If my Belle-goes-to-the-ball dreamy filters weren’t set high enough already, the event being hosted at Disney Hall’s rooftop garden doesn’t help. Talk about enchanting venues. Up here, it’s all blooming trees and winding pathways around a magical rose fountain, all enclosed by sweeping metallic walls. As romantic settings go, it doesn’t get any more suggestive than this space.

I step out of the elevator and walk into this wonderland of fairy lights and whimsical alleys accompanied by Disney-esque classical music playing in the background. To ease the anxiety gnawing at my stomach, I grab a few canapés and wash them down with champagne.

“There you are.”

Richard’s voice makes me jump so high that if my glass were still full, I would’ve splashed us both with bubbly.

“Richard.” I turn, steadying myself.

In the semi-darkness, his sharp features appear even more attractive, aided by flickering shadows and contrast. Maybe it’s just the tux. That must be it. You can so judge a book by its cover. I’m judging right now. More than judging, I’m thinking of ripping the cover off the book entirely.

“Did you have a good time downstairs?”

“Yeah, wonderful. I collected loads of material.” I smile tensely. “Don’t worry, I’ll be able to put together a few amazing editorials.”

“I’m not worried. I’ve complete confidence in your work.”

Someone bumps into him from behind, and Richard stumbles forward, landing with both hands on my bare collarbones. Whoa! I’m being electrocuted. Tingling electric currents spread from my shoulders down my arms and up my neck to my brain where the last few surviving cells are being short-circuited for good.

Richard steadies himself but doesn’t pull away immediately. We stand there, under a tree blossoming with ridiculously pretty red flowers, staring into each other’s eyes. Finally, Richard frowns and takes a step back. Neither of us speaks, and the silence becomes awkward quickly. A server breaks it by offering us a tray of hors d’oeuvre. Richard declines, but I take one and stuff my mouth full before I say something stupid.

Panic swells as I’m about to swallow the last bite. Richard hasn’t taken his eyes off me and still isn’t speaking. What am I going to say when I’ve finished chewing and have no more excuses to keep quiet? Will we just stay here all evening, staring at each other in utter silence?

My dilemma is solved by some six-foot-four hulking human careening into Richard and pulling him into a bear hug. “Mate, you’re here.”

Richard and the newcomer start a primordial dance of friendly grunts and shoulders slaps. When the ritual is over, the stranger turns, and I’m blinded by Hollywood’s most wanted million-dollar smile.

“Blair, this is my good friend Christian,” Richard makes the introductions. “Chris meet Blair.”