"Since when does a production company send their prized screenwriter as a chauffeur? I don't think we have even signed a contract yet." Despite the slight scratchiness of his voice, an affect of his night, there was a smooth cadence to his words, along with an intriguing oddness she couldn't quite place.
If truth to be told, when Rose contacted Anne to send her a more detailed outline of her screenplay, she had jumped at the chance to meet Kevin Hunter face to face. Her research told showed a young prodigy who had published two bestsellers before his twentieth birthday, but also someone who stayed away from the limelight. It was surprising that a young man wasn't dazzled by the recognition and riches he received so quickly after his first foray into the publishing world.
Perhaps it had something to do with his parent's divorce, by all research a rancorous and ugly affair.
Had it matured him is some fashion that wouldn't have otherwise happened?
Whatever it was, she was determined to get to know him better. Not only would that help in the collaborative process with her and the production company, but she would able to better under the man as well. Her body's viceral reaction to him warned her that he might have a bigger importance in her life than a television series.
She plastered on a smile to hide her internal chaos. "Be that as it may, it is my responsibility to drive you home. You can argue with Anne about it later." She picked up his bags but for only a moment before he stepped forward and plucked them out of her hands.
"Okay then, Miss Chaffuer, take me to your vehicle."
* * *
Kevin wondered what type of car a person like Rose McEwen would drive. He figured on something safe: a Prius or a hybrid. When they cleared the doors to the underground parking lot, he realized that his ability to read people had completely taken a vacation with this woman.
He almost sighed with appreciation she clicked her keyfob, and a gleaming dark red pickup truck chirped and flashed its headlights. It looked out of place among the sensible vehicles around it; an offroad lift kit giving it the extra inches needed to house the oversized knobby tires. Even though it had a four-door cab, the truckbed was fullsize with had a retractable cover in black.
She looked back at him and laughed at the lust in his eyes, knowing it was for her Tundra and not for her.
"She's magnificent, isn't she. Takes me everywhere I want to go. Unfortunately," she said wryly, "she passes everything but a gas station. Still, it's my dream car. You can put your things in the back. Bye the way, do you need any help hoisting yourself in?"
He was offended and amused, in turns, by her words, but knew she wasn't being malicious. Since the truck had heavy chrome sidesteps, it was easy enough to climb in. The front contained captain's chairs with dark brown tweed seatcovers. He discovered why when his foot crunched on a fast food bag. In fact, there was all sorts of litter on the floorboards.
"I travel around a lot, and I tend to live out of here," Rose said sheepishly, "which is why I have plastic floor mats and seat covers. There shouldn't be anything too scary down there, so don't worry where you put your feet."
He took her advice and ignored the rustling of the wrappers at his feet. "Why do you travel so much? I would think that your profession would be like mine, to sit down and create."
"Sometimes the script needs to he changed on the fly, so I'm expected to show up on scene to block out any last minute changes to the script." She explained. "Sometimes bad weather or unexpected situations occur that have to incorporated. Once we had to reshoot a scene by a cornfield, except that when we returned, the farmer had already harvested, and we lost our green background."
She laughed, and the sound warmed him somehow. "That was a fun and stressful day."