Chapter 15 Brooklyn #2
“Such a pleasure.”
“Brooklyn, lovely to meet you as well.”
“Thank you for having me.” I smiled and shook everyone’s hands, trying to remember their names.
There were three Zenith execs at the dinner, including their CEO, Rex; their Chief Marketing Officer, Dale, and their Executive Vice President of Global Partnerships, Sandra.
Lloyd rounded out our group for an even six.
Everyone was friendlier than I’d expected, but Scarlett was right: the conversation was snooze-worthy. Lots of numbers and business terms I didn’t fully understand.
Vincent’s contributions were the only thing keeping me awake. He had a way of speaking that made even the most boring topics sound interesting. His velvety pronunciation of the word “holistic”? Diabolical—though I was disappointed no one had used “synergy” yet.
“I can tell you’d fit right in with our team,” Rex said after laughing at one of Vincent’s jokes. “Although I’m getting ahead of myself, considering we haven’t gotten to the real reason we’re here yet.”
The table quieted. The Zenith execs had avoided talking specifically about their ambassadorship all night, but it seemed the time had finally come.
As Lloyd perked up like a shark smelling blood, I set my fork down, my heart racing. I had no horse in this race, but I was strangely nervous for Vincent.
His expression didn’t waver, but beneath the table, his knuckles whitened around his knee.
I didn’t think about it. I simply reached over and curled my hand over his before I could talk myself out of it.
His skin was warm to the touch, and my pulse beat a little faster.
Moral support. That’s all this was.
Vincent didn’t openly acknowledge my gesture, but I caught the deep bob of his Adam’s apple before his grip relaxed.
“We won’t beat around the bush any longer.
” Rex spoke again. “This probably doesn’t come as a surprise, but you’re on our shortlist for potential ambassadors.
This dinner is for both parties to get to know each other better.
Nothing’s guaranteed yet, but I think you would make a fine face for our brand. What do you think?”
The tension leaked out of Vincent’s body. His shoulders relaxed, and his smile positively dazzled. “I think it would be an honor, sir.”
Lloyd beamed. I could practically see the cartoon dollar signs popping up in his eyes.
Our servers brought out dessert, and the mood was light and celebratory until Dale said, “Forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn, but it’s refreshing to see an athlete of your caliber in a committed relationship.
Not that relationship status is a dealbreaker.
” He added that part hastily when Rex glared at him.
“But a brand always runs the risk of scandal when they sign someone single. The affairs, the parties…”
“And you two make such a gorgeous couple.” Sandra gestured toward Vincent and me. “So photogenic. I love it.”
My stomach flipped. I opened my mouth, but Vincent beat me to the punch.
“Brooklyn and I aren’t dating,” he said, his tone apologetic but firm. I thought I heard a ripple of something else beneath the surface, but it was gone before I could pinpoint what it was. “We’re just friends.”
“Exactly,” I said quickly. “Friends. That’s all.”
I released his hand and took a gulp of water, trying to cope with the sudden awkwardness.
Vincent was right, of course. We weren’t dating.
The closest we’d come to a romantic relationship was our stupid bet.
Maybe he wanted me and, as loath as I was to admit it, maybe I wanted him too.
But hearing him deny we were dating so swiftly and resolutely was the reminder I needed.
The bet was just a bet. Nothing more, nothing less.
The Zenith execs’ smiles melted, replaced with expressions of confusion. A vein pulsed in Lloyd’s temple. The cartoon dollar signs had been replaced by a panicked glare.
“Oh!” Sandra looked mortified. “I apologize. I assumed…”
“It’s okay.” Vincent maintained a light, easy tone.
“Listen, I get it. Single athletes can be a menace, and I say that as one myself.” Another round of laughter chased away some of the awkwardness.
“I’ll be honest. I’m not married, and I don’t know when I’ll be married.
But when I commit to something, personally or professionally, I’m all in.
Loyalty is important to me, and I don’t jump into a partnership for the sake of having one. I hope you understand.”
Vincent fucking DuBois.
That was the most masterful pivot I’d ever seen, and judging by the execs’ nods, it’d worked.
I almost made a joke about how married celebrities were more prone to scandal, but I didn’t want to accidentally fuck things up, so I kept my mouth shut the way I had all night.
The rest of dinner passed without incident. We left the restaurant together, and Lloyd waited until the execs were gone before he forced us to debrief at the valet station.
“That went pretty well, despite the relationship fiasco,” he said. “I almost had a fucking aneurysm.”
“I’m not going to fake date someone for a brand deal,” Vincent said. He sounded annoyed. “This isn’t a rom-com.”
“No, it’s just a nine-figure deal that’ll set you up for the rest of your life.”
I almost choked on my spit. Nine figures? That was at least a hundred million dollars. I couldn’t wrap my head around such a sum. They might as well be talking about Monopoly money.
They had a quick discussion about timelines. The holidays were coming up, so Lloyd didn’t expect any concrete news until after the new year.
Then the valet pulled up with Vincent’s car, ending the conversation. I climbed into the passenger seat while Vincent turned the radio on.
“Don’t forget to check your email!” Lloyd yelled after us. “There’s a lot of end-of-year paperwork coming your way!”
“Wow,” I said after we pulled away. “He needs to chill, or he’ll have a heart attack by forty.”
Vincent’s mouth quirked. “I tell him that all the time, but he’s incapable of chilling. If he’s not working, he’s thinking about working. It’s an obsessive thing.” He glanced at me. “Sorry about what happened at dinner. I didn’t expect them to jump to the conclusion that we were dating.”
“Well, you brought me as your plus-one, and we accidentally matched outfits.” I forced a light tone. “It wasn’t that big of a jump, even though the idea of us dating is absurd.”
“Totally absurd.”
“Doesn’t even make sense.”
“Nope.”
I shifted in my seat. Vincent cleared his throat and raised the volume on the radio. Smooth jazz filled the pockets in our conversation.
Make a move. The business portion of the night was done. We were alone, I was dressed up, and we were so close, I got a lungful of his scent every time I inhaled. This was the perfect opportunity for me to try and win the bet—to prove that he really did want me and that he would break first.
I shifted positions again so the folds of my dress slipped aside, exposing my bare thigh. Vincent’s eyes flicked over for a brief second before they returned to the road. Other than that, he didn’t react at all.
I felt a sting of disappointment. My legs were one of my best features, but maybe they weren’t a great strategy when he was driving. I didn’t want us to crash, but I wanted him to…I don’t know, do something. Show he was affected, if only a little.
I changed tactics and leaned over to adjust the volume. My fingers grazed his forearm on my way back, the touch light but deliberate.
Once again, no reaction. His eyes remained fixed ahead.
The sting turned into a burn of frustration and something else I didn’t want to name. My attempts were subtle, but if he was interested, they would’ve elicited a twitch, a sigh—anything except cool, silent indifference.
“Have you made a decision about Blackcastle yet?” Vincent asked. His voice sounded a little tight.
He wanted to talk about work? I gave up.
“Not yet.” I kept the grumble out of my reply. “I’m still weighing the pros and cons.”
Typically, candidates had one or two days to decide, but when I’d asked HR for more time, they’d shockingly granted it. They didn’t need a final answer from me until December, which was unusually generous.
I couldn’t decide whether that was a good or bad thing. Did they want me badly enough to work with my timeline, or did they not care enough to get a quick answer?
“Want to talk about it?” Vincent asked. “You were my moral support back there. I’m happy to return the favor.”
Sure. If only I could articulate what the pros and cons are. My practical needs versus my complicated feelings about Jones, my dad, and the nutrition team’s culture were all tangled up in a web that I didn’t have the energy to unravel right now.
“Thanks, but I’ll figure it out. I just need a little more time to think.
” I stared out the window, my earlier angst about the bet replaced by a twinge of exhaustion.
It’d been threatening rain all day, and the skies had finally opened up.
Big droplets of water splattered against the window, blurring my view of the city.
It was our fourth rainstorm in as many days.
“God, I’m so tired of the rain. It’s weeks like these that I really miss San Diego. ”
“I’ve never been. What was it like growing up there?” Vincent sounded genuinely curious.
“I loved it, for the most part. The weather is gorgeous, the beach is right there, and the people are pretty laid-back. But for a very long time, it was only Mom and me. She has more of a, shall we say, LA personality, so we didn’t quite fit in with our neighbors.
It was a constant back and forth.” Growing up in San Diego was one thing; growing up with my mom was another.
“And she didn’t want to move to LA?”
“She did, but it’s a tough city for a single parent. I also think she liked how much smaller San Diego feels. Big fish in a little pond and all that.”
Vincent made a small noise in his throat. His expression was studiously neutral, but whenever we talked about my mom, the air would shift just a little, like he was taking great pains to rein in his thoughts.
“What about you?” I asked. “What was it like growing up in Paris?”
“It had its ups and downs. It’s a beautiful city.
Great culture, great food, great public transport.
But I didn’t speak fluent French when I moved there, and it was hard to make friends at first. It got better over time, but…
” He trailed off for a moment. “I don’t know.
I guess I never felt quite French enough. ”
My heart tugged. It was hard to imagine Vincent feeling like an outsider anywhere. He was magnetic, so bright and full of life that he could draw even the loneliest shadows into his fold. It was impossible to walk into a room he was in and not be sucked into his orbit.
But as the past few weeks had proved, he was also human. He hadn’t been born famous, and he had the same doubts and fears as the rest of us.
“If it makes you feel better, I’ve lived in London for a year and a half, but I still call chips ‘fries’ and crisps ‘chips,’” I said. “And that’s just another dialect of English, not a whole new language.”
A laugh escaped Vincent’s lips.
I smiled, but a new text drew my eyes to my phone.
Mason
Did you figure out your schedule for Friday yet?
Mason
No pressure! Just wanted to see if I needed to change my dinner reservations :)
Crap. I completely forgot to follow up after I left him hanging last week.
Guilt cut through me.
I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t get out of my work thing. I won’t be able to make it on Friday after all
Mason
That’s okay. Are you free another night?
I bit my lip. He was persistent.
We stopped at a red light, and Vincent’s stare bore into my cheek as I debated my answer.
Should I give Mason a chance, or should I cut the thread now instead of stringing him along?
Fuck it.
I typed my reply and pocketed my phone, determined not to look at it again until I got home.
“Who was that? Scarlett?” Vincent asked casually.
“No, it was Mason. The guy I met at the arcade,” I added in case he didn’t remember. “He, um, asked me out.”
I wasn’t sure why I’d shared that information, but it was too late to take it back.
The light turned green. Vincent shifted his attention back to the road, his hands tightening near imperceptibly around the steering wheel.
“What did you say?” He sounded bored.
“I said no.” As perfect as he seemed on paper, I wasn’t interested in Mason like that, and I would want someone to tell me the truth if I were in his position.
Vincent didn’t respond. But I swore I saw a shadow of a smile linger on his mouth for the rest of our ride home.