Part 17 (1/2)
”Hey, where'd you go?”
”I don't know what you mean,” she said, squaring her shoulders for a fight.
He reached over and smoothed her skirt over her knee gently. ”What happened? You were so excited, and suddenly you're all cold.”
She didn't say anything. What could she say? He was right.
”No pressure. No work. Remember. Just dinner and enjoying each other's company,” he said.
He was right. As usual. d.a.m.n man. She nodded, and a reluctant smile threatened to break forward.
”We'll worry about tonight, not the future,” she said as her heart sank a notch. She forced a smile, and it must have worked, because he patted her knee and whistled along to the song shuffling on her iPhone through the car's sound system.
Kevan didn't want to think about why he'd chosen to focus on today. She was pretty sure what it meant, but she just couldn't admit it. Because there was no possible future for them. Even if they didn't have the tour and the band hanging over their heads like a guillotine, they still would never fit into each other's worlds. How could they?
He was corporate Ivy League all the way. And she was low-rent street smarts. That would never work in the real world. Kevan could imagine walking into PTA meetings with her hair color of the month and her tattoos next to her big, bad, handsome man in his tailored suit and polished shoes.
Poor little Mason Jr. would be the kid with the weird mom and the perfect dad. Other parents, and probably teachers, would wonder what the h.e.l.l someone like him saw in someone like her. Maybe they'd a.s.sume he'd knocked her up and had to marry her. Whoa. Again, imagination run amok. Cue the witches from Hocus Pocus running around in her head. No, that wasn't her future. At least not with Mason Dillon.
She put her hand over his much-larger one and gave a squeeze and a smile she didn't really feel. Tonight would have to be enough. She'd deal with the aftermath of her broken heart later.
Just like always.
Walking into the old Victorian house converted into a restaurant, Kevan marveled at the mix of antiques and modern amenities. Bronze gasoliers in the shape of cherubs dotted the red velvet walls, providing seductive low lighting.
The entryway was narrow and tall, with the walls covered by painted portraits of every size, time period, and style. A gorgeous painted tapestry of a British soldier-circa the American Revolution-hung below a surrealist image of a young woman and a modern piece of a couple entwined. The effect was elegant and relaxed, much like the refined man standing next to her, whose commanding presence was like a supercharged magnet.
The host walked them to a quiet corner of the main dining room, the cozy table draped in burgundy linens and lit by the warm glow of candles. After their orders had been taken and the wine poured, Kevan took a shallow sip from her gla.s.s. The cool, tangy liquid slid down her throat, and she hummed in appreciation. ”This might be my new favorite wine.”
”I thought you'd like it.” He took a bite of the warm sourdough bread San Francisco was famous for. ”This bread is delicious. You should have some-” Before he could finish, she reached over and gripped his wrist, bringing his hand to her mouth. She never broke eye contact as she took a slow bite of the bread. She let her tongue slide over his thumb before releasing his wrist. The dark look that transformed his face made her feel powerful and reckless. And really h.o.r.n.y.
When she s.h.i.+vered, Mason pushed back his chair and moved behind her. He gently dropped her vintage velvet shawl over her shoulders and leaned in to whisper, ”I could stare at your hard nipples all night, but I don't want you to be cold.”
He kissed the magic spot he'd discovered that first night, and her breath caught as she remembered her fantasy in the car. She trembled again, but this time for another reason altogether.
She smiled at his thoughtfulness. This man was so much more complex than she'd initially given him credit for. She wanted to know more about him, what he liked, where he'd grown up, how he liked to spend Sunday mornings.
After he returned to his seat, she asked, ”So tell me about your life. You're kind of an important guy in the business world. This whole touring with a metal band, hands-on marketing thing has to be sort of surreal for you. How does GEM's top gun end up on tour with a secondary-market heavy metal band?”
He sent her a s.e.xy half smile. ”When I interned at BEA after I dropped out of Harvard, I spent a couple of years being very hands-on with several of their promising LA-based hard rock and metal acts. Basically, I worked my a.s.s off for very little pay. But the education was priceless and helped me get my first real job in talent development at GEM. And I've been climbing the corporate ladder ever since.”
A haunted look flitted across his face but was gone as soon as the waiter delivered their salads. She wondered at his sad expression. Wasn't GEM his dream? Kevan wanted to wipe the drawn look from his eyes and make him smile again.
”That's it? Pretty short story, cowboy,” she said, sipping her wine. ”And you really didn't answer my question.”
”Which one?”
”The one where Global Entertainment Marketing's top executive suspends time and goes on the road with a talented but second-rate heavy metal band and a quirky, but endearing marketing upstart.”
He laughed, a deep, confident rumble that made Kevan feel warm and safe. It made her want to crawl into his lap and snuggle.
”My company has been successful following a narrow business model of pop stars and mid-level R & B acts. Until recently, it worked well, but the industry has changed, and we haven't kept pace. I'm trying something new.”
”And that's why you're trying to ruin my life-for something new?” she asked before she could filter her words.
”I'm not trying to ruin your life, Bettie. And we agreed to take it a step at a time. Let's focus on tonight, okay. What else do you want to know?”
”I don't understand why GEM sent their CEO to chase after Manix Curse.” She gulped some water. ”I mean, you're the top guy at a pretty big company. Why not send someone less senior, less important?”
He finished chewing the food in his mouth. Stalling, probably.
After he took a sip of wine, he said, ”Revenues have been dropping consistently the last four quarters. I've tried to staunch the bleed of money by diversifying our holdings and encouraging reps to seek out new talent. I've worked with marketing to try and change our corporate brand to be more contemporary. But the damage has been done. The ball was already rolling downhill.” He took another sip of wine.
She waited for him to continue.
”Despite my best efforts to take the company to another level, the board resisted. But when we recently lost one of our major stars-”
”Bella Cole?”
”Yep. The one and only little diva herself. Anyway, when she bailed to one of the well-funded startup agencies out there-”
”The Argyle douchebags?”
”Yeah.” He smiled. ”Anyway, the board-or the chairman, really-decided I had to change things or look for another job.”
”They're going to fire you?” she whispered.
No. Her breath rattled out of her chest, pinging painfully against the hollowness.
”I came up with a shoot-it-all type of plan to save the company by changing our image and our clientele, and, hopefully, save my job.”
Suddenly, winning didn't seem like winning anymore.
She rested her face in her hands. Without looking up, she sighed. ”Well, f.u.c.k a duck, Mason. We're both screwed if we don't sign Manix.”
”Yep.”
They sat in silence for several minutes, finis.h.i.+ng their salads. Kevan suspected there was more left unsaid than said, but she let it go. She wanted to enjoy the evening despite the dire confession Mason had shared with her. She needed to get him back to his s.e.xy, playful self.
”So tell me how big, bad Mason Dillon was raised.”
Relief flooded his face as he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. ”I already told you about my mom. She retired a year ago. My dad was the deputy attorney general for Texas and is now in private practice in Portland. My sister lives in Portland, too, and is a divorce lawyer. She also does pro bono work for the Women's Resource Center in town. That's pretty much it.” He swirled his winegla.s.s, the liquid reflecting the restaurant's candlelight and appearing to glow.
”You've got to be kidding me.” She looked at him, trying not to let her mouth hang open like a noob. ”That's pretty much it,” she said in a mocking Texas drawl.