Read Online How to Sleep with a Movie Star by Kristin Harmel - Free Book Online Page B

even met his publicist. Why on earth would she have assumed that? Unless he meant . . .
    “I’m not as young as I look,” I said, suddenly defensive. “I mean, I know I look like a teenager. It’s hard not to when you’re only five feet tall. . . .” I couldn’t help but think of Jeffrey’s
Mickey Mouse Club
comparison. I realized that Cole was laughing again, so I shut my mouth.
    Perhaps I was being a bit overly sensitive.
    “I didn’t mean that at all!” he exclaimed. My blush deepened. Great, now I was misinterpreting his words. “And for the record, you don’t look like a teenager. You look every bit grown woman to me.” I could feel the blood rising to my face in a full-fledged blush again. “And wow, five feet tall? That makes me more than a foot taller than you.”
    One foot and four inches to be exact, I thought abstractedly, recalling the info on his bio sheet.
    “Can I call you Shorty? Or maybe Little Lady?” he asked, feigning seriousness. I finally laughed.
    “If it will help me get back into your good graces,” I said. I felt the breath go out of me as I heaved a sigh of relief and smiled at him.
    “Not that you were ever
out
of my good graces,” he said. “But I’ll keep those nicknames in mind, in case I ever need them.”
    I laughed again, and I knew that the ice had been broken. In the space of less than five minutes, this had gone from being the worst-begun interview to being the best. I knew it would be a good morning.
    Then again, I suppose that any morning spent with the Adonis-next-door should qualify as a good morning.
    “Look,” said Cole, leaning forward conspiratorially. His blue eyes were wide and his perfectly white teeth gleamed just inches from me. “What do you say we go somewhere else for breakfast?”
    “Um, okay,” I said, surprised and a bit disappointed. Geez! Celebrities and their demands! Just when I’d started to think he was different, here he was rearranging the schedule. He’d probably want to go to some place even more expensive. Nobu maybe? Or Tavern on the Green? Great.
    “I mean, we can stay if you want.” Cole paused, looking at me with concern as I shook my head. “But did you look at this menu? I mean, who eats
Eggs en Cocotte with Truffle Jus
for breakfast? What the heck is that, anyhow?”
    He looked up from the menu just as a waiter walked by carrying what appeared to be exactly that egg dish (complete with thyme-roasted potatoes and the twenty-five-dollar caviar supplement offered in the menu). We both collapsed in laughter, and my heart mysteriously fluttered as his right arm brushed my left. I shook the feeling off and chided myself. I knew better than to feel giddy about celebrities.
    Even if they had gorgeous blue eyes and the most perfect smile I’d ever seen.
    “And look at the price!” Cole exclaimed as we finished laughing, looking back at the menu. “That was thirty-six dollars of egg that just walked by! Are you kidding me?”
    “It is sort of ridiculous,” I admitted. I tilted my head to the side and looked at him intently, trying not to look accusatory. “But why did you want to meet here, then?”
    “Me?” he asked. He shook his head and leaned back in his seat. “Ha! My publicist Ivana suggested it. It’s her favorite restaurant. She wanted to meet us and sit in on the interview, but I see from the looks of it that she must have overslept.” He laughed again, and I realized suddenly that his laugh sounded different in person than it did at the movies. It was richer, fuller, more musical. “So, what do you say we get out of here before Ivana decides to make an appearance? I need some real breakfast. How about bacon, eggs, and the greasiest hash browns in Manhattan?”
    I grinned. “Lead the way.”
    *
     
    Ten minutes later, after arguing about who would pay for my ten-dollar cappuccino—I finally won by insisting that it was against
Mod
’s policy to let a source pay for anything—we were out on the street,