Amalie Berlin - Taming Hollywood's Ultimate Playboy

When this was over, he’d have to make sure she knew how much this meant to him. Maybe she’d stop looking at him that way then. Maybe he’d stop looking at himself that way.

He should probably also give his group bonuses. He’d seen Miles—his longest-employed assistant—giving Grace the stink-eye at least twice today.

With a quick bend and tuck, she stashed the crutches beneath the sofa and out of sight. Liam made a point of not watching her bend over.

Twenty minutes and another trip to the lavatory later, she was helping him back to the chair and paused to have a look at his foot before putting the ice back on it. “It’s working. At least we have that. If the swelling keeps going down, your insane plan might actually work. Providing you can stand the pain. How’s it doing right now, on a scale of one to ten?”

He could lie—and the professional side of his personality almost demanded it. If he told her that it was a solid four even when he was sitting still, and that it shot up to seven or seventy-five when he walked...

“It’s pretty sore,” he said, shaking his head. “And it is worse when I walk on it. The crutches are helping, but I’m only using them here.”

“We’ve been over that,” Grace said, heading toward the couch with the crutches. “But you didn’t say a number.”

“Three when I’m sitting.” It wasn’t really a lie. All these numbers were subjective. It just felt like a lie.

“And when you’re on it?”

“I don’t know. Six.”

She straightened with a grimace and a shake of her head. “Before you go, if you insist on going, I’ll give you a staggered dose of painkillers to help a little more. But you remember this tomorrow when sitting is a six and walking is a ten.”

* * *

With the new rules limiting the number of questions they could ask, and doubling up on crews, they managed to get them all through with only a little extra time shaved off the required rest period Grace had given him.

And the remainder of it, all one hour and forty-seven minutes he’d spent flat on his back on the floor, his leg propped up on the seat of the chair he’d spent the afternoon in, his foot above the level of his heart, seemed like the easiest way to accomplish that.

However hard he’d thought it’d been to avoid her, he now fully recognized how much he’d missed just seeing her. Even considering the tension in their first minutes and the frequent flashes he saw in her eyes when she looked his way, things were going much better than he would have hoped.

She still thought he was being completely foolish, but she was getting him through what he needed to. And what he really needed now was another trip to the damned bathroom. Note to self: great for reducing swelling but lousy if you’re not glued to the en suite.

“Grace!” he yelled from the floor. “Is my time up?”

“You have one minute, but I guess we can get you up early. Why? Do you need something?” She asked the question so innocently, he almost missed the teasing light in her eyes—small as it was.

“Uh-huh.”

“Can you wait until I’ve had a second to look at it and tape it if possible?”

“Do we really need to delay? It’s a quick trip.”

“Yes, but any time with your foot down it’s going to start swelling again.”

And she’d made enough of a deal about it earlier that he didn’t want to test her patience with him. Funny, he usually had a harder time letting go of his way than that.

“All right. If you can do it fast. Like in five minutes.”

“I’ve taped on the sidelines. I can tape an ankle in under two minutes, but I need a couple more minutes to see your ankle once we’ve got the wrap off.”

A minute later, she’d moved her supplies over and offered him a hand from the floor. “I thought you didn’t want me to put it down.”

“I want you to stand up and sit in the chair so I can tape it easier. You know, so I can get the tape under it without you having to strain to keep it off my lap and I don’t have to give myself backache bending and twisting to get in past the seat back.”

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