More than pleased with the way things had turned out, Jason stepped up to the bar to order himself a victory cocktail. He thought back to the crushed look Taylor had been unable to hide when she heard he would be spending the weekend with another woman. In Napa Valley, no less. Throwing in that detail last minute had been a stroke of pure genius.

Yes indeed, Taylor Donovan had put up quite a fight for a while. But now, well . . . Jason smiled at the thought of what was soon to come. As they say, to the victor goes the spoils.

The bartender set a drink down on the bar. Jason picked up the highball glass and tipped it with a self-satisfied grin.

“Cheers.”

Seventeen

TAYLOR HURRIED OUT the front gate, eager to put as much distance between her and the wall that surrounded Jason’s estate as fast as possible. When she got to the end of the cobblestone driveway, she looked up and down the street, trying to remember where the hell she had parked her car. The stupid Beverly Hills side streets all looked the same: walls and fences and ten-foot hedges, created for the single purpose of keeping the riffraff from sneaking peeks at the fabulous houses and people inside.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she swore under her breath.

The real problem, of course, was not that she couldn’t find her car.

The real problem was that she had been an utter and complete fool.

What had she been thinking, convincing herself that maybe Jason had—

She stopped herself mid-thought. The idea was so ridiculous she couldn’t even finish it.

She had felt like such an idiot, just standing there as Naomi draped herself all over Jason. And as for him, Mr. I’m-So-Hot with that—what was up with that smug grin, anyway? When he had called her name as she left, there had been about a thousand things she’d been tempted to say. But when she turned and saw Jason standing with Naomi, and then glanced around at the rest of the party, it had occurred to her that she really didn’t belong there anyway. She may have put on the dress and looked the part, but at the end of the day, she was still just a lawyer from Chicago.

The worst part of the situation was that Taylor had no one to blame but herself. She had set herself up to be disappointed by a man who was infamously known worldwide for disappointing women. Despite what she might have wanted to believe for a few brief seconds after overhearing the little bathroom trixies, she was no different from any other woman Jason Andrews had ever met.

But knowing this still did not make things hurt any less.

For a brief moment, Taylor’s thoughts drifted back to Jason. There was something about him—his eyes, his smile, the way his voice sounded when he said her name, the things he said that made her laugh, the way he could look at her as if there was no one else in the room . . .

She resolutely shoved this line of thinking out of her mind.

“Shit!” she muttered again as she paced the driveway. So bothered was she, even her profanity lacked its usual flair.

Suddenly, a voice came out of the darkness.

“Well, it can’t be that bad.”

Taylor whirled around and saw—whoa, nelly—Scott Casey standing just a few feet away. How long he had been hanging out by the driveway, she had no idea.

Scott smiled at the surprised look on her face.

“Is something wrong?”

Taylor had noticed a lot of famous faces at Jason’s party, but certainly didn’t recall seeing Scott Casey there. And he would be very hard to miss. Val was right—he was absolutely beautiful in person, with his blond hair, lean build, and model-perfect features. A walking Calvin Klein ad. And apparently, talking, too.

To her.

Right then.

“Sorry.” Taylor regrouped, managing to find her voice. “I can’t remember where I parked my car, that’s all.”

“I’d be happy to give you a ride if you need one.”

Taylor gave him a look. He may have been Scott Casey, but she was no fool. At least not twice in one night, anyway.

“I’ll be fine,” she told him. “It’s around here somewhere.”

“You’re leaving the party so soon. I hope nothing’s wrong?”

For some reason, Taylor found herself warming a little to him. Perhaps it was the look of concern in his light hazel eyes. Or possibly the killer Australian accent.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said lightly. “I just need to get an early start tomorrow, for work.”

“Work on a Sunday?” Scott made a face. “What do you do?”

“I’m a lawyer.” Taylor saw that this registered with him.

“I should’ve guessed,” he mused. “You were wearing a suit in that one photograph, and no one in this town wears suits except lawyers and agents.”

“Photograph?” Taylor tried to imagine where on earth Scott Casey would’ve seen her photograph. Then it hit her. “Oh, the magazines.”

He stepped a little closer. “You’re on all the covers again this week. You are the Mystery Woman, aren’t you?” he asked in a coyly curious tone.

“Would it surprise you if I was?”

“Not at all.” His eyes took her in appreciatively. “I’m only surprised they didn’t photograph you from the front. Your face belongs on a magazine cover.”

Taylor paused. That was actually kind of smooth.

Admittedly, she had a secret weakness for compliments like that. Growing up with three older brothers, she hadn’t paid much attention to fashion trends, makeup, hairstyles, or other things of the type that the typical teenage girl devoted hours to studying. The one time she had actually dared to sneak home a copy of Seventeen magazine had yielded disastrous results: her brothers had mocked her incessantly for days. So instead, Taylor had gone through high school as the “smart girl,” and she’d been just fine with that. Although, admittedly, “smart girls” were not exactly what teenage boys were interested in.