her. A floodgate seemingly had been opened.

“Oh, you want my advice? Okay, let’s see . . . Gee—I don’t know, Taylor, maybe you could find a new job. Here. Have you ever considered that? Did you even stop to consider the possibility of not running back to Chicago? Did you think about the fact that you might be walking away from something really good here? Did you once consider the possibility of giving—”

He stopped suddenly. Catching Taylor’s gaze, he shifted uncomfortably and regrouped.

“—Did you ever consider the possibility of giving L.A. a chance?” he finished.

But Taylor wasn’t fooled; she knew exactly what Jason had been about to say. But she, too, found it easier to dance around the subject rather than to actually say out loud what they both were thinking.

“There are a lot of things I like about L.A.’” she said carefully. “Things I like very much. But it’s too risky. What if things didn’t work out, Jason?” Her voice cracked a little as she said this. She collected herself. “With L.A., I mean.”

But Jason had caught her hesitation. He crossed the room to her.

“Taylor, look at me,” he whispered huskily. “Look at me.” He waited until her eyes met his. “You have nothing to worry about. Los Angeles is a perfect match for you. You belong here. You know that.”

He paused. Then he looked deep into her eyes and laid it all on the line. “You belong with me.”

Finally, it was all out there between them. No more games.

And as Taylor’s eyes searched Jason’s, she knew he was right.

He was her match.

Right from the very beginning, even when she had told herself that she hated him, he’d made her laugh. From the very beginning, he had gotten her. He knew her, he understood her. In so many ways, they were the same. She may have fussed and fought, but secretly she loved every moment they spent together. He was smart and witty and sexy as hell, but underneath it all, he was generous and kind and—surprisingly—as vulnerable as anyone else. Most important, he challenged her. And he drove her absolutely fucking crazy.

And that’s what made him perfect.

But.

As she stared into Jason’s deep blue eyes, she finally faced her deepest, darkest truths.

She had gotten lucky with Daniel, she knew that. After the shock of his cheating had worn off, she had been able to move on. Of course there had been some sadness, and mostly a lot of embarrassment, but nothing that she hadn’t been able to isolate and control with her usual degree of calm and collected coolness.

But that would not be the case with Jason.

If she trusted Jason and she was wrong, and one day she walked in on him with another woman, she didn’t think she could handle it. And even if she didn’t catch him red-handed, even if there wasn’t any cheating at all, even if he just got bored with her one day—after all, wasn’t that inevitable, Hollywood relationships never worked out—the simple truth of the matter was—

She would never get over him.

With Jason, there would be no calm and collected coolness. No feelings that could be isolated and controlled. It would be all or nothing, and Taylor feared that if she lost him, she would never find her way back.

So with a heavy but firm heart, she looked up at Jason and gave him her answer.

“I can’t.”

He stared at her knowingly. “You’re afraid.”

“Yes.”

They were both surprised she admitted this. Jason reached out and took both of her hands. He laced his fingers through hers.

“Tell me what it will take, Taylor. I’ll do anything you ask.”

So raw and naked were his words, she had to look away. Deep down, there was a part of her who ached to hear him say exactly that. Which meant that the scared part of her needed to stop him from saying anything else. She had to find a way to remain strong.

Her eye caught something on her coffee table—something she had placed there several weeks ago, one Sunday afternoon when she’d been straightening her apartment. Perhaps to serve as a reminder.

People magazine. “The Women of Jason Andrews!” article.

Taylor removed her hands from Jason’s and held the magazine between them. The parade of all his ex-lovers/dates/ whatevers.

“Did you tell all of these women the same thing?”

Confronted with his past, Jason shook his head. “No. Those women have nothing to do with us.”

“Not even the supermodel? The one you brought to London?” Taylor saw that he was surprised she knew about this. “Did you tell her—”

“I’ll save you the trouble, in case you have a whole cross-examination prepared,” he said. “Yes, I’ve done a lot of bad things. I don’t deny it. But that all changed once I met you. I haven’t thought of anyone else from the first moment I saw you in that courtroom.”

Taylor’s expression remained surprisingly impassive.

“What about Naomi Cross?”

Jason’s shoulders sagged a little at this. “Naomi was different,” he said lamely.

Taylor’s face stayed firm. It had to. “I see. Naomi’s different.”

Jason shook his head in frustration. “No—that came out wrong.” He took a step closer and peered down at her earnestly.

“What I’m trying to say is that you’re the one who’s different, Taylor.”

Ahhh . . . the magic words. The very words she had promised herself to never believe again.

But what about the look in Jason’s eyes? He seemed so forthright. So convincing.

Taylor hesitated.

She needed to stay firm. She looked down at her hands. At the magazine she held. “The Women of Jason Andrews!”

Seeing this, Jason yanked the magazine out of her hands. “Stop looking at this bullshit!” He threw the magazine against the wall and it crashed to the floor with a noisy flutter.

And then . . .

A tiny card slipped out from the magazine’s strewn pages.

Both Jason and Taylor saw it. He walked over and picked it up. Realizing what it was, Taylor looked away as Jason read the words on the card out loud.

“I’m sorry. And I love you. Daniel.”

Jason’s expression changed the moment he read the card. He turned back to her with a strange look.

“Now I see what the problem is. Tell me, Taylor, whose mistakes am I paying for?”

Taylor’s eyes narrowed. How dare he.

She picked the magazine off the floor and held it up. Her words were cold. “Your own.”

And with that, Jason’s eyes filled with hurt. But then, almost as quickly, they turned stony. Dead. His voice was flat and emotionless.

“If that’s how you feel, then I guess there’s nothing more we have to say to each other.”

And without so much as another look, he turned and walked out of her apartment.

When she heard the door slam, Taylor sat down on her couch. She fought hard against what happened next. She took a deep breath.

There’s no crying in baseball.

She blinked.

There’s no crying in baseball.

She wouldn’t do it. There’s no crying in baseball.

But it was a futile struggle. For the first time in her adult life, a tear ran down her face. And then another.

Taylor sat quietly on her couch, alone.

She did not brush the tears away.