Her Red-Carpet Romance. Marie Ferrarella
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about.
He nodded. “Jan.”
Theresa looked at him in surprise. “You mean the young woman you threw the going-away party for?”
She couldn’t see them as a pair, but if he didn’t want this Jan leaving, why was he throwing this party for her? Why wasn’t he trying to convince the young woman to stay?
Lukkas frowned as he nodded. “She’s following her heart and marrying some guy in England she met while we were in production on My Wild Irish Rose.” As if a lightbulb had suddenly gone off in his head, he realized what his caterer was probably thinking. That this was a matter of the heart. Nothing could have been further from the truth.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he said, quickly setting Theresa straight. “I’m happy that Jan’s happy, but I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.”
“Why?” Theresa asked, curious. “What is it that she does?”
“She keeps me honest and organized,” he told her with a dry laugh. Because the woman was still looking at him, waiting for a viable answer, Lukkas elaborated, “I’m the one with the ideas and the energy, the inspiration. Jan’s the one who makes sense of it all, who simplifies my chaos and makes sure that everything gets done on time.”
Aware of the level of work involved in what Lukkas did, that certainly sounded like a taxing job, Theresa thought.
“And you don’t have anyone to take her place?” she ventured. At the same time Theresa realized this wasn’t a matter involving the heart. Lukkas seemed genuinely happy that his assistant had found someone to love so this wasn’t something that could be fixed with a good match.
A pity, she silently lamented. She and her friends hadn’t had a good challenge in almost a month. All three of them ran their own respective businesses, but nothing truly made them come to life like pairing up a couple and moving their lives along; lives that would have otherwise just gone their own separate routes, never bumping into one another, never discovering the pot of gold that was waiting for them at the end of the rainbow.
Thinking of that made her recall the poker game she and her friends had played last Monday. The card game was really just an excuse to get together, unwind and occasionally talk about a possible new opportunity for them to play Cupid. Last Monday, Cecilia had spent most of her time talking about a young woman named Yohanna Something-or-other—the last name was a tongue twister at best. Apparently the young woman had just lost her job and was also too sweet and adorable—Cecilia’s exact words—to be without a soul mate.
“Jan is going to be hard, if not impossible, to replace,” Lukkas was saying.
Theresa smiled at the much-sought-after producer. He was single. He was exceedingly handsome. He was perfect. “Don’t be too sure,” she said.
He turned toward her. “You know someone?”
Theresa’s smile was warm and genuine—and very encouraging. “Dear boy, I always know someone.” Theresa’s eyes were fairly sparkling at this point.
Watching her, Lukkas thought that this woman must have a trick or two up her sleeve. Right now, he needed to find someone to replace Jan. A competent someone. “Tell me more. I’m listening.”
* * *
A little less than twenty-four hours later Yohanna Andrzejewski found herself standing on Lukkas Spader’s doorstep. The Lukkas Spader, big-time producer of some very special movies.
Part of her thought she was dreaming. The other part was exceedingly nervous. That was the part that had allowed her knees to feel like Jell-O.
Taking a deep breath and telling herself to calm down, she leaned over and rang the doorbell. And then smiled. The doorbell played several bars from the first movie the producer had ever made: Dreamland.
She closed her eyes, recalling the rest of the score.
And that was the way Lukkas first saw her, standing on his doorstep, her eyes shut and swaying to some inner tune.
“Can I help you?”
The voice was deep and sexy. Startled, her eyes flew open.
The man was even better looking than his pictures, she realized as she frantically went in search of her tongue. It, along with her brain, had gone missing in action. It took a second for her to bring about the reunion.
“I’m—” She had to clear her throat before continuing. “Yohanna Andrzejewski. I’m here about the job opening,” she added after a beat.
He’d been expecting her. Glancing at his watch, he saw that she was early. A hopeful sign, he thought. “I’ve been expecting you,” he told her. “Follow me.”
She fell into step behind him. “You answered your own door,” she noted, slightly surprised.
“Had to,” he told her. “It hasn’t learned to open itself.”
She laughed. “I was surprised that you have a house in Newport Beach,” she confessed. “You’re not all that far from where I live.” Initially anticipating a long commute for the interview, she’d been relieved when she was told that he would see her in his Orange County home.
“Things are a little chaotic here,” he admitted. “I haven’t finished getting all the furniture yet. I think of this as my home away from home. Don’t get me wrong, I love Hollywood.” Entering a first-floor bedroom he’d converted into an office, Lukkas crossed to his desk, took a seat and gestured for her to take a seat on the opposite side. “But sometimes you just have to get away from the noise just so you’re able to hear yourself think.”
“Yes, sir,” Yohanna responded.
The smile on her lips was almost shy. He was amused but also somewhat skeptical about whether this petite, attractive young woman was equal to the job he needed doing.
“I noticed on your résumé that your last job was with a law firm.” He raised an eyebrow as he took a closer look at the dark blonde sitting before him. “Are you a lawyer?” He was aware that most law school graduates had to begin at the bottom of the heap if they were even lucky enough to land a position with any firm.
“No, sir.”
“Don’t do that,” he told her.
She hadn’t a clue what he might be referring to. “Do what, sir?”
“Call me sir,” he specified. “You make me feel like my father—not exactly a feeling I cherish,” he added more or less to himself.
Even so, she’d heard him. “Sorry, si—Mr. Spader.” She’d managed to catch herself.
“Even worse,” he told her. “My name is Lukkas. Think you can manage that?” Yohanna nodded vigorously. “Good,” he pronounced.
Letting her résumé fall to his desk, he moved his chair in closer and leaned over, creating a feeling of intimacy. “So tell me, Yohanna with-the-unpronounceable-last-name, just what makes you think that you can work for me?”
As a rule Yohanna had a tendency toward modesty, but she had the distinct impression that the man interviewing her didn’t value modesty. He valued confidence. She’d always had people skills, skills that allowed her to read others rather accurately. Lukkas Spader didn’t strike her as a man who had the patience to work with meek people.
However she had a feeling that he respected—and expected—honesty. “Mrs. Parnell—”
He held up his hand, stopping her right there. “Who’s Mrs. Parnell?”
“She’s friends with Theresa Manetti, the woman who—”
He stopped her again. “I know who Theresa Manetti is,” he told her. “Go on.”
Yohanna picked up the thread exactly where she had