and wondering how I got so lucky as to run into you earlier today.”
The last part he said into her ear as he kissed her neck. She began to melt into him and he turned her around, kissing her gently and pushing her hair away from her face. “If you'd like to keep looking at the art, I'll give you some time for that, but I promise that as long as I'm staying in the suite, you're welcome to come back and look more later.”
Emily chuckled. “Are you trying to get me to make out with you again instead of wandering through your suite like it's a gallery?”
“Guilty. Maybe I can entice you to the bedroom by telling you there are original photographs by Mitchom St. Clair in there.”
“Ah, is that a trick?”
“No, it's true. Each of the bedroom suites in the penthouse has original photographs by local artists. Mitch is originally from St. Paul, even though he lives in L.A. now.”
“Mitch? What, do you know him?” She wasn't sure she'd ever get used to hanging around famous people. Rob was so normal in so many ways, he just didn't seem like he was famous himself, let alone that he moved in those type of circles.
“Yeah, actually, he's my neighbor in L.A. We had the same real estate agent and that's how we met. He's a great guy. A little bit of a hippie, but I'm sure you knew that, right? You might not have known anything about me, but I'm sure you studied Mitch in school.”
Slightly embarrassed that her pop culture knowledge made her seem a little more elitist than she really was, Emily blushed again, but this time, it wasn't due to flattery. She felt like she should explain herself, though she hadn't thought he was insulting her.
“You have to understand, my life for the past seven years has been all about art, except the parts that were about Josh and my family. And since Josh is not all that interested in pop culture of any sort unless it involves nature or machines that drive through it, I wouldn't have absorbed by osmosis anything about movies or celebrity. What little I've heard or seen has been brief glimpses on TV or from my sister, Charlie, who is a closet tabloid junkie. It's one of the habits she shares with my mom, and over the years, I've learned to tune them out when they discuss who is sleeping with whom and who is having a baby or going to rehab or having a baby in rehab. So, no offense, but that world just wasn't a priority unless it impacted my career.”
Rob laughed. “Believe me, I'm the last person to be offended that someone doesn't care about the lies and half-truths those so-called magazines print. I have an assistant whose job is to keep on top of that stuff so I'm not blindsided in interviews or on the street by some made-up story or conveniently-edited comment.”
He took her hand and led her to the door farthest from the living room. “And I'm actually glad to meet someone who helps me feel like a real person again and who can appreciate the stuff on these walls as much as I do. It's been years since I met anyone who wasn't awed by my job or celebrity or didn't seem like they were trying to get something from me. You have been a refreshing breath of clean air in the L.A. smog that is most of my life.”
He reached in and turned on a light, then gestured for her to enter the bedroom first. “This is your room for as long as I'm here, if that's what you want. Why don't you get changed and check out the photos – the ones in this room are Dina Hemingway – and then you can meet me back in the living room and we'll open that champagne.” He handed her the clothes – his clothes – kissed her forehead, then shut the door.
Emily was in awe of the work on the wall. Larger-than-life images of the tiniest details, which gave the photos a modernist look, could be recognized as some of the pieces of everyday life if pondered for a moment. There was one particularly striking image of a tree full of flowers as seen through the tines of a fork so close that they seemed like a jail
The last part he said into her ear as he kissed her neck. She began to melt into him and he turned her around, kissing her gently and pushing her hair away from her face. “If you'd like to keep looking at the art, I'll give you some time for that, but I promise that as long as I'm staying in the suite, you're welcome to come back and look more later.”
Emily chuckled. “Are you trying to get me to make out with you again instead of wandering through your suite like it's a gallery?”
“Guilty. Maybe I can entice you to the bedroom by telling you there are original photographs by Mitchom St. Clair in there.”
“Ah, is that a trick?”
“No, it's true. Each of the bedroom suites in the penthouse has original photographs by local artists. Mitch is originally from St. Paul, even though he lives in L.A. now.”
“Mitch? What, do you know him?” She wasn't sure she'd ever get used to hanging around famous people. Rob was so normal in so many ways, he just didn't seem like he was famous himself, let alone that he moved in those type of circles.
“Yeah, actually, he's my neighbor in L.A. We had the same real estate agent and that's how we met. He's a great guy. A little bit of a hippie, but I'm sure you knew that, right? You might not have known anything about me, but I'm sure you studied Mitch in school.”
Slightly embarrassed that her pop culture knowledge made her seem a little more elitist than she really was, Emily blushed again, but this time, it wasn't due to flattery. She felt like she should explain herself, though she hadn't thought he was insulting her.
“You have to understand, my life for the past seven years has been all about art, except the parts that were about Josh and my family. And since Josh is not all that interested in pop culture of any sort unless it involves nature or machines that drive through it, I wouldn't have absorbed by osmosis anything about movies or celebrity. What little I've heard or seen has been brief glimpses on TV or from my sister, Charlie, who is a closet tabloid junkie. It's one of the habits she shares with my mom, and over the years, I've learned to tune them out when they discuss who is sleeping with whom and who is having a baby or going to rehab or having a baby in rehab. So, no offense, but that world just wasn't a priority unless it impacted my career.”
Rob laughed. “Believe me, I'm the last person to be offended that someone doesn't care about the lies and half-truths those so-called magazines print. I have an assistant whose job is to keep on top of that stuff so I'm not blindsided in interviews or on the street by some made-up story or conveniently-edited comment.”
He took her hand and led her to the door farthest from the living room. “And I'm actually glad to meet someone who helps me feel like a real person again and who can appreciate the stuff on these walls as much as I do. It's been years since I met anyone who wasn't awed by my job or celebrity or didn't seem like they were trying to get something from me. You have been a refreshing breath of clean air in the L.A. smog that is most of my life.”
He reached in and turned on a light, then gestured for her to enter the bedroom first. “This is your room for as long as I'm here, if that's what you want. Why don't you get changed and check out the photos – the ones in this room are Dina Hemingway – and then you can meet me back in the living room and we'll open that champagne.” He handed her the clothes – his clothes – kissed her forehead, then shut the door.
Emily was in awe of the work on the wall. Larger-than-life images of the tiniest details, which gave the photos a modernist look, could be recognized as some of the pieces of everyday life if pondered for a moment. There was one particularly striking image of a tree full of flowers as seen through the tines of a fork so close that they seemed like a jail
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