Chapter 1
1
“ A ll art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.”—Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
I would never understand how someone who cherished peace and organization wound up with a career in fashion advertisement. My job was the very definition of chaos. A state of utter confusion and disorder. There had to be some odd quirk in my personality that enjoyed sorting out caustic people and difficult situations. Whether it was an editorial issue, a designer with diva aspirations, or a simple case of incompetence, I was the one generally called upon to “fix” things.
While it was true I was detail oriented and efficient, I wasn’t a superhero. Thankfully, today’s visit to an upscale DC magazine’s downtown office was a social call. No one would expect me to solve any problems. I hoped.
This was a quick hello before I returned to my own office at the Phillips Agency a few blocks away. It looked like my timing was perfect. A photo shoot was about to commence. There was an air of control in the room, indicating someone competent was in charge. Thank God. And if my source was correct, it was the man I’d come to see.
Two men were chatting at the far left side of the enormous studio. The photographer and an assistant, I guessed. I turned to my right, noting the starkly painted white walls and light colored hardwood flooring in the wide-open space. There was a bank of windows along one side and though every blind was drawn, the large space was well lit. A giant screen used for backdrop covered the wall flanked on either end by portrait umbrellas, ready to diffuse light where needed. People milled about with clipboards and headsets, looking deceptively important. I smiled at a pretty young girl wearing a short brimmed Panama hat and bright red lips. If someone were to ask what she looked like later, her hat and lipstick would be the only two things I’d remember.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m looking for Aar—never mind, there he is now.”
I followed the sound of a familiar voice near the photographer’s camera equipment and stopped in my tracks when he came into view.
Aaron Mendez was beautiful. There really was no other word. He was small but fit and lean with dark brown hair, olive skin, gorgeous hazel eyes, and a brilliant smile that had the dual effect of setting me at ease and making my heart skip a beat. I called his name and mentally prepared myself for the sudden quickening of my pulse when he turned. Aaron was extraordinarily lovely, but he was taken. Acting like a lovesick puppy would be foolish, not to mention embarrassing.
“Paul! Oh my gosh—did I know you were coming by today?” He flashed a radiant smile before launching himself into my arms.
I chuckled as I caught him. His longish bangs fell enticingly over his right eye as he stepped away. I shoved my hands in my suit pockets to keep myself from reaching out to tuck the stray strands of hair behind his ear.
“I told Marsha but she may not have let on I’d be in your neighborhood today. I came by to pick up a portfolio. I’m only popping by to say a brief hello and—what’s so funny?” I narrowed my eyes playfully as Aaron pursed his lips together and shook his head.
“Nothing! ‘Popping by to say a brief hello,’” he said, pitching his voice to mimic my British accent with a giggle. “I love the way that sounds. So posh!”
“Hmph. I suppose it’s the best compliment I’ve had today, so I’ll take it,” I said with a self-deprecating shrug.
“Well, you look fabulous too. A little tan on your handsome face and your suit is divine. Very sexy. When did you get back in town? And where were you again? Buenos Aires and…. Curt told me but I forgot. Or I was too envious and didn’t want to think about my jet-setting friend seeing the world while I was stuck in rainy DC.”
Aaron cocked his head and grabbed a clipboard sitting on a nearby wooden bench as a production assistant pulled in a rack filled to capacity with couture clothing. A group of models, three young women and two men, trailed in after her. It would be time to get to work the moment the photographer was ready.
“I was in Argentina for a month and Brazil for a couple weeks. Enough time for even an Englishman to come home with a bit of sun. I’ve only been home a few days and other than a few quick trips to New York or Baltimore, I’ll be in DC for the duration. At least until summertime.”
“Good. Then you’ll get to enjoy all the rain we’ve been having too. It’s only fair.” He glanced at his watch distractedly and then at the door before giving me a chagrined half smile. “Looks like we’re about to start. I’m waiting on one more model but?—”
“Not to worry. I’ll observe quietly for a moment, then be on my way. This isn’t a business call. I just wanted to come by to congratulate you.”
Aaron squealed like a child and gave me another impromptu hug. “Did Curt tell you? I’m so excited. Matty is too. We’re not sure yet when we’ll do it but?—”
“Wait. What do you mean? I was talking about your promotion. You’re the assistant art director now, correct?” I felt my forehead furrow in confusion as I observed the excited man. I couldn’t remember how old Aaron was but I thought he was only a couple of years my junior. His enthusiastic nature always made him seem much younger.
“Yes. That happened. But something even better happened too. I thought maybe Curt mentioned it.”
“I haven’t talked to him yet. What is it?”
“I’m getting married!”
I couldn’t help responding to his obvious pleasure. I smiled widely and scooped him in my arms, squeezing him tightly around his middle. He laughed as he pulled away.
“Congratulations. That is even better news. So you haven’t set a date?”
“Not yet. I need time to plan something fabulous, but I’d love an autumn wedding. If I go into groomzilla mode now, I might be able to pull off a minor miracle in six months but it has to be completely perfect, you know?” I nodded as if I knew exactly what he was talking about when in fact I’d never come close to considering marriage with anyone I’d ever dated. I tuned in as Aaron continued. “It’s all brand new. Matt just proposed a week ago. There’s so much to do. Guest list, date, loca—oh thank God.”
I turned when he pointed in the direction of the studio door as a young man with longish dark blond hair entered. His crisp white ensemble and confident gait indicated he was one of the models. He was tall and thin with broad shoulders. And he was stunning.
Aaron bumped my arm and offered a sly grin when he caught me staring. “I know, right? Seth is dreamy. And it’s a good thing he is ’cause he’s always late. I’d better get things started before Vito notices the time and has a fit. Wait here while I make sure they have everything they need.”
I started to protest. I hadn’t intended to stay for long, but perhaps hearing about his wedding plans might help diffuse the slight pang of jealousy I couldn’t help feeling. It was ridiculous. I never had a shot with Aaron. Ever. He’d been with Matt for at least four years now and was obviously very happy. I cringed at the memory of me asking him out a couple of years ago before I knew he was in a serious relationship. He’d smiled and gently let me down, then told me he knew a nice guy I should meet instead. Curt.
Curt was great. He was good-looking, quick-witted, and he liked jazz. Or at least, he said he did. It didn’t matter. I traveled too much to spend time on a new relationship and by the time I returned from a three-month business trip to Indonesia, Curt was taken too. In fact, he was head over heels for his new man. And there was no sense in trying to compete with someone like Jack. He was everything I wasn’t. He was drop-dead gorgeous, heavily tattooed, and rode a Harley. I was good-looking, I supposed. Tall and lean with short blond hair and blue eyes. But where Jack was laid-back and casual, I was definitely more conservative and would not be coerced onto the back of a motorbike if my life depended on it. Obviously Curt and I weren’t meant to be, but I was grateful we’d become good friends since that first fateful coffee date two years ago.
Funny things happen when least expected. My frequent work association with Aaron combined with my failed romance with Curt had inadvertently introduced me to a new set of friends. It was good to know there were people who cared enough to notice my absence when I was out of town. Especially since I was an ocean away from home. The only drawback was being the only bachelor in the group. And as happy as I was for my blissfully coupled friends, it was becoming clear my constant globe-trotting was cementing my status as a perpetual third wheel. Maybe it was time to think about getting back in the dating scene now that I was in DC for the duration. I dreaded the very idea. However, the sorry truth was I’d spent a great deal of time traveling alone recently and even I was tired of my own company.
I moved to the side, a few feet from the action, making sure to stay out of the way while Aaron consulted with the production assistant and the photographer. I studied the painfully thin models dressed in couture casualwear. The general look of the shoot was bohemian streetwear meets runway chic. The three girls were draped in long white flowing fabric with interesting geometric cutouts along the seams. Ropes of brightly colored beads around their necks were the only concession to color. Their hair was wild, as though they’d been blown about in gale force winds, and the makeup on all was minimal. The men were also dressed in white. Pant legs were cut in odd lengths and their shirts were each a different style. The entire look was fresh and cohesive. Very well done. I glanced from left to right at the six statuesque figures posing in front of a white backdrop, but stopped short when I realized one of them was staring at me.
It caught me off guard. In this kind of controlled setting, the models rarely interacted with the people behind the scenes unless they were specifically called out. They were asked to preen, pose, and play to the camera. To incite random conversation or, worse, not pay attention to the photographer’s direction, was highly disruptive. Time was money. I met the young man’s gaze. He was the one who had come in late.
He was, as Aaron had described him, “dreamy.” His dark blond hair skimmed his broad shoulders and offset his high cheekbones, strong square jaw, and full lips. He was a model, so of course he was good-looking, but there was something different about him. He was interesting looking. Appealing in an exotic way. And he was still staring at me. He didn’t look away until Aaron came to stand by my side.
“We have four clothes changes to get through with new makeup and hair for all. Ugh,” he groaned.
“You love it.”
He giggled softly and smiled. “I do. These photos are slated for the summer edition, but I’m not sure which month I’ll use them yet. Probably June.”
“Wedding whites, eh? Perhaps Matt and you could wear something like it. He would look fantastic in the cutouts.”
He laughed a little louder this time and immediately covered his mouth with one hand as he made his eyes comically wide. I chuckled and glanced over the set. My gaze instantly landed on the gorgeous, longer-haired model again. I couldn’t look away. There was something very captivating about him. Aaron turned to see what had my attention.
“I told you he’s hot. His name is Seth Landau. He gets away with more than he should sometimes because he has a ton of experience and serious sex appeal.”
“Does Matt know you’re talking about the office eye candy like this?” I teased.
He rolled his eyes with a grin. “Matty has nothing to worry about and he knows it. Want to meet Seth? I can ask him if it’s okay to give you his number and?—”
“Aaron. No offense, but the last time you tried to set me up?—”
“You were out of town… a lot. You can’t get to know someone if you’re not around, right? And you and Curt became friends anyway so it wasn’t a total failure.”
“Right but?—”
“You just said you don’t have any plans to travel for a while so where’s the harm in having coffee or a drink? Who knows? Maybe sparks will fly!”
Aaron’s voice rose as he warmed to the idea. I shushed him then whispered in his ear, “He looks familiar somehow. What do you know about him? Are you sure he’s gay?”
I glanced over at the man in question. He had an almost androgynous look. Not feminine, not masculine… a little of both. His back was turned to me now. He had one arm wrapped loosely around one of the female models and the other around a young man’s neck in an almost proprietary grip. The shot was genius. Tension and sexual ambiguity draped in the finest linens and jewels.
“Very sure. It’s a small community and people talk. He’s lived in Europe for the past few years modeling for Italian designers and doing runway shows. That’s probably why he looks familiar. He’s a photogenic chameleon. You’ve seen him in a million ads. Probably even ones you’ve done. It’s weird how different some people look in person. In Seth’s case… even better than in print.” Aaron’s eyes twinkled mischievously as he adopted a faux British accent. “And as much as I’d love to sit here and gossip about him, it would be very unprofessional of me to do so in my present position.”
“You’re totally right, man. Way uncool to gossip. I’m down with you giving him my number but whoa….” I dropped my California “surfer dude” affectation and waited until Aaron stopped laughing long enough to hear my next question. “How old is he anyway? He looks young.”
“I don’t know. Twenty-seven, I think. Why? How old are you now? I forget.”
“Thirty-five.” I glanced quickly at my watch. As much as I adored Aaron, I had things to do. I couldn’t sit about ogling hunky models all afternoon. “I’d better get back to my office. Congratulations to you and Matt. I’m truly happy for you.”
Aaron beamed at me and gave another quick hug before stepping aside. “Thank you. And welcome back! I’ll tell Seth?—”
“I don’t know, Aaron. I doubt I’m his type and—” I looked briefly at the action behind me just as the man in question began slowly unbuttoning his crisp white linen shirt. I couldn’t remember what I was going to say. I was mesmerized. Seth was built like a god, beautifully toned without a trace of hair on his golden skin. I gulped and started to turn away when he grinned at me. It was a wolfish upturn of the lips rather than a friendly gesture. Predatory almost. Interesting. I cocked my head slightly and smiled. We held eye contact for a moment until the photographer called his attention back to the shoot.
“Right. I’ll text you.” Aaron smirked.
My phone buzzed later that day with a text message from Aaron. It was a phone number and a smiley-faced emoticon with heart-shaped eyes. I stared at it briefly then started in surprise when my attention was diverted by a single sharp knock on my door. My secretary waltzed in a moment later. Note to self… remind Kerri to at least pause before entering my office. Again.
“Hi there. It’s six. I’m leaving but bad news.” She waited until I glanced up at her before she continued, “Helene is on the warpath. She wants another meeting.”
“When?” I sat back in my chair and pushed away from my computer.
“Now. In the large conference room. Should I tell her you’re busy or?—”
“No. Tell her I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Aye-aye, Captain. Anything else for today?” she asked with an eager grin. Kerri was a pretty young woman with long blonde hair and a sunny disposition. What she lacked in polish she made up for in enthusiasm.
“No… just the door thing,” I said with a wry grin.
“O-m-g! I’m so sorry. I forget sometimes and?—”
“It’s not a bother. I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good night.”
“You too, boss.” She pivoted gracefully on her impossibly high heels and slammed the door behind her.
I squeezed my eyes shut as I reached for the aspirin I kept in the top drawer of my desk. This was why I liked travel, I remembered. Long hours in the office dealing with a never-ending slew of emergencies was a slow form of torture.
My phone buzzed again.
Call him asap. He’s very interested :)
I stared at Seth’s number thoughtfully before composing a text message. If I had to meet with an ornery art director before leaving for the day, I may as well give myself something to look forward to this weekend.
Hello this is Paul. Aaron gave me your number earlier. I was wondering if you might be interested in having a cup of coffee this weekend?
I pushed Send. I couldn’t explain my racing heartbeat. It was coffee, for God’s sake. I’d been on hundreds of coffee dates. He might not be as interested as Aaron indicated. Maybe he was being kind or maybe?—
My cell vibrated in my hand, interrupting my internal debate.
Coffee sounds great.
I studied the message for a moment before sending a reply to confirm a time and place. Hmm. The weekend suddenly looked promising.
I made an effort to shake my second thoughts Saturday morning. I couldn’t believe I’d agreed to another coffee date. I wanted to blame it on Aaron. He was hard to refuse. However, I knew there was more to it. The truth was I was a hopeless romantic who had become a borderline serial dater. I’d dated my share of nice guys. Truthfully, I’d probably dated someone else’s share as well. And while I acknowledged it was a necessary evil if I wanted to meet someone, I was tired of the game. I’d done it so many times I could almost write the script. A simple coffee or dinner date led to another, and if we really connected, maybe sex. Sometimes it led to a loose agreement of sorts. The “we aren’t serious, but call me when you’re in town and if we’re both free, let’s fuck” arrangement.
It would be a lie to say I hadn’t enjoyed a number of such liaisons. But I was a hell of a lot pickier nowadays than I had been five years ago when I’d first moved to the States. I didn’t want to fall into bed with a random bloke whose name I’d have a hard time remembering the following morning. I’d been there, done that. Lately I was stuck in a two to three date holding pattern like a swimmer in a rip current. I sincerely doubted the sexy model was the man to break my dating streak, but old habits die hard. The young man was gorgeous, gay, and hell… it was only coffee. What could possibly go wrong?
The sidewalks were still damp from the early morning April showers, but the sun peeking through the thick clouds promised a small break from the rain. The air smelled crisp and clean. I glanced up M Street and admired the spring flowers planted high on the lampposts lining the busy avenue before checking the time on my cell again. It was ten minutes after ten on a Saturday morning.
Seth was late.
If he didn’t show up in the next ten minutes, I’d go inside, buy a latte, and get on with my day. I weighed the merit of going for a run later, as I scrolled through my e-mails. I answered a couple, then stuffed my cell in my pocket. I looked up and down the street again. No sign of a tall model with brooding good looks. Figures, I snorted, turning my wrist to check the time again. My “date” was now officially twenty minutes late.
I pushed open the door to the overly warm coffee shop and took my place in line behind a young mother balancing a toddler on one hip as she cooed and rocked a screaming infant in a baby carriage. Bloody hell. I hoped this line moved quickly. I could feel the beginnings of a headache. Every screechy whine made me wince. I needed the caffeine boost enough to wait for the painfully slow moving barista behind the counter to help the three patrons in front of me.
I couldn’t believe I’d been stood up. It was rude. Very rude. I should never have discounted my intuition. I’d obviously had second thoughts for good reason. As I inched my way forward in the line, I caught my reflection in the pastry glass.
My hair was shorter on the sides and slightly longer than I liked on top. I supposed I could get a haircut this morning, I thought, pushing up the sleeves of my V-neck pullover. I’d worn my favorite light blue cashmere I knew complemented my eyes for purely vain purposes. I’d never been on a date, even the coffee sort, with a runway model and though I was always fastidious about dress and general appearance, I’d put more effort than normal into getting ready this morning. Served me right.
I eyed the unhappy toddler in front of me warily when he let out a shrill cry. He looked ready to combust. I wasn’t entirely surprised when he suddenly flung himself from his mother’s arms in a fit and grabbed a handful of my cashmere pullover with a grubby orange-crusted hand to stop his fall. I smiled through my teeth as I tried to release myself from his surprisingly strong clutches. His mortified mother gasped at the smudge on my sleeve.
“Oh my God! I am so sorry, sir. I—oh gosh, I have baby wipes. Let me get you?—”
“No, don’t worry. It’s quite all right.”
The infant in the buggy started a new round of screeching that set off his older sibling. “Sorry. It’s one of those mornings.”
“I underst—” My weak smile turned into a grimace when I was jostled from the other side by someone sliding into line behind me.
“Hey! There you are! Sorry I’m late.”
Seth. I stared at him for a moment in a sort of odd daze. I had a hard time believing he’d actually shown up. And God, he was more stunning close up than he had been wearing high fashion at the photo shoot a few days ago. He was dressed in a thick navy button-down shirt with jeans and hiking boots. He looked rugged and manly. Very… butch. Oddly enough, his longer hair seemed to add a sexy layer of masculinity. But sexy or not, he was late. Very late.
I opened my mouth to speak, realizing I’d been staring at him like a bloody idiot, just as the demonic toddler grabbed another handful of my sweater. Fuck. I turned to extricate myself from the pudgy orange-stained fingers and started at the sound of Seth’s deep chuckle. He reached out to gently remove the boy’s grip with a kind smile.
“Whoa. You’re tough, big guy! What kind of orange snack is making you so strong?” Seth asked the wide-eyed toddler. The small boy clutched at his mother then grinned shyly up at my date. “Looks like Cheetos,” he added with another chuckle.
The embarrassed mother blushed and gave Seth a quick double take before hurrying forward to place her order with the barista. I narrowed my eyes and gave him a hard stare. I’d gone from thinking I’d been stood up or forgotten to having to adjust to his presence. And I just couldn’t let it go… he was late.
I stepped up to place our order, reminding myself to relax. It was only coffee.
“Good morning. I’ll have a large latte please. Um… what do you fancy?” I glanced sideways at Seth who was standing so close to me I could feel his breath on my ear.
“Huh?”
He looked at me like I was speaking another language. I sighed and tried again, using plain American English. My accent tended to thicken when I was irritated. If I didn’t want to spend the next hour translating myself, I had to relax. And speak slowly.
“What do you want to drink?”
“Oh right. A small coffee, please. Here let me get it.” He dug his hand into his front pocket and pulled out a wrinkled twenty-dollar bill just as the cashier handed my credit card back. “Oh. Uh, next time,” he said with a boyish grin.
I smiled absently as I moved to the end of the counter, ultra-aware of his presence behind me. Seth was only an inch taller than my six foot one, but his broad shoulders and somewhat cocky stance made him seem larger. And rather imposing. I wasn’t sure I liked it. In fact, I wasn’t sure I liked anything about my morning so far. I picked up my latte and motioned toward an empty table for two near the front. Unfortunately an old man leaning heavily on a cane beat us to it. I turned abruptly in frustration and bumped into Seth’s wall of a chest.
“There’s an empty table outside. We could?—”
“It’s wet,” I said sharply, too irritated to soften my tone.
I scanned the small shop and saw one opening up near the restrooms in the back of the store. Seth spotted it at the same time and made a hand motion for me to follow him. I waited half a second before obeying, admiring the rear view as he walked toward the table and took the chair closest to the back wall. The other chair faced the restrooms. My nose twitched in distaste, but I gamely took the less desirable vacant seat before turning my gaze to the handsome young man across the table.
“Thanks for the coffee.” Seth grinned raising his cup in a toast.
“You’re welcome.”
“Aaron mentioned you had a sexy accent. Where are you from? Oh hey… let me get this. You have orange shit all over your sleeve.” He reached over with a napkin and brushed a smudge of neon dust from my pullover. “That kid had a pretty strong grip. There you go. All better.”
I cocked my head, puzzled by his overly familiar ministrations. His hand felt warm and almost comforting through the fine threads of cashmere. I coughed and shifted in my chair before pulling back slightly.
“Thank you. And to answer your first question, I’m from London. Uh look, I know you know my name but, it seems odd not to introduce myself. I’m Paul Fallon.”
I offered my right hand in greeting. He stared at it for longer than polite before chuckling softly, then reaching out to grasp my fingers. He shook my hand slowly, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement.
“Nice to meet you, Paul. I’m Seth. Seth Landau.”
I felt heat travel up my neck and blossom across my cheeks. For no apparent reason. According to Aaron, Seth was eight years my junior. I was supposed to be the seasoned veteran dater here. The older, more experienced man with a flash of savoir faire. I certainly shouldn’t be turning shades of scarlet because a sexy man smiled at me or wiped orange crumbs from my sleeve. It was ridiculous.
“Lovely to meet you.” I picked up my cup and took a small sip, using the diversion to sort through my usual medley of “get to know you” dating questions. “Aaron tells me you’ve been modeling for a while. How did you?—”
“It’s not really interesting. It’s just a job, you know?”
Silence.
“Well, what is interesting, then? Where are you from? What comes after modeling? What are your hob?—”
“None of that’s interesting either.”
He huffed a quick laugh and looked away for a second. I could practically see the invisible walls come up around him. It made no sense. Wasn’t the point of this… coffee experiment to ask and answer trite personal questions? The kind you’d never ask under any circumstance when meeting someone for the first time. I gritted my teeth before trying again with a perceptible strain of sarcasm in my voice.
“Why don’t you simply tell me something about yourself, then? Surprise me.”
This time his laughter was sincere. It rang cheerfully in the air and settled like a soft smile between us. It was… promising.
“Okay. I play guitar and I’m an artist.”
“Oh. That is interesting. I love music. Jazz in partic?—”
“Not my thing,” he interrupted, looking away again. I was tempted to see who or what had his attention, but I refused to play along. He was beautiful but I wasn’t impressed so far. His purposeful belligerence made no sense. Why did he bother showing up if he wasn’t interested?
“Go on. What is your thing?” My clipped, imperious tone let him know what I thought of his so-called thing, but I pasted a smile on my face and waited.
“Rock and roll.” He sipped his coffee slowly and this time kept his eyes glued to mine.
“How long have you been playing?”
“About ten years. I think I got my first six-string when I was fourteen. I begged for one for Christmas that year. My wish came true, complete with lessons.”
“That’s great. How long did you take lessons? I know many musicians still take from oth?—”
“One year. I got kicked out the next Christmas when I was fifteen for being a ‘dirty fucking faggot.’”
He stopped to run his hand thoughtfully over his stubbled chin as though he were awaiting my reaction. I couldn’t help feeling there was something almost… calculated in his speech as though he was expecting a specific response from me. Like I was being tested.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said lamely.
“Hmph. Whatever. I’m mostly self-taught. I play in my friend’s band every once in a while when his regular guitarist is too fucked-up or strung out, but it’s just for fun. It doesn’t pay like modeling does. It’s a drag. I mean, I know I’m lucky ’cause the money is good. It just gets a little boring hanging out all day having your picture taken. You know?” I stared blankly, wondering if he realized he sounded like a spoiled brat. “What do you do for the magazine? Shit. Don’t tell me you’re the dude in charge of hiring and firing models.” His nonchalant snort clearly stated he really didn’t give a fuck either way.
I studied him over the rim of my to-go cup before answering. “No. I don’t work for the magazine at all. I’m the director of fashion marketing for the Phillips Agency. Our clientele is primarily designers and firms looking for appropriate media representation via print, social networking?—”
“Whoa! That sounds… important.” He tucked his hair behind his ear and offered a smile that really was closer to a smirk.
I wanted to strangle him. Somehow I managed a tight-lipped grin in return and was about to respond with a snotty “it is” when he spoke first.
“I don’t think I really understood anything you just said but it sounded cool. I dig accents. When Aaron told me you were British, I was like ‘I gotta meet him.’ I love a sexy accent, you know?”
“Right.” I glanced at my watch and stood abruptly. “I didn’t realize the time. I should get going.”
“Me too. I’ll walk out with you.”
There was no point in protesting. I was almost done with this complete wasted hour of my life. I could suffer through an awkward good-bye. I did my best to ignore his hand on my back as we made our way to the front of the shop. It was proprietary and in light of our disastrous date, it was highly inappropriate. Seth held the door for me just as the young mother was exiting. He smiled brightly at the young boy she carried on her hip and waved playfully before bending to pick up a toy the child dropped. He handed it back with a kind smile and fist bump that made the little boy giggle. I watched the exchange, completely bewildered.
Seth Landau was a strange man. I highly doubted he met me for coffee just to hear my “sexy” accent. Something told me he was putting on an act to alternately provoke me or let me believe he was an idiot. I couldn’t begin to guess his motivation. It was strange and oddly contradictory to how sweet he was with the toddler or how he’d tended to the leftover Cheetos dust earlier. Maybe I misjudged him. Maybe I’d been more bothered about his lack of punctuality than?—
“Man, I was dying for a smoke.” He sighed, fumbling in his pocket for a cigarette and light. “It was nice meeting you. See you around sometime.” He turned with a short wave then walked a couple of steps away before stopping to light up. He blew a stream of smoke, then glanced back and gave me a knowing grin as though he knew my eyes were glued to his backside.
I growled under my breath and made my way toward my car. What a bloody waste of time.
The rest of my Saturday passed in a blur of boring chores: exercise, a haircut, and a jaunt to one of my favorite Smithsonian museums. I should have spent some time working, but I was too restless after my failed coffee date. The incongruities of Seth’s personality bothered me. He wasn’t easy to forget. I found myself running through the odd twists of our brief conversation in my head. He was… puzzling. Or maybe quirky. I dealt with plenty of quirky types daily. I usually liked being around people who were “outside of the box” thinkers. He was an oddball, but he wasn’t my problem. Thank God.
Later that night I sat in my living room with a glass of wine at my side and John Coltrane’s Blue Train playing softly in the background. I appreciated a measure of quiet but never silence. Jazz was the perfect equalizer for any mood, and this CD was one of my very favorites. I reached for my book just as a text message popped up on my cell.
I’m sorry about earlier today. Want to try again? Maybe lunch this time?
I stared at the screen in disbelief. Really? The answer was no. Absolutely not. I wasn’t interested in the slightest. I started to compose a long-winded text that began with “you must be joking” but decided it wasn’t worth the headache. The best course of action was inaction. No more coffee dates for me. For a while at least.
The following Monday morning, my cell buzzed as I was about to head into a staff meeting. I should have let it go to voice mail, but just seeing Aaron’s name on the display made me smile. I looked forward to his friendly chatter before I discussed business.
“Good morning, darling. How are you?”
“Fabulous! I think we have a date!” The squeal of joy on the other end made me laugh.
“Oh. When will you and your lovely fiancé become happy husbands?” I asked, glancing out my office window at the passersby on Pennsylvania Avenue. It was a beautiful crisp spring day with blue skies. Not a hint of rain in the air.
“October 18 or 25. It depends on when the venue is available and don’t ask me where it will be! It’s a surprise. For now anyway,” he chuckled. “Enough about me. I’m actually calling about the Burberry spread. Marsha wanted to talk layout but I haven’t seen the collection yet.”
“I’ll call Burberry.” I added the pesky task of contacting Aaron’s editor-in-chief to one of a thousand things to be done today. We talked about upcoming photo shoots and artwork he wanted to include for background.
“Did she tell you her idea about doing a segment this fall on influential British design? She wants to feature couture, home design, art, and architecture. She’s trying to get Simon Pickard, the London-based art?—”
“Yes, I know him.” My brusque tone said more than I intended to divulge about how well I knew the acclaimed arsehole.
“Ahh. I sense a story. I don’t have time to dish, but later you can—oh my God, I can’t believe I was going to let you hang up without asking about your coffee date!” Aaron dropped his voice conspiratorially. “Tell me all about it. Is he yummy or what?”
I huffed humorlessly as I moved toward the door. I had a meeting to attend and I wasn’t going to spend another precious minute talking about my debacle last Saturday with Seth Landau.
“‘Or what’ is the operative phrase,” I snarked. “Seth is very handsome but he is not my type.”
“Seth is everyone’s type. I may be practically married, but I’m not dead. What happened? Tell me in one minute or less. I have an assistant waiting at my door. Hurry. Dish!”
I chuckled and briefly filled him in on my less than satisfactory coffee date. Aaron was uncharacteristically quiet when I finished with, “In short, it was an hour of my life I’d like back, please.”
“Hmm. That’s weird. He’s a little temperamental but he’s always courteous and kinda sweet. I wonder—I bet he was intimidated by you. You’re older, wiser, successful. Maybe he was nerv?—”
“It doesn’t matter, Aaron. We aren’t suited. It happens more often than not. Look, I’m late for a meeting and?—”
“Me too. I’m really sorry. I don’t know why he’d act so weird. It just doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s no bother to me. But here’s a thought… if he really wants to date someone with an accent, set him up with Simon Pickard. They’d be perfect for each other.”
“Actually I think—oh shoot, I gotta run. Talk to you soon!”
I stared at my cell for a moment and sighed. Simon Pickard. I hadn’t heard his name in a while and it had been years since I’d seen him. My mind immediately conjured Simon’s insanely handsome face and lean toned physique. I could see his dark head bent over a canvas in serious concentration. The way his brow furrowed as he struggled to perfect a study in light and shadow. His passion had been beguiling and utterly fascinating to me as a younger man. But his mercurial moods made him a difficult man to know. I grinned at the very thought of him sitting across a table with Seth Landau as Seth gushed over his “sexy accent.” God, I’d love to be a fly on that wall, I thought with a laugh.