“I can’t. I’m working.”
“Doing what?” He waved at the dining room. “This place is practically empty.”
Her probing gaze roamed over his face, as if searching for something, and the pursuit was so affecting, he felt oddly compelled to give it to her, no matter what it was.
“Okay,” she said. “But only for a few minutes.”
She glided through the haphazard maze of tables and bent over her order pad, then handed it to the middle-aged woman in the kitchen. Pearl, if he had to guess.
The brutish brothers, clearly adopted, continued to shoot malevolent grimaces over their shoulders, but hadn’t left their stools again.
Only a couple of things were guaranteed to rile Kris’s temper—challenging his artistic vision and picking on someone weaker. Otherwise, he stayed out of it. Drama belonged on the screen, not in real life.
A slender young woman with a wholesome face whirled into the diner and flew to VJ’s side. Amused, he crossed his arms as they whispered furiously to each other while shooting him fascinated glances under their lashes. Benign gawking, especially by someone who intrigued him as much as VJ did, was sort of flattering. After a couple of minutes, the other woman flounced to the bar, her sidelong gaping at him so exaggerated she almost tripped over her sandals.
“Friend of yours?” he asked as VJ approached his table.
VJ was giving him a wide berth, something he normally appreciated, but not today and not with her. There’d been an easiness between them earlier, as if they’d been friends for a long time, before she got uptight about his connection to Kyla. Friends were hard to come by in Hollywood, especially for someone who cultivated a reputation for being driven and moody. He lost little sleep over it. Different story with VJ, who made the idea of being so disconnected unappealing.
“Yeah, practically since birth. That’s Pamela Sue. She’s only here to ogle you.”
He laughed. “I’m not used to such honesty. I like it. What does VJ stand for?” he asked and propped his chin on a palm, letting his gaze roam over her expressive face. Women were manipulative and scheming where he came from. This one was different.
“Victoria Jane. It’s too fancy for these parts, so folks mostly call me VJ.”
VJ fit her—it was short, sassy and unusual. “Most? But not all?”
“Perceptive, aren’t you? My mom didn’t. But she’s been gone now almost a year.”
Ouch. The pain flickering through her eyes drilled right through him, leaving a gaping hole. Before thinking it through, he reached out and gently enfolded her hand in his.
“I’m sorry,” he said. After the ill-fated exchange of harsh words with his father sixteen years ago, Kris had walked away from a guaranteed position at Demetrious Shipping, the Demetrious fortune and Greece entirely. His relationship with his mom had been one of the casualties, and phone calls weren’t the same. But he couldn’t imagine a world where even a call wasn’t possible. “That must’ve been tough. Must still be.”
“Are you trying to make me cry?” She swallowed hard.
Dishes clinked and clacked from the kitchen and the noise split the air.
“Pearl’s subtle way of telling me to get my butt to work.” VJ rolled wet, shiny eyes. “Honestly, she should pick up your check. This place hasn’t seen such a big crowd since Old Man Smith’s funeral.”
While he’d been distracted, locals had packed the place. Most of the tables were now full of nuclear families, worn-out men in crusty boots or acne-faced teenagers.
“So you’re saying I’m at least as popular as a dead man?” It shouldn’t have been funny, but the corners of his mouth twitched none the less.
Soberly, she pulled her hand from his and stood. Her natural friendliness had returned and then vanished. He missed it.
“Well, I have to work.” She eased away, her expression blank. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Demetrious. I wish you and Ms. Monroe all the happiness in the world with your upcoming marriage.”
He scowled. “Kyla and I aren’t engaged.”
Yet. It didn’t improve his mood to hear rumors of the impending engagement had already surfaced, courtesy of Kyla, no doubt.
Why was this still bothering him? He’d agreed to give Kyla a ring. The deal was done if he wanted to make Visions of Black. He entertained no romantic illusions about love or marriage. Marriage based on a business agreement had a better chance of succeeding than one based on anything else. Of course, he was never going to marry anyone, least of all Kyla, whom he hadn’t even seen in a couple of months, not since she’d called off their relationship in a fit of tears and theatrical moaning. At which point she’d likely jumped right back into bed with Guy Hansen.