been surprised if it hadn't—she was with Tom Malone—now, a successful actor on his way to the big time and one of a horde of multimillionaires in this town.
"What are you doing here?" she asked casually.
"Graham's Crossing."
"Oh," she said, flipping voluminous blond hair over her shoulder. "That's a Spielberg film, isn't it?" When Eli didn't answer, she smoothly moved on. "Guess what? Tom is backing a film for me to star in. We're shopping it around to the studios," she said very matter-of-factly, as if he could possibly care. As if it were typical for a star on his way up to give a vehicle to a B-list actress. But that's what Trish had expected, Eli supposed, when she started sleeping with Tom Malone.
Eli had worked a dozen of Tom's films, had even been on a couple of extreme-sport outings with him, and had always thought he was a good guy. But he'd never thought, never once suspected that Tom Malone was sleeping with his fiancee, Trish.
Trish, damn her
. He tried not to think of her. Ever. It was easier now, because it had been almost a year since she'd given him the good news that she was "seeing" someone else a week before the massive wedding mat
she
had insisted on. He hadn't wanted a huge production, but Trish had, and he had jumped into it with both feet because he adored her.
"That's great, Trish," he said, and tossed the rag aside and leaned back, folding his arms over his chest. "Glad to hear things are working out for you."
"
Eli
," she purred, with a sympathetic smile. "Don't be that way. It's water under the bridge, and besides, we might end up working together someday."
He couldn't help himself; he laughed at that and stood up, towering over her at six feet two. "Don't think so," he said pleasantly. "I'll leave this town before I work with you again."
"Eli!" she exclaimed, smiling coyly at him with big blue eyes.
"Have a good life," he said, and walked away, leaving her gaping at him as if she couldn't believe he'd just walked away.
How could she expect anything less? She'd destroyed him a year ago, and that he could walk away now instead of crawling was a small victory for Eli. He'd never been in love with anyone before Trish—he'd been the kind of guy to flit from one girl to the next, moving on about the time they started getting serious. But with Trish, he'd fallen hard, like King Kong off the Empire State Building.
And with a year under his belt to obsess about it, Eli wondered several times how he could have missed her cheating, why he hadn't seen any signs, hadn't felt a little nudge deep inside him telling him the whole thing with Trish was off kilter. Maybe he had. Maybe he'd had the nudge and ignored it, and that was what made him such a putz. He'd been totally blindsided by Trish's announcement that night they were lying in bed together. Oh yeah, he'd been lying there thinking about how happy he was and wondering how many kids they'd have, and if they'd take after their mom or their dad.
Putz.
Sometimes, late at night when he was sitting on his deck in the Hollywood Hills and staring out over the valley, he would think back to the eighteen months he spent with that woman, remembering how incredible it felt to be in love, to feel so strongly about another person that you'd do anything for them. He wondered if he would ever be able to do that again.
He was fearful of it, truth be known. He was afraid of being King Putz again. He was afraid of that deep, soul-wrenching ache that went with it.
But it wasn't really a problem, Eli thought as he walked out into bright California sunshine, because he didn't meet a lot of women unless he was on a set, and after his experience with Trish, he treated starlets like lepers and just stayed the hell away. In fact, he couldn't think of a woman he'd met in the last several months.
Well. There was Marnie. But she didn't count.
So what if she had that sunny smile that could make a guy's balls tighten a little? It didn't mean anything. He'd just
"What are you doing here?" she asked casually.
"Graham's Crossing."
"Oh," she said, flipping voluminous blond hair over her shoulder. "That's a Spielberg film, isn't it?" When Eli didn't answer, she smoothly moved on. "Guess what? Tom is backing a film for me to star in. We're shopping it around to the studios," she said very matter-of-factly, as if he could possibly care. As if it were typical for a star on his way up to give a vehicle to a B-list actress. But that's what Trish had expected, Eli supposed, when she started sleeping with Tom Malone.
Eli had worked a dozen of Tom's films, had even been on a couple of extreme-sport outings with him, and had always thought he was a good guy. But he'd never thought, never once suspected that Tom Malone was sleeping with his fiancee, Trish.
Trish, damn her
. He tried not to think of her. Ever. It was easier now, because it had been almost a year since she'd given him the good news that she was "seeing" someone else a week before the massive wedding mat
she
had insisted on. He hadn't wanted a huge production, but Trish had, and he had jumped into it with both feet because he adored her.
"That's great, Trish," he said, and tossed the rag aside and leaned back, folding his arms over his chest. "Glad to hear things are working out for you."
"
Eli
," she purred, with a sympathetic smile. "Don't be that way. It's water under the bridge, and besides, we might end up working together someday."
He couldn't help himself; he laughed at that and stood up, towering over her at six feet two. "Don't think so," he said pleasantly. "I'll leave this town before I work with you again."
"Eli!" she exclaimed, smiling coyly at him with big blue eyes.
"Have a good life," he said, and walked away, leaving her gaping at him as if she couldn't believe he'd just walked away.
How could she expect anything less? She'd destroyed him a year ago, and that he could walk away now instead of crawling was a small victory for Eli. He'd never been in love with anyone before Trish—he'd been the kind of guy to flit from one girl to the next, moving on about the time they started getting serious. But with Trish, he'd fallen hard, like King Kong off the Empire State Building.
And with a year under his belt to obsess about it, Eli wondered several times how he could have missed her cheating, why he hadn't seen any signs, hadn't felt a little nudge deep inside him telling him the whole thing with Trish was off kilter. Maybe he had. Maybe he'd had the nudge and ignored it, and that was what made him such a putz. He'd been totally blindsided by Trish's announcement that night they were lying in bed together. Oh yeah, he'd been lying there thinking about how happy he was and wondering how many kids they'd have, and if they'd take after their mom or their dad.
Putz.
Sometimes, late at night when he was sitting on his deck in the Hollywood Hills and staring out over the valley, he would think back to the eighteen months he spent with that woman, remembering how incredible it felt to be in love, to feel so strongly about another person that you'd do anything for them. He wondered if he would ever be able to do that again.
He was fearful of it, truth be known. He was afraid of being King Putz again. He was afraid of that deep, soul-wrenching ache that went with it.
But it wasn't really a problem, Eli thought as he walked out into bright California sunshine, because he didn't meet a lot of women unless he was on a set, and after his experience with Trish, he treated starlets like lepers and just stayed the hell away. In fact, he couldn't think of a woman he'd met in the last several months.
Well. There was Marnie. But she didn't count.
So what if she had that sunny smile that could make a guy's balls tighten a little? It didn't mean anything. He'd just
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