Page 24 of Stuart Woods' Golden Hour

“You got me there,” Peter admitted.

Marcus’s gaze landed on Stacy and Lizzie. “And who are these lovely ladies?”

“Elizabeth Franks, Centurion Pictures PR, and Stacy Lange, my assistant,” Billy said.

“Welcome,” Marcus said and gave Lizzie a hug.

When he turned to Stacy, she stuck out her hand before he could put his arms around her, and said, “Nice to meet you.”

He looked at her hand and chuckled. “Of course.” They shook, then he said to everyone, “Your trip was good, yes?”

“Very good,” Tessa said.

“I’m happy to hear that. We are so excited to have you in Italy.” Marcus sucked in a breath. “How rude of me. Your hands are empty. We must remedy this.”

He led them through the room until they found a waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes.

Marcus handed a glass to each of them, then took one for himself and raised it in the air. “To Centurion Pictures. I hope your time in Italy exceeds your expectations.”

Glasses were touched and drinks were had.

“Come, come,” Marcus said. “There are many people here you should meet.”

Thirty minutes later, Billy was in conversation with a small group of Italian filmmakers, discussing the day-to-day struggles of getting a movie made, when a hand pressed against his back.

“Pardon me,” a female voice said. “You are Billy Barnett,sì?”

Billy turned to find a stunning woman with dark hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin standing beside him. “I am.”

“Mr. Barnett, I am—”

“Youare Bianca Barone.”

“You recognize me?”

“How could I not recognize the queen of Italian cinema.”

“You are being too kind, Mr. Barnett.”

“Please, call me Billy.”

“And you must call me Bianca.”

“I’m honored to meet you, Bianca. I’m a big fan of your work.”

“Stop. My head is already too big. Your compliments will make me insufferable.”

“And yet I only speak the truth.”

She slipped an arm through his. “Then the least you can do is get me a drink while you fill my head with these truths.”

“Happily.”

He excused himself from the others, and he and Bianca made their way to the nearest bar.

The bartender smiled as they walked up.“Buonasera,”he said, then continued in Italian.

Billy’s Italian had been passable once, but it was rusty now. “Buonasera. You wouldn’t happen to speak English, would you?”

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