The silverware clattered against the table, startling Ivy in the hush of the elegantly quiet dining room.
"Sorry, butterfingers," Balfour muttered, dabbing his mouth with a napkin, his face a mask of cool detachment. "Perhaps we should skip the latte for Ivy in the future. She's an actress now, and the director wants her in shape for filming. Don't you agree?"
He shot Ivy a look that clearly meant she was to decline.
She had merely exchanged a few words with Nolan, and here he was, meddling. Did he ever consider how awkward it felt for her when he reminisced with Giselle about their shared past?
But what could she do? After all, the man was her creditor.
Ivy shrugged. "You're right. An occasional treat is fine, but if I indulged every day, Colton would have my head."
Nolan frowned in obvious disapproval of Balfour's comment.
"You're already slim as it is. A bit more weight would actually suit you."
Flustered by Nolan's compliment, Ivy offered a shy smile.
Her order of eel casserole finally arrived, accompanied by an assortment of sushi that screamed expensive with its fresh, raw delicacies.
But Ivy had barely taken a bite when her phone rang with a call from the set.
"Ivy, where are you right now?"
"Leo? Is something up at the set? I'm at the Japanese restaurant near the studio lot."
She set down her fork, ready to leave. Calls during a break usually meant an emergency.
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