Probably or. Ben had no small ego about his way with women, but Anna Gardiner must have a boyfriend and also several more waiting in the wings. Oh, that reminded him.

“Are you hungry? They have wings here . . . and not much else that’s good. The wings are spicy—just a warning—but if you like spicy, they’re good.”

She widened her eyes at him.

“I’m starving. Wings sound incredible right now, though I’m a little insulted that you felt like you had to warn me that they’re spicy.”

He came back to the table a few minutes later with Vanessa behind him, both of them carrying pitchers of beer, and the waitress following behind with pint glasses.

“Ooh, Ben, look at Mr. Big Shot over here buying drinks,” the lighting guy yelled out. That motherfucker, after Ben had handpicked him for this job after days of research. They’d worked together before, but still.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Ben said. “I am Mr. Big Shot, but I am not your benefactor this evening.” He nodded in Anna’s direction.

Everyone jumped to thank Anna, but she waved that away.

“It was the least I could do after how great everyone was today. Cheers, all.”

Ben slid into his seat next to Anna and poured her, and then himself, a pint of beer.

He lifted his glass to hers before he took a sip.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong here, but I wouldn’t have pegged you as a big beer drinker,” he said as she picked up her beer.

He was pretty sure he could see her smile behind the glass.

“I’m not, really. But this didn’t seem like a sauvignon blanc or gin-and-tonic kind of situation. Or even a Manhattan one.”

If they ever had that rain check, he’d remember all of that. He didn’t really think that would happen, though, no matter how much she flirted with him. That was probably her default way of dealing with the world.

It was definitely his default way of dealing with the world. He’d tried to force himself to dial it back when talking to Anna, but he hadn’t been . . . completely successful at that.

“So tell me: How does an ad exec like you know how to be a fill-in sound guy?” Anna asked him.

Astute of her to realize that most people in his job didn’t know anything about the other side of the camera.

“I have all sorts of talents,” he said. There he was, flirting again. Damn it. Pull yourself together, Stephens. “I actually used to do this kind of work awhile ago, before I made the jump to advertising. It’s one of the things that got me interested in working at an agency—I worked on a few ad campaigns, and I could always tell when it was working and when it wasn’t. And I wondered how it was all put together.” He gestured down to Gene, who was now at the far end of the table. “He and I have worked together a bunch, starting when I was much more junior than I am now, and I told him I used to do this kind of work, so he’s always been good about teaching me about the new stuff they use. Probably just so he can do things like today, and use me to pitch in and help out when there’s a crisis.”

There, that sounded nice and professional, and not like he deeply wished the two of them were alone, at some cozy little bar, in a booth in the back, sipping bourbon, instead of at a great big table surrounded by a whole lot of people.

“When did you do that kind of work?” she asked him. “The crew work, I mean.”

Yes, okay, they could talk about his professional life; this was good. Anna seemed to like him, and he wanted that to continue—not just because she was the most attractive woman he’d ever interacted with, but because her respect and approval could do a hell of a lot for his career.

“Worked my way through college that way. I was sort of a late start to college anyway—I was doing other stuff, and then I sort of fell into the crew work accidentally. I got my first job as a favor from a friend of a friend, but I liked it and was good at it, so I kept going for a while, and then kept working on and off through college and after.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“What ‘other stuff’ were you doing?”

Well, he’d walked right into that one, hadn’t he?

“Oh. Well.” He glanced around at the rest of the table, but no one seemed to be paying attention to him and Anna. “I was a backup dancer for a few years in my late teens, early twenties. I sort of ran away to L.A. to try to break in, and it worked for a while. But I had to find a way to pay the bills, which is eventually how”—he gestured to the table—“all of this happened.”

She stared at him and set her beer down.

“Wait, no, you can’t just slip that into a conversation and then try to turn it back to advertising. I need more information here—you ran away to become a backup dancer? Is this a secret? Does anyone else know?”

He hadn’t expected her to be that interested in this—former wannabe stars must be a dime a dozen in her world.

“It’s not exactly a secret—there are definitely videos online of me dancing, but I don’t talk about it much.” He nodded down the table. “Gene knew at one point, but I think he’s forgotten. He’s cool, though, so it’s no big deal. Sometimes people can get weird about it. Wanting me to, like . . . dance for them like their own little minstrel show or something, and I’m not exactly into that. But it was a pretty fun time.”

He did not think when he woke up this morning that by eight p.m. he’d be drinking beer and sharing confidences with Anna Gardiner, but hey, life had a habit of surprising him.

* * *

—

Anna didn’t quite know what she’d expected when she’d invited herself along for this happy hour, but it definitely wasn’t finding out that the delightfully charming man she’d been flirting with all day used to be a backup dancer. Shit. He must look very good underneath that hoodie.

No, she couldn’t think like that. He was very fun to talk to, especially when he looked at her with that sexy grin, and stopped himself and looked away, clearly reminding himself that they were both at work. His self-restraint was even more sexy than the grin. But they were both at work. Plus, no matter how much she might be ready to break this terrible accidental celibacy streak, this was the wrong way to do it.

“How long did you do it? Dance, I mean,” she asked him.

“For about three years, on and off,” he said. “I loved it, but even though I was young and very, very stupid, I knew deep down that it wasn’t going to last forever—I think that’s also why I was attracted to the crew work; to build some sort of skills I knew I could keep doing.”

He took a sip of his beer and then ran his fingertip down the condensation on the side of the glass. Anna let herself imagine what it would be like if he ran that finger down her skin. She took a gulp of her beer.