LATER THAT EVENING, Jason turned to Taylor as they were leaving the restaurant, eager to hear her verdict.

“So? What did you think of your first official Los Angeles dining experience?”

She grinned in acknowledgment. “This by far takes the award for the best place I’ve gone on a business dinner.”

Jason stopped abruptly.

“Wait—are you billing your time for this dinner?

Taylor stopped, too, seemingly surprised that he was surprised by this. “Well, yes. At least the part we spent talking about the script.”

Her answer bothered Jason. Quite a bit, actually.

Taylor shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry—is there a problem with that?”

What could he say in response? Jason tried to keep his words from sounding terse. “No, of course not—this was a work dinner for you. I’m sorry I kept you so long.”

He held the door open for Taylor, hoping to get them out of the restaurant and off this topic as quickly as possible.

She looked at him, confused. “Jason, I hope you didn’t—”

She suddenly was cut off by the blinding flash of a hundred cameras. She jumped in surprise, as Jason turned and saw an enormous mob of paparazzi gathered on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. At the sight of him, the photographers screamed his name and clamored to get closer.

Instinctively, Jason pushed Taylor back into the restaurant and slammed the door behind them. He took a peek through the window at the circus that had gathered outside. To him, it was a pretty typical sight.

Taylor, on the other hand, appeared to be seriously freaking out. While she paced, she stayed as far from the windows as possible, as if they were dealing with sniper rifles outside instead of cameras.

“This is . . . not good,” she said worriedly. “Really, really not good.” She turned to Jason with a hopeful look. “We were only outside for a second. Maybe they didn’t get a picture of us?”

Glancing out at the multitude of perfectly aimed cameras held by men with hair-trigger reflexes, Jason shook his head.

“At this point, I think the best you can hope for is that they didn’t get one like this . . . ” He made a shocked, oh-my-god-who-the-fuck-are-all-these-people face, trying to make her laugh.

It didn’t work.

Taylor sank miserably into a nearby chair. “I am so going to get kicked off my case.” She despondently rested her chin in her hands. “I’m under a court order,” she explained. “I can’t be seen in the media.”

As he walked over to her, Jason couldn’t help but notice again how much she wanted not to be seen with him. “I’m sure the judge wasn’t referring to this type of publicity.”

Taylor shook her head. “No, he was very clear on the issue—no press attention. Period.” She looked down at the ground.

Seeing her upset, Jason felt that strange feeling tugging at him again. He knelt before her and started to reach out to take her hands in his. But then, something instinctively stopped him from touching her. He rested his arms on his knees instead.

“I can fix this,” he said gently.

Taylor peered up at him hopefully. “Really?”

“But I want something in return.”

Her green eyes narrowed. She folded her arms over her chest. “What might that be?”

Jason’s gaze was unwavering.

“One night.”

Taylor’s eyes widened.

Jason smiled and spoke quickly, before she slapped him. “I meant one evening that’s not work-related. You let me take you somewhere fun.”

She shook her head definitively. “No.”

Jason stood up reluctantly. “Okay—have it your way.” He pointed to the front of the restaurant. “There’s the door. Don’t let the paparazzi hit you on the ass on your way out.”

Taylor peeked at the mob outside. Apparently finding this option unappealing, she turned back to Jason.

“If I agree to this, there would have to be certain parameters.”

Jason shook his head. “This isn’t a negotiation, Ms. Donovan. You have my offer—take it or leave it.”

Taylor glanced outside one last time, then sighed dramatically. Jason bit back a smile. All women should have such problems.

“Does anyone ever say ‘no’ to you?” she asked him resignedly.

“No. But if it makes you feel any better, you try a lot harder than anyone else. So we have a deal?”

“Fine. Whatever. Just fix this.”

With that, Jason whipped out his cell phone. He hit the speed dial, slipping into crisis mode.

“Marty!” he exclaimed affectionately into the phone. Never mind that it was almost midnight on a Friday. “Listen—I need you to do something for me. I’m at Mr. Chow’s with a bunch of paparazzi outside. They just got some photographs that I would appreciate they not publish. I don’t care about me, but tell these guys that if anyone prints the name of the woman I’m with, or a picture of her face, they won’t get one word from me ever again.”

Jason waved off all his publicist’s protests. “It’s your job to make sure they understand,” he said firmly. “Tell the editors, the publishers, whoever you need to talk to, that this comes directly from me.”

He paused at Marty’s next question.

“Do I at least have a comment on the mystery woman?” Jason’s eyes darted over to Taylor as he summed her up succinctly.