Chapter 2 #2
“God, this guy sounds like a creep,” Cupid said.
Des’s gut shifted again. “Everyone said we were perfect together.”
“Everyone is a wanker.”
Desmond smiled. “Would you like a drink of some sort, er, Cupid?”
Cupid laughed. “It’s Javier, actually. Javier Rivera.”
Javier reached across to shake Desmond’s hand.
“Desmond White,” Des said. Javier’s hand was cold, but it was large with graceful fingers, and his handshake was firm and businesslike. “I thought I’d detected a slight accent. Spanish?”
“Sí,” Javier said with a smile. “Well, sort of. Mum is British. I’m from Oviedo originally, but I’ve been in the UK since I was eight and Mum decided she’d had enough of my dad’s philandering ways.”
Desmond nodded as he let go of Javier’s hand. “I can make you a coffee, if you’d like.”
Javier’s beautiful, dark eyes widened. “In a car?”
Desmond grinned. “It’s not a car, it’s a limousine.
” He might have been showing off a little as he shifted toward the back and pushed a button to reveal a compact Nespresso machine.
“If you don’t mind my asking, what is a man like you doing covered in glitter, aiding and abetting nefarious exes in Valentine’s Day shenanigans? ”
Blessedly, Javier laughed instead of being offended. “Trying to save my agency,” he answered over the annoying noise of the machine.
Des turned to glance at him as the rich scent of coffee filled the air. As he did, he caught Hasan’s eyes in the rearview mirror…just before the man pushed the button to raise the privacy partition.
Des’s face burned hot. Whatever Hasan thought he was doing, he was not that kind of man. Matthew was the sort to seduce an innocent, unsuspecting passenger, not him.
“Agency?” Des asked, followed quickly by, “Milk and sugar?”
Javier seemed amused by the whole situation.
“Both, please,” he said, staying formal and polite.
“And I own and operate a modeling agency. I never would have branched off into singing telegrams, but the client, Mr. Evers, is a friend of one of our models. They arranged the whole thing between them. Then that friend couldn’t do the job, but he recommended me. ”
“Only, you don’t usually do singing telegrams?” Desmond asked, preparing Javier’s coffee, then handing it over to him.
It was a sign of how chilled Javier was that he took the cup gratefully and cradled it in his hands. The way he sat, slightly hunched over and still looking a bit drowned, made Desmond want to crank the heat up even more. He would hate it if Javier Rivera caught a cold.
“Unfortunately, we need the money,” Javier said, breathing in his coffee steam, then blowing on the cup as if it were a ritual, before taking a sip.
“I wasn’t really part of the decision to take the assignment, but because Gordon was under contract with me, and because he’s a halfway decent guy, he agreed to go through Rivera Talent.
Then he called out this morning because he found himself another job and another agency. ”
Something tense and frustrated flickered through Javier’s expression.
Desmond studied the man with fascination.
He had obviously been a model himself at one point.
He had the sort of exotic model attractiveness that Des had seen in a hundred fashion magazines before, not that he made a habit of reading fashion magazines.
He might have recognized Javier if he did.
Either way, there was no denying that the droopy Cupid sitting across from him was drop-dead gorgeous.
“I can imagine that running a modeling agency would be a challenge,” he said as Javier drank his coffee. “Anything in the arts or creative industries is a massive challenge these days.”
“It most certainly is,” Javier said. “I should have known it would be like this, but I guess I’m just a dreamer.”
“So it’s been your dream to run your own modeling agency?
” Desmond asked, feeling like they were being pulled back to earlier parts of their conversation.
Not that he minded. There was something about Javier Rivera that made him feel like he could talk to the man for ages, even though they’d only just met.
Maybe it was because they’d just met. Javier didn’t seem to have a clue who he was.
“It was my dream to be a model,” Javier said in a careful tone, as if correcting him. “I achieved that. I did pretty well for myself, too. And then I got old.”
Desmond laughed wryly. “You’re far from old. How old are you?” It felt like an impertinent question, but Des was suddenly dying to know.
“Thirty-one,” Javier said.
“I’m thirty-four,” Desmond said with a shrug. “So it could be worse.”
Javier smiled, took another sip of his coffee, then said, “Yes, but I suspect that things are only getting started for men our age in the financial world, whereas, in the modeling world, I’m considered a has-been abuelo.”
“That hardly seems fair,” Desmond said, half wishing he’d made a coffee for himself. He wished the two of them were having their conversation at a discreet table in a cozy café somewhere.
Javier shrugged. “That’s the fashion world.”
“So now that you’re too old to do the work yourself, you run an agency to help others enter that world?” Des asked.
Javier smirked. “I’m trying to run an agency to help others along. It looks like what I’m actually doing is taking ridiculous singing telegram gigs myself.”
Desmond grinned, feeling like the two of them were sharing something.
He liked Javier, which was not something he could say about a lot of people.
Well, he liked people, he just wasn’t certain he could trust them.
For some odd reason, probably because Javier truly didn’t know who he was, who he worked for, or what he’d done, he felt the pull to trust him.
Which caused an idea to spark in his head like a firework.
“You wouldn’t by any chance be interested in another unconventional job, would you?” he asked.
Javier’s openness shifted quickly to caution. “What sort of job.”
Part of Des screamed at him to shut up and not to be rash or stupid. He didn’t listen to that part.
“I have an important concert I’m supposed to attend on Friday evening,” he said, shifting to lean slightly toward Javier. “I was wondering if you’d be interested in escorting me.”
Javier’s eyebrows flew up. “Oh, honey,” he said. “I don’t run an escort service.”
Embarrassed heat splashed across Desmond’s face. “No, no, no, I don’t mean that at all,” he fell all over himself to say. “I definitely don’t mean that. God, no. I would never suggest that.”
Javier’s briefly stoney face softened into a sympathetic smile. “I never said you did.” He was being gracious.
“I just meant that I don’t have a date for the concert,” Desmond went on. “It’s part of Pickering Jones’s fundraising efforts. But because it’s not an event being exclusively hosted by Pickering Jones, I have the terrible feeling that Matthew is going to be there.”
Javier’s expression changed again. Now he looked more like an avenging angel than a glittery cupid. “That asshole? Honey, you can’t go into that concert hall alone.”
“Yes, well, that’s what I’ve been telling myself for the last week,” Desmond said. “Only, I don’t have anyone on file that I can just ring up and ask to go with me. At least, not anyone who isn’t friends with Matthew, too.”
Javier hummed with understanding, leaning back in his seat. “So he got the friends in the break-up, did he?” He shook his head and made a dismissive noise. “Isn’t that always how things go? He’s the psychopath, but because he’s more fun, he takes all the friends with him??
“How did you know?” Desmond asked, then felt immediately foolish.
That was more or less what he’d just implied.
Something about Javier flustered him as much as it drew him in.
He was, like, proper gay instead of being quiet gay in a suit with a lot of money, like he was.
Des had always been attracted to the proper gays.
“Don’t you worry, sweetie,” Javier said with a smile.
“I might not run an escort service, but this time, I’ll make an exception for you.
Any man who would make another grown man dress up in a nappy and sing in someone’s place of business deserves to be upstaged at a benefit concert.
I would be happy to be your date Friday night. ”
It was the answer Desmond had been hoping for, but now he felt awkward in the face of Javier’s kindness. “I truly appreciate this,” he said. “And I will pay for your time if—”
Javier held up a long, graceful finger. “Not an escort,” he said. “I’ll go with you as your friend.”
“As my friend,” Desmond repeated, relaxing a little. “I like the sound of that.”
“So do I,” Javier smiled. He reached into his carry-all to fetch his cell phone. “Give me your number and I’ll give you mine, and we can coordinate before Friday.”
“Sounds perfect,” Desmond said, reaching for his phone as well. With any luck, Javier Rivera would turn out to be exactly what and who he needed.