how gorgeous you are, then I'm going to have to be the one to tell you. Corny, I know, but I like a woman to look like one, not like a matchstick."
I was floored, but also slightly suspicious. Was he just being kind? "Thanks," I replied. "But you don't need to flatter me. You must have gorgeous women throwing themselves at you day in and day out."
He crossed his legs, put his hands in his pockets and looked straight at me. God, those eyes were beautiful . "I was reading a magazine on the plane over here – Esquire, I think it was. They had one of those polls they do every year, 'Sexiest Woman in the World' or something. You know who won?"
I shook my head.
"Christina Hendricks. You know, the actress with loads of cleavage and a figure that Hollywood likes to describe as 'curvy'? And I agree. In fact, the results weren't even close. She annihilated the rest of the competition. If it wasn't for her, Mad Men would have no sexiness in it whatsoever."
I started taking photographs again, partly because I needed more and partly so I could hide once again behind the lens, taking the focus off me. "That's kind, but I'm no Christina Hendricks."
"Whoa there," he said, walking forward and grabbing the front of my camera. He gently lowered it and spoke to me softly, the smell of that Hugo Boss aftershave now just inches from my nostrils, causing a million tiny butterflies to dance around my stomach. "What would make you think that? You have an amazing body, gorgeous red hair and you're absolutely beautiful. It's taken everything in my power not to plant a kiss on those full, soft red lips of yours."
I gasped slightly and felt a rush of warm th between my legs. "So what's stopping you?" I grinned. My legs felt like jelly and it seemed like I could have collapsed at that very moment, falling at his feet like some adoring fan. But I was stronger than that, riddled with all the insecurities that all of us women have, but smarter than the average bear.
"Because," he smiled, almost breaking into a laugh, "that would be terribly unprofessional. Besides, we still have an interview to do and you've barely asked me a thing."
He took a few steps back and positioned himself in front of my camera once again. This time, I didn't raise it. "I've got all the photos I need. I think I just might have caught the real you under that swagger."
This time, he couldn't help but chuckle. "I guess you got me. Am I going to like what I see?"
"I think so," I smiled. "You look warm and approachable in my shots, but don't worry. I managed to capture that streak of arrogance you're famous for. I wouldn't want to tarnish your reputation."
He slowly walked towards me again. "Do you think I'm arrogant, Amy?"
"I don't know you. Unlike some journalists, I don't make assumptions about people that easily. What do you think? Are you arrogant?"
"I prefer confident. Or maybe ambitious. How about confidently ambitious?"
We couldn't stop smiling at each other. "Confidently ambitious. I like that. I can identify with it."
We made our way over to a leather sofa on the far side of the studio. Rick slipped off his jacket to reveal a tight, dark grey top that hugged at his muscular frame. I felt that weakness in my legs again, that churning in my stomach that only comes from being devastatingly attracted to someone. Keep it together, Amy. You still have an interview to do.
"Where 's your publicist?" I asked. "There's normally at least one person here to tell me what I can and can't ask."
He shook his head. "Not for me. I've never been one for big entourages. Or small ones for that matter. You can ask me anything, Amy. I'm an open book."
I set my recorder down on a low glass coffee table. "Okay, are Beautiful Losers splitting up?"
"Shit, you don't mess about. No, we are not. Why would you ask?"
"Well, the rumours have been flying for a while now and you're here to start the buzz about your solo project. Isn't that the first sign of tension in a band?"
He sighed.
I was floored, but also slightly suspicious. Was he just being kind? "Thanks," I replied. "But you don't need to flatter me. You must have gorgeous women throwing themselves at you day in and day out."
He crossed his legs, put his hands in his pockets and looked straight at me. God, those eyes were beautiful . "I was reading a magazine on the plane over here – Esquire, I think it was. They had one of those polls they do every year, 'Sexiest Woman in the World' or something. You know who won?"
I shook my head.
"Christina Hendricks. You know, the actress with loads of cleavage and a figure that Hollywood likes to describe as 'curvy'? And I agree. In fact, the results weren't even close. She annihilated the rest of the competition. If it wasn't for her, Mad Men would have no sexiness in it whatsoever."
I started taking photographs again, partly because I needed more and partly so I could hide once again behind the lens, taking the focus off me. "That's kind, but I'm no Christina Hendricks."
"Whoa there," he said, walking forward and grabbing the front of my camera. He gently lowered it and spoke to me softly, the smell of that Hugo Boss aftershave now just inches from my nostrils, causing a million tiny butterflies to dance around my stomach. "What would make you think that? You have an amazing body, gorgeous red hair and you're absolutely beautiful. It's taken everything in my power not to plant a kiss on those full, soft red lips of yours."
I gasped slightly and felt a rush of warm th between my legs. "So what's stopping you?" I grinned. My legs felt like jelly and it seemed like I could have collapsed at that very moment, falling at his feet like some adoring fan. But I was stronger than that, riddled with all the insecurities that all of us women have, but smarter than the average bear.
"Because," he smiled, almost breaking into a laugh, "that would be terribly unprofessional. Besides, we still have an interview to do and you've barely asked me a thing."
He took a few steps back and positioned himself in front of my camera once again. This time, I didn't raise it. "I've got all the photos I need. I think I just might have caught the real you under that swagger."
This time, he couldn't help but chuckle. "I guess you got me. Am I going to like what I see?"
"I think so," I smiled. "You look warm and approachable in my shots, but don't worry. I managed to capture that streak of arrogance you're famous for. I wouldn't want to tarnish your reputation."
He slowly walked towards me again. "Do you think I'm arrogant, Amy?"
"I don't know you. Unlike some journalists, I don't make assumptions about people that easily. What do you think? Are you arrogant?"
"I prefer confident. Or maybe ambitious. How about confidently ambitious?"
We couldn't stop smiling at each other. "Confidently ambitious. I like that. I can identify with it."
We made our way over to a leather sofa on the far side of the studio. Rick slipped off his jacket to reveal a tight, dark grey top that hugged at his muscular frame. I felt that weakness in my legs again, that churning in my stomach that only comes from being devastatingly attracted to someone. Keep it together, Amy. You still have an interview to do.
"Where 's your publicist?" I asked. "There's normally at least one person here to tell me what I can and can't ask."
He shook his head. "Not for me. I've never been one for big entourages. Or small ones for that matter. You can ask me anything, Amy. I'm an open book."
I set my recorder down on a low glass coffee table. "Okay, are Beautiful Losers splitting up?"
"Shit, you don't mess about. No, we are not. Why would you ask?"
"Well, the rumours have been flying for a while now and you're here to start the buzz about your solo project. Isn't that the first sign of tension in a band?"
He sighed.
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