6 BEN
BEN
I enter the conference center with Nigel behind me. Funny, we’re both peering around in earnest. He scans the area for threats, I scan for…there!
She really does stand out. It’s not the rich olive skin, flowing brown waves, perfect curves beneath that same one-piece thing, I think, but under a jacket now. I doubt it’s even that she’s tall. She’s just…regal, elegant. I’d bet half my trust she was a ballerina as a girl.
And those eyes.
They lock with mine, bright hazel-gray, gleaming in contrast to her dark lashes. Damn, she’s something. She surprised me last night, staying out, going toe to toe with me at the bar.
I think she’s lost weight since the last time I saw her. Even now, her face is withdrawn, worried. Now I know why, at least.
Janie is different than my usual dates, not that last night was a date. She's a bit mean, bit grumpy, cold around the edges.
But still just. So. Bloody. Stunning.
“Morning, gorgeous,” I say as I reach her.
She frowns at me, of course, before frowning at my bodyguard. “…Morning?”
“This is Nigel, my nanny.” He sighs at my played out joke.
“You didn’t have a bodyguard last night?”
“I did, actually. A couple. But they can hang back when I’m more incognito. Here, today, where everyone knows me and wants a piece, he has to stick close by. Might need my nappy changed.”
Nigel rolls his eyes.
“I feel for you. Truly,” Janie says to him sincerely. I just laugh.
I hand her a coffee in a cardboard beverage holder thing. “Didn’t know what you liked so I got cream and sugar stuffs separate.”
“Thank you,” she says, going to the coffee table behind her and dumping the cream into the black coffee. No sugars. She does grab a single mini donut and discreetly eats it in one bite before turning though. Not sure why that makes me smile.
She looks up at me and I nod, “Come on then, we need to get backstage.”
“Backstage?” she sounds alarmed as we start walking quickly. I love that her long legs can easily keep up with mine. I hate slowing my pace. Carpe the diem and all that. “I didn’t know you were speaking this morning?”
“No one did. I wasn’t even supposed to be here but I’m trying to score some last minute points with,” I make a face and don a French accent, “Papa.”
“Did—” she pauses as we’re ushered through a security barricade and two heavy doors. “Did you write a speech?”
I stop walking and pretend to be concerned, “You think I should’ve written something?
” Her beautiful eyes go wide. I keep walking to the back stairs.
We can hear the crowd in the auditorium on the other side of the curtain.
“I’ve known all the brand talking points since birth, I’ll pull them straight from my ass.
It’ll be grand.” I stop and turn to her. “How do I look?”
She grimaces.
“Well damn, Janie, don’t hold back now, what?”
“You look…hung over? Messy? And is that last night’s suit? You look like you just came from a wild threesome next-door.”
Now my eyes go wide. She’s not too far off. I’m not one to turn down drinks upstairs with a set of red headed bombshells. Twins. No man turns down twins. When it came down to it, though, I just passed out. Much to the disappointment of said bombshells.
“You did, didn’t you! You’re kinda disgusting, you know that?”
I ignore her accusing eyes and pull a staffer over, “Excuse me, d’you have any hair and make up people on site today?”
The woman seems frozen, shocked I’m speaking to her.
“Girl,” Janie touches her arm. “Look at his hair. And the bags under his eyes. We need to get someone over here stat before he goes on stage.”
“Right! Yes, sorry, of course, they’re in a green room right down this hall.”
She leads the way but I’m not really watching where we’re going. I’m too busy smirking at Janie. Who is busy turning her nose up at me.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a woman tell me I look like shit.”
She looks away, “I didn’t say that.”
“Would you like to?”
She fights a smile and locks eyes with me, “Benedict, you look like shit.”
I laugh with a hand to my chest, “Have to say, I don’t love it.”
She just shakes her head as we are ushered into the big bathroom with a wall of dressing room style mirrors.
Three people fuss over me at breakneck speed.
They shower me with compliments, I try to rub it in Janie’s face but she’s too busy doing her own fussing.
She takes my coat and asks for my tie, producing a hand steamer out of somewhere.
She interrupts my new fan club to say, “More concealer,” and “Let’s powder his forehead more. ”
It’s comical, if not a bit frustrating, how not impressed with me she is. Makes my blood start to run south if I think about it. So, instead, I think about the stupid Clark Industries values and mantras, whatever jargon I can use to fill twenty minutes on that stage.
In under five minutes, I look awake, freshly-showered and firmly pressed. I tie my tie and button my jacket and turn to Janie.
I stretch out my arms, “Better?”
She studies me, her eyes searching my whole body. The blood is rushing downward again. Not ideal since I’m about to be standing in front of ten thousand Clark employees. I look away from her and wait.
“Lose the tie,” she finally says.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. You’re not Emerson, you’re the fun, younger brother. Tie feels phony.”
“You’re right,” I say as I tug the thing off. I’ve never felt comfortable in them. Weird that I never thought to just ditch them altogether. “Brilliant. Let’s go,” I say, bundling the tie up to toss into the trash.
“No!” Janie grabs it. “This probably cost as much as his rent! Here!” She tosses the tie to the handsome bloke that did my hair.
“Yesss, girl. Good looking out!” He beams back at her. She just nods.
Then we’re off to the races.
I give my speech which she deems, “Pretty good, considering.”
She tags along as I hit trade show booths one after another. I praise the teams and sample the goods while she says as little as possible. We watch demonstrations. We listen to pitches. She nudges me when I zone out as poor sap after sap try to sell me the same story over and over.
I try to make her smile, impress her in any way, shape or form.
But she’s nonplussed. She rolls her eyes at every woman who begs for a photo and my resulting gloating smile.
She locks eyes with Nigel repeatedly, as if the two of them are in on a joke, namely, me.
We walk and walk. We taste new products and guzzle coffee.
Finally at lunch time, I notice she’s left my side.
“Janie?”
“Right there, lad” Nigel replies out of nowhere like the loitering creep I pay him to be.
She’s sitting a few steps away on a bench, sipping bottled water.
“Excuse me,” I say with a lifted hand to stop the bloke approaching me, about to start what I’m sure will be a long, boring conversation. “You all right?” I ask her.
“Ugh,” she leans back, “I’m exhausted, aren’t you exhausted?”
“Can’t keep up with my cardio, love?”
She rolls her eyes. Again. “It’s not that, it’s all the small talk. Does Nigel have a gun? Tell him to take it out and kill me.”
I laugh and sit. “I would but I’m fond of him and he’d be sent to jail. I’d have to find a new body man and that’s such a chore, you know?”
She snorts, “Right.” She really does look spent.
“Was the mayo suit better?”
She pauses, considering. “The mayo suit was really just one script I repeated all day. Also tiring, but I didn’t have to think or ask questions or, you know, pretend to be interested.”
I chuckle, “Pretty sure the girl in the suit selling the product is supposed to be interested, darling.”
“Well, I wasn’t.”
“Alright, that’s enough then.” I stand.
She frowns, “That’s it? Don’t you have, like, a million things to do around here?”
“Eh,” I extend a hand to help her up, “I am just showing my face. None of this is vital.”
She bats my hand away, “I bet it is if you ask your dad. You can’t just blow this stuff off, man, that’s how you ended up in this mess.”
I inhale and glare at her. “It’s very unbecoming of you to be both beautiful and right.”
“A cross I’m willing to bear,” she deadpans.
I chuckle again, “Fine, I’ll stay. You go. Amish Wives of the Country isn’t going to watch itself.”
“Really?” Her face lights up like the neon Clark Industries sign above our heads.
At the sight I have to clear my throat and fight the urge to ask her what else she’d like, so I can give that to her as well.
I always make people smile, it’s what I do.
So not sure why I’m having this bloody weird sensation now. I shake my shoulders a bit.
“Sure,” still, I can’t let her go completely, not yet. “But you have to join me for dinner.”
She deflates a bit but then begins to nod. “I guess I do have to eat.”
“Damn it, you really are good for my ego,” I mutter and at that, she grins. Well. Now I’m tempted to start listing all my flaws just to keep making her lips turned up that way.
Why’ve I gone all weird? I never care much what birds think of me beyond offering a good time. Must be because she’s a close family friend of my sister-in-law.
“You have my number, right?” I ask.
“No. Why would I have your number?”
“Because we’re friends? Good heavens, woman, throw me a bone here.” I hand her my cell. “Put in your number so you can text me your hotel. I’ll meet you at yours for dinner.”
“Okay,” she says. She types in her info and then looks up. “You’re sure it’s okay for me to bail?”
I straighten dramatically, “As your boss, I’m ordering you to do so.”
“Ugh, I knew I shouldn’t have asked,” she hands me my phone. I note how thin and long her fingers are, how cool to the touch. I almost ask if she’s cold but stop myself. She already thinks so little of me, I mustn’t add finger-temperature-stalker to the list.
“Thanks for this,” she says as I start to twist away from her and back to the waiting crowd. “I’ll see you tonight.”