“Good luck.” He glanced down at the cover. “You might want to start with the title.”

“One of its many problems. You don’t even want to know about the magical orange goo.”

“Who’s producing it?”

She named the small studio, which had few credits to its name.

The bartender grimaced. “Those guys don’t always pay on time.”

Given his good looks and his recognition of the obscure TV production company, Anna guessed he must be an actor.

“What else have you worked on?” he asked with genuine interest.

“Two romantic comedies for Rialto Brothers.” Anna didn’t elaborate. Last Night in Cincinnati and Here We Go! were best forgotten.

“Those jobs don’t just come out of nowhere.” He gave her a questioning look before glancing at the clock above the bar.

“No one’s arrived to work since you said your shift was ending.” Anna happily changed the subject from her prior movies. “Can I help?”

The bartender wiped his hands on the bar towel and regarded the other patrons clamoring for his attention.

Anna couldn’t leave without doing something. “I’ve tended bar. I’ve waited tables. I’ve been a cater waiter. Have you ever cleaned up after an entire bar mitzvah got sick with food poisoning?”

The bartender laughed. His dour face opened into an expressive smile, cute in that way of incredibly attractive people doing anything other than their best blue-steel gaze. “No, and I do need help. You sure you know what you’re doing?”

Chapter Two

If Anna couldn’t get a job washing dishes, she wasn’t sure what was left for her at this point. “If it makes you feel better, I worked as a dishwasher long before I worked in movies.”

“Me too,” he said, appraising her. “My dad’s restaurant.”

“Cafeteria at the College of San Francisco. My mom signed a waiver so I could work at fourteen.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Okay, I’ll show you the setup in the back.”

Anna stood up and stashed the script in her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. “I’m Anna Kovács.”

“I know.”

“You do?” It had been so long since anyone had recognized her. She thought those days were long gone. They belonged with the designer gowns and high-heeled shoes stashed in the storage unit in the Valley.

“I ran your card three times.”

Oof. She chastised herself for thinking that her name meant anything more to him than a woman who couldn’t pay her bar tab.

With a wry smile, he held out his hand. “I’m John Mills.”

Anna shook his hand. She’d never found herself attracted to a man’s hands before, but apparently a woman could change at any age. He had really nice hands, large, warm, capable.

John cleared his throat.

Anna removed her hand from his grip.

He put a hand on the swinging door. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”