She held her breath, waiting to see if he would give her the response she so desperately wanted. If he would finally believe in her. She nearly swore out loud when the door swung open and Quentin stuck his head though it.
“I regret the interruption, but Mr. Miller is currently fending off a worry-crazed committee of writers who want to know when they can start the awards ceremony. Evidently, you’re the opening act,” Quentin said to Hugh.
The light in Hugh’s eyes faded. “Hell and damnation!” He raked his fingers through his hair before he said in a low voice, “I’ll come home with you...to talk.”
Jessica nearly pumped her fist. She’d heard that one before. However, she allowed herself only a nod.
Hugh crooked his arm and held it out from his side, his sharp-edged smile a challenge. “Will you accompany me into dinner?”
“It would be an honor.” She returned his smile as she slipped her hand through the hollow at his elbow, loving the feel of his hard, muscled forearm under her palm.
Quentin held the door for them, raising his eyebrows in a question aimed at Jessica as she passed. She held her free hand down by her side so only the stylist could see it and made a “so-so” motion in response. Quentin muttered, “Keep the faith.”