I allow myself one nuzzle, the briefest brush of my nose against the curve of his ear—loving the way he tries to suppress a shiver—and then I make my voice hard and firm. “Bugger off.”

Macon rears back as though goosed, his brows raised high in surprise. His gaze clashes with mine, and then he’s laughing—a wry, self-deprecating sound that’s just a bit too forced. “For a second, I thought I had you.”

“Not a chance,” I say, making my own show of laughing the moment off.

But when we resume shopping, walking close enough that our arms occasionally brush, I wonder who is the bigger bullshitter here.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Delilah

The next day, when North pulls around with the car, Macon tells him we’re dining out for lunch. “We”—not him. I don’t want to be a “we.” I especially don’t want to have lunch with his agent. If the one-sided phone conversation I’d overheard is anything to go by, the woman is already dead set against me. Not my idea of a good time.

“No, I have menus to plan and a list of frivolous crap to take care of.”

Macon gives me a deadpan look. “None of the tasks I ask you to do are frivolous.”

“Oh, really? Sending some chick a batch of cardamom cupcakes with lavender frosting made by a specific baker that I have to drive all the way out to Laguna Beach to pick up, because of course they don’t deliver, isn’t frivolous? Hell, I can make those myself. I can even put happy birthday on them in little gold letters like you wanted.” Frankly, I’m surprised he hadn’t specified what font should be used.

“But they wouldn’t be from her favorite baker,” he tells me, then makes a sound of exasperation. “She’s my makeup artist. The woman I have to spend hours in the chair talking to. She needs to know she’s appreciated.”

I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to bribe people with goodies, Con Man.”

“Everyone here does.”

“So being yourself isn’t enough?”

At that, he shoots me a slanted smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Why, Ms. Delilah, are you saying that my personality is capable of winning people over?”

“You could charm the skin off a snake if you wanted to, and you know it.”

His chuckle is smug, and I turn away to look out the window so he doesn’t see my reluctant smile.

North takes us to Chateau Marmont, an old Hollywood hotel that looks like a castle holding court over Sunset Boulevard.