Shaking his head clear of the fantasy, he focused on her face.
Her dark blue gaze flicked to his for a moment, and then returned to the script. “Sebastien, look . . . don’t take this personally, but you’re not the kind of guy I’m looking for these days.”
“Oh, yeah. Sure. I won’t take it personally . . . Oh, wait. It is personal.” Bracing his elbows on the table, he leaned forward. Insult washed away the cloud of heat that tended to fog his brain whenever he was around her. “Just what kind of guy am I? I mean, I’m not a big drinker. I don’t do drugs. I’m not an abuser. I don’t cheat.”
Marin passed a hand over her eyes. “Shit.”
He waited.
When she looked back at him, he almost got up and walked away.
But he wanted to know.
“Well?”
“I’m thirty-two years old,” she said quietly. “You’re twenty-five. You’re still having fun with the high life, hitting every party you can, going out there just to be seen. You like just being seen—you love being Sebastien Barnes—and that’s fine. You worked hard to get where you are, and you’re perfectly entitled to enjoy it. But . . .”
Her voice trailed and she averted her gaze. “I’m done with that part. I want something quieter. I want to do my job and go home. I want to have a quiet dinner and curl up with a good book.” She slid him a quick look and shrugged. “I’m ready to start looking at what’s next . . . You’re all about what’s now.”
“Why shouldn’t I be?” he half snapped, and then he wished he’d kept his mouth shut.
It wasn’t like she wasn’t entitled to feel how she felt.
Abruptly, he found himself remembering another day—a different day—not when he’d given her that chaste kiss that had made his blood burn and his cock pulse. It had just been the two of them. They’d decided to go out for lunch when they unexpectedly had a long break—there’d been a minor emergency and the director had told them all to just take an early lunch and meet back at two. They’d gone out instead of eating the same catered lunch they’d been having for the past few weeks.
They’d been walking down the street and somebody had recognized him despite his attempt to avoid it. He hadn’t minded and he’d gone to catch Marin’s hand, intending to include her in it, but she’d pulled away, ducking into a nearby store while he smiled and laughed and signed autographs.
He met her gaze and saw that she knew exactly what he’d been thinking about.
“It’s okay to enjoy your time in the sun, Seb,” she said softly. “I know I did. But . . . after a while, it gets awful cold in that spotlight. Awful boring and empty. I need something more.”
“Marin . . .” He swallowed, and then forced a laugh. “Look, I’m not asking you to marry me or anything. I just thought we could have fun together. Hang out. I’m not looking for anything more.”
“No.” She pushed back from the table, picking up the script and her bag. She hefted the wide pink strap over her shoulder before she spoke. Her eyes were sad as she met his. “I am.”
***
It’s okay to enjoy your time in the sun.
Brooding, he stared into his martini. Sebastien had been convinced he’d feel better once he hit his favorite restaurant, but so far, he’d been wrong.
The ma?tre d’ normally struck him as friendly, but tonight, the service had seemed more like . . . gushing.
The dim light and the music, all of it had seemed too contrived.
The martini he’d ordered was bland, and another person came by his table to talk about how they needed to get together and soon, he just might gouge his eyeballs out if another person came by.
“Sebastien?”
He bit back a snarl, only to swallow it completely when he looked up to see Monica Dupré standing before him.
Monica.
Monica Dupré. Save for the women in his family, there had been only two women who had ever really made an impact on his life. One had just shot him down flat earlier, and he was trying to tell himself it was no big deal.
The other was now standing in front of him.
The day before he’d planned to ask her to marry him, Monica had ended their relationship and told him she had fallen in love with another man. For a little while, he’d thought he was heartbroken, but it wasn’t long before he realized that if he was really heartbroken, then he was as shallow as his brothers always said he was—even when he was brooding over being dumped by Monica, even when the ring he’d bought was sitting on the nightstand, he still dreamed about Marin.
He’d always dreamed about Marin. Some thought of her or what she might think had an effect on his decisions and almost everything he did.