Page 79 of The Small-Town Seduction Plan

DUKE

“How do I look?” Avery pauses in the street outside the restaurant, tugging on her hem.

I have to laugh. Because, come on, Avery can stop traffic in a trash bag– and she’s definitely not wearing a trash bag tonight.

Thanks to Artie’s connects at the airfield, we arrived in New York with time to spare– which Avery put to use disappearing into a hotel bathroom with her duffel, and emerging an hour later in a slinky gold slip dress that made me forget how to breathe.

“You look beautiful,” I reassure her.

Understatement of the year.

Avery gives me a look, fluffing out her glossy hair. “Yes, but am I beautiful for a cookout in Blackberry Cove? Or red carpet, magazine cover, Hollywood glamor kind of beautiful?”

“All of the above.”

“I’m serious!” she protests. I’ve never seen her nervous like this before, so I draw her closer, and cup her face in my hands.

“I haven’t been able to think straight in twenty blocks,” I say bluntly. “I’ve imagined a dozen ways I want to make you come tonight, and at least six of them involve you keeping that dress, and those heels on the whole time.”

Avery exhales in a rush, finally smiling. “Thank you,” she says softly, leaning up to press a kiss on my lips. “I feel like I’ve been out of the game forever, even though it’s just been a couple of months.”

“They’ll love you,” I say firmly.

“They better.”

Avery takes a deep breath, and it’s like she’s transforming right in front of me. Her shoulders roll back, and her chin juts up, and her smile gets bigger. Dazzling. Carefree.

And just like that, she’s not the Avery who was clutching her stomach on my bathroom floor, or delighting over a hundred crazy lobster recipes, or even the woman who woke up in my bed this morning, sleepy and soft and irresistible in the morning light. No, this is Avery Lawrence, movie star. Glittering and infuriatingly desirable, and out of anyone’s league.

It's a good thing I’m falling in love with both of them.

“You’ve got this,” I tell her, squeezing her hand.

She smiles back and flips her hair. “I know.”

Avery sashays into the restaurant like she’s strolling down a catwalk. It’s a fancy sushi spot with dim lighting and mirrors everywhere. I stow her case with the coat check, and then we’re shown to the back, where a group of suits is waiting on the couches, clustered around a grown man in his forties wearing expensive skate kid streetwear and a backwards baseball cap.

This must be the director.

“Brady!” Avery coos, arriving at the table with a big smile. “It is so great to finally meet you.”

Brady doesn’t look up from his phone. He holds up a finger. “One minute,” he says, still scrolling.

Are you kidding me?

Avery told me on the flight that he’s a big deal in Hollywood right now, and has steered this Annihilation franchise to record box office receipts, but to me, he just looks like an overgrown kid who should show some damn manners and get off his phone.

But clearly, manners aren’t on the menu for this guy. Avery smoothly pivots to greeting the others, various producers whose names I forget, before Brady finally puts his phone down, stands, and greets Avery’s breasts.

“Thanks for making it in to meet. Things are crazy right now.”

“I can imagine,” Avery says, with a playfully cool smile. “But I’ll always make time for a role like this. I’m so intrigued to hear more. Why don’t we all get some drinks, and get to know each other?”

It takes me all of five seconds to clock that this director is an asshole, but I get to spend the next hour learning just how bad.

“… you should have seen the test footage,” Brady sneers, three drinks in. “I know the camera adds ten pounds but jeez, she was a whale! Nobody wants a close-up of that.”

The other guys at the table all laugh, too.

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