From half-forgotten to doubly outclassed, they can both almost watch his face go pink under whatever reaction it all causes for him, in that little backward brain of his. She probably takes too much pleasure in the way his mouth can't seem to figure out what it wants to say, or more aptly, anything to say that's not only his punctured pride.

"Of course," comes out late, like he had to retrace even to what Luther had said, while not even knowing how to reply to him, torn between his eyes making the circuit of all the places they were touching, and almost bitter in the uncomfortablness that he had to look up at Luther. "I was glad to."

James floats in the pause after, where no one tries to help him, before he stumbles into desperation like it's not apparent, a reeking glowing wave around him. Looking only at her again, somehow. "I'm filming for an action movie right now, and I know they're still looking for extras, if you're still looking to break into the films, I could probably get you in."

Allison would be impressed -- at anyone trying to top Luther, from the ground floor, while being implied to exit stage right, with only genial politeness over sharp edges from both of them -- if she weren't already so far into disgusted that rage is a color outline on his body. She is going to rumor him into being a vegetable if he comes near her ever again in the future. She won't even care if she has to lure him off to a closet first.

But Allison smiles. Lets herself looked touched.
"Of course. Call my agent, and we'll set up a lunch."

Or a convenient reason why her contracts say she can't.

The man flounders, and she wonders how stupid the fool is, and even worse how desperate he seems to think she is, before he can't seem to find anything else to throw out at her like bait, as though she's a fish, willing to do anything for any option laid in front of her. But he finally turns away, with only a last, "I'll do that," looking more annoyed than anything else as he goes.

Allison's shoulders rolled back the slightest bit with a roll of her eyes and a shake of her head. She'd be doing humanity, and Hollywood, a favor wiping that slate clean. Still, with him fading into a crowd, Allison looks up, back at Luther, quicker impulse than thoughr at all, and it's arresting without a distraction (a mision, a reason, preparation).

Could he just stop being gorgeous?

This close up he is all towering height, and suited shoulders, over a three-piece, cheekbones, that nose, and that jawline, before she even got to how blue his eyes never stopped being within those pale eyelashes, before she was trapped, pinned, in that realization again, and Allison forces herself to speak before her throat can even dare to try and close up on her like she's a child with no control.

No. She's not doing this. It's just Luther. She lives in LA, where everyone is pretty; she'd lived next to this man for nearly two decades, she still remembers the points when his growth spurts ruined his balance. She can do this.

Skipping again step one, where anyone else might have come out the gate with an apology, Allison ducked straight into simply: "Thanks. I thought it'd probably be inadvisable to disembowel someone on the showroom floor in the same hour I got a promotion."

There's a shadow-quick hint of a sharp tick at the corner of her mouth as the words slip out, almost before she even allows herself to think that she hasn't been able to describe anything that viscerally, violently, and yet casually uncaring in well over a year.

(Not since the last time she had to rumor Bea out of forgetting she had.)