Just the Sexiest Man Alive Read Online Free PDF Page A

columns or Us Weekly “VIP Scene” section.
    Taylor glanced down when her answering machine beeped again, indicating that there was a second message. She held her breath, tensing in anticipation.
    A familiar husky voice cut through the quiet of her kitchen.
    “Taylor, it’s Daniel. I hope you got my flowers . . . I’d really like to talk. Please call me.”
    She reached over and instantly deleted the message. How the hell Daniel had gotten her phone number and address in Los Angeles, she had no clue. Five years together meant too many mutual friends, she supposed. She leaned back against the counter and replayed his words in her head.
    I’d really like to talk.
    Really? Why? She couldn’t possibly think of one thing they had to say to each other.
    With this in mind, Taylor walked over to the sink and began to run the water. She pulled a vase out of the cabinet below the sink—feeling obligated to at least put the flowers somewhere—and tested the water for its temperature. As she removed the paper wrapping from the bouquet, her mind drifted back to his card.
    I’m sorry. And I love you.
    How sweet. Daniel always had been such a charmer.
    That is, until the day she walked into his office to discuss their wedding guest list and found him fucking his twenty-two-year-old teaching assistant on top of his desk.
    Doggie-style, by the way.
    With their backs to her, not noticing, so they just kept right on going. Evidently, they had not been expecting anyone to show up for what was supposed to be Daniel’s “office hour.”
    Even now, whenever Taylor actually allowed herself to think of her ex-fiancé, the visual that always came to mind was that of him standing in front of his desk with his pants around his ankles, his hands feverishly holding on to the girl’s hips in ecstasy. Naked ass checks thrusting back and forth in all their glory.
    Lovely.
    “It’s how every girl dreams of seeing her fiancé,” she had said in sarcastic bitterness to Val and Kate as they sat on her living-room couch later that night, consoling her. They had a bottle of Grey Goose vodka standing by on ice. But with Taylor, there hadn’t been the expected breakdown and hysterics, nor even a single cry of “why me?” And there certainly had been no tears.
    Because there’s no crying in baseball.
    Taylor vowed that she would at least hold on to that last shred of dignity. She would get over Daniel and move on with her life. And she vowed to never, ever again go against her instincts when it came to a man.
    Standing there that night in her temporary Santa Monica kitchen, having finished unwrapping the flowers, she realized with a good deal of satisfaction that she’d barely thought of Daniel in the couple of weeks since she had moved to Los Angeles. That was a large part of the reason his flowers and card had come as such a surprise.
    I’m sorry. And I love you .
    What a nice sentiment. Daniel, apparently, was not finding it quite as easy to stop thinking about her.
    With that thought in mind, Taylor reached over and flicked a switch just above her kitchen sink. The garbage disposal roared to life with a loud garbled crank.
    She had found just the perfect spot for his flowers.

    THE NEXT AFTERNOON at work, when she came out of her office for a much-needed coffee break, Taylor discovered a large crowd of what had to be virtually every one of the firm’s secretaries huddled around the credenza behind Linda’s desk.
    Without diverting their gaze, the secretaries parted so that Taylor could get a look at whatever it was that had so captivated them.
    A television.
    Taylor could barely hide her disdain. Oh, come on—he wasn’t worth this much fuss. Whether it was the patronizing tone of his assistant during their conversation the day before or the brazenly sexist bravado of “The Women of Jason Andrews!” article, she had recently found herself developing several preconceived notions about the actor she soon was going to be working with. And