Page 31 of Off Script

“Fine,” Jada said. At her acquiescence, Tristan lifted his glass as if he was raising a white flag. Jada did the same, tapping her glass to his before taking a sip.

“But that means you have to dance with me,” Tristan added, setting his drink down so he could grab her hand.

“I didn’t agree to that. I thought we were supposed to be getting into the networking zone,” Jada said, not budging.

“Yes, by loosening up. Live a little, Berklee,” Tristan insisted as he pulled her along.

Jada let him drag her to the center of the dance floor as a new song began to play. She hoped for something that they could dance energetically to, but since it was a more laid-back lounge, “Crush” by Jennifer Paige played melodiously over the sound system. Jada remembered the ’90s pop hit. As Tristan held her close in his arms, Jada listened to the lyrics.

And for some reason, for some inexplicable reason, Jada could relate to them while she danced with Tristan. The attraction between them was there, no doubt. But it couldn’t be anything more than a crush. She refused to faint over him, to let her heart flutter. But being with him made her feel exhilarated, young . . . free. Just like the song said.

Jada had been staring down at her feet as they moved across the dance floor, but once she got the hang of things, she instinctually looked up at Tristan—only to find he was looking at her, too, with deep, indescribable emotion in his eyes.

Throughout the slow song they’d been mere inches away, but his strong arms drew her in closer until there was hardly any space between them. Tristan’s chest brushed against her own and a tantalizing friction ignited inside of her. The closeness of their bodies paired with Tristan’s mesmerizing gaze proved to be too much. Against all reason, Jada moved in, breathing him in as her lips entrancingly inched closer to his . . . close enough to . . .

Wait! What in the world was she doing? They’d been squabbling the majority of the night, and now she was leaning in for a kiss. It made no sense for her to be smooching him like this was an actual date. Jada pulled away, silently reprimanding herself for getting swept away by the music and Tristan’s allure. Her sudden jerk backward startled Tristan out of . . . whatever that had been.

“It’s getting late. Maybe we should look for that guy now,” she pointed out.

“You’re right,” Tristan agreed, clearing his throat. “We’ll find him.”

He reached for her hand, probably so they could stick together as they traversed the crowd. Then, as if his better judgment kicked in, he refrained from touching her. After a few moments of peeking at different tables, Tristan whistled in victory.

“I got him.”

“Where?” Jada asked, glancing around Tristan’s shoulder.

“I’ll show you.” Tristan did clasp her hand now so she would follow him. Jada’s reluctance sank in and she tugged back—staying put.

“Tristan, wait. I don’t know if I’m ready yet. What do I need to know about this guy?”

Outside of the actual craft of acting, Jada’s least favorite part of her job was networking. It always felt forced and slimy, no matter how many pointers Avery gave Jada when she first started out. With extensive practice she’d gotten better, but this back and forth with Tristan the whole night hadn’t given her the same type of prep time.

“He’s a posh aristocrat whose main interest is making hits. He’s down to hire anyone he thinks can help him bring in more money.”

“Okay. But what if he doesn’t like me?”

“He’ll like you. If you’re still nervous, let me do the talking. I’ll show you what to do. So, come on, grasshopper.” With that last remark and an encouraging push, Tristan escorted Jada toward her fate.

Way too quickly, Jada found herself and Tristan in front of a plush, ivory booth filled with people. The glass table in the center was littered with colorful cocktail glasses, some half-full and others empty. The music was softer here, allowing the patrons’ laughter to fill their little corner of the lounge. In the middle of the group’s revelry, a gorgeous golden-haired man was the king. He entertained his companions with jokes, and the women fawned over him foolishly. It was obvious this was the man they were here to meet. Nevertheless, Jada fidgeted at the idea of intruding on their gathering.

“Logan Wentworth?” Tristan asked bluntly, not struck with any indecision. The man cocked his head in acknowledgment.

“Yes, that’s me,” he said. He had a distinctive lilt in his voice that reminded Jada of James Bond. Silky soft, commanding, and very British. Her mind also latched onto his name. She’d heard Logan Wentworth described as one of the hottest producers in the industry. While he was only in his midthirties, he’d used his family’s old money ties to make his way from the UK and the BBC to join Hollywood’s big hitters.

“Can I help you?”

While Logan seemed friendly, there was a firmness in his voice that implied he wasn’t interested in being hassled—making Tristan and Jada’s job even harder. Jada allowed Tristan to take the lead, not because he’d demanded to earlier but because she feared she might screw things up.

“I’m Tristan Maxwell. A friend of Doug’s. Remember? He said we might see you here tonight, told me to stop by,” Tristan said jovially.

While subtle, Logan definitely did a double take. With the mood lighting in the lounge, he probably hadn’t gotten a full look at Tristan, but matching the name with the face had done the trick. Jada wasn’t sure if they’d actually met in person before, but Logan certainly wouldn’t turn them away now that Tristan had made his presence known and implied that they had.

“Ah yes. Maxwell. Sorry. I’m a few drinks in.” Logan laughed, covering the initial awkwardness. “It’s good to see you. Have a seat.” His invitation forced a sort of musical chairs seating rearrangement as Tristan and Jada squeezed into the booth.

“This is my girlfriend, Jada.” Tristan threw a companionable arm around her shoulders as he went on. “When I saw you, I was like, Jada, you have to meet this guy. He’s great—not to mention one of the best producers in town.”

“Thanks, mate. That’s kind of you to say,” Logan said, then his gaze fell on Jada. It seemed he approved of her—at least physically—as he took in her appearance appreciatively.

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