Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
I t felt like blasphemy not to be gnawing on a crepe right now, but cravings were cravings. Mallory thanked the chatty Chinese food delivery man and hit a thumbs-up on the delivery app as he exited.
“Makeup artist. Interpreter. Now you’re bringing me dinner?” The deep voice came from her left.
Dylan Lee’s smooth baritone was unexpected, dreamy, and delicious, even better than Chinese takeout on a chilly Paris night.
Mallory turned toward him. “You got two out of three right.”
Dylan wore jeans and a black t-shirt. His stage makeup was washed off, and his hair styled back. “What other jobs do you do at Texk?” Dylan’s gaze dropped to the takeout bag hanging on her wrist. He arched his dark eyebrows.
“This is simply dinner.” Mallory tilted the bag so that the scarlet Mandarin logo was clear. “I wanted TexMex, then the thought of crispy eggrolls lured me to hunt down Chinese takeout.”
“In Paris?”
Yep. A city of world-renowned restaurants known for their gastronomic delights, and she’d gotten Chinese takeout. Mallory barely kept the guilt off her face. “I’m too hungry to pry snails from their shells.”
Understanding and amusement lit up his striking features, along with an edge of hunger. “We had another interview ourselves instead of dinner.”
After his performance, he deserved Michelin restaurants and penthouse room service. How could his team fail to provide for him?
Before Mallory could sympathize, the concierge appeared at her elbow. “Ms. Park, your balcony table is ready.”
“Lead the way.” Mallory looked up at Dylan. “I booked a table to see the Eiffel Tower sparkle. It’s about to twinkle like a dragon blew on it.” She let her enthusiasm show in her voice. The iconic structure, moments from glittering for her. Her eagerness was genuine.
Dylan kept pace with Mallory and the concierge. He rubbed his stomach and put on a wan look. “Eggrolls, huh? Sounds good.”
“I’ll share.” The offer came out naturally. With her family in the hospitality industry, she and her cousins had ingrained reflexes to feed and soothe.
Then she paused.
Had she just invited a world-famous rock star to split eggrolls and bao buns with her?
Dylan gave her the half smile that had graced a million magazine covers. “Love to.”
Dang. The way his voice caressed the words should be… Ha ha, she wasn’t discovering anything new. His voice was literally packaged, sold, and raved about by the masses. She was not special.
Still, in this moment, she was in Paris, with Dylan live at her side. That was special on most scales.
The concierge led them to a private balcony lit with fairy lights. The balcony’s half-moon shape was built with the same cream-colored stone that made up the rest of the buildings in this district. Paris architecture was inspiring some serious goth settings for her next draft.
For once, she was more eager for the upcoming moments than to get back to her novel. A waiter joined them carrying her pre-ordered drink. The margarita showed as proof of her initial desire for TexMex.
The waiter placed the drink in front of her and wiped the stem with a pristine cloth as if she’d ordered champagne.
“Thank you.”
“I’d have guessed you’d pick bubble tea or hot tea to go with your dinner, but that looks oddly good right now.” Dylan indicated to the waiter that he’d have the same.
The waiter inclined his head
Dylan’s drink came out shortly, and Mallory tapped the rim of her glass to his, merging their salt in a marriage of cocktails. “Margarita buddies.”
Dylan gave her a side eye that made her want to giggle.
Mallory held her merriment in and took a discreet lick of the salt. Her first sip tasted of liquid sugar and ice, followed by a liquor burn. Yum . “If a dragon ordered a human drink, they’d choose one like this. Icy with a fiery kick.” She paused. “Am I making too many dragon metaphors? I may have heard I do that.”
“Nah. My sister’s a fan of dragon movies and TV shows. I’m used to dragon fans.”
The Eiffel Tower sparkled to life, saving her from a response. Whoa . The iconic landmark put on a glittery show, wrapping her in its visual spectacle.
After a breathless moment of admiration, Mallory grabbed her phone and got a shot. She extended the phone to Dylan. “Take my…”
He’d turned to the side and covered his face with the shadows and one of his hands. Like a hot, world-famous celebrity not in the mood for a photo.
He thought she was aiming her camera lens at him.
“I wouldn’t do that without permission.” Her family owned a chain of luxury hotels. They’d be out of business if they didn’t know how to respect privacy. Celebs should be photographed at public events. Private was private. Mallory nudged her phone underneath his hand and let go. “Take my picture.”
Dylan said nothing about his misunderstanding and complied with her request. He took the first shot from his seated position. Then he rose and took another.
He came over and positioned her by nudging her tennis shoe with his black boot. “Elbow on the rail. Tilt your chin to the left.”
Mallory obeyed and then held up her hands, laughing. “That’s enough. I just want to capture a memory. The perfect shot won’t be going online.”
Shame she couldn’t take his photo though, given the handsome angles of his face, and his heart-shaped mouth. He had a mouth made for close-ups. His beauty deserved a live-streaming audience. Ha. Again, she wasn’t discovering anything new. He’d made his fortune on handsomeness combined with talent.
After five minutes, the tower sparkles faded away, having completed their promise. Mallory lingered over a last look, eased away from the rail, and went back to the table. “Dim sum with Paris at our feet. Aren’t we lucky?”
“We are.”
They dove into the meal until they had just one eggroll left. Mallory broke the eggroll in two and extended half to him.
He ate with appreciation as if he didn’t have a whole crew to provide him with five-star meals. If he wanted that, he’d be with them right now. Instead, he was with her.
Why is he with me ?
No answer came to mind. They finished off the margaritas.
The delicate breeze and lower temperatures became noticeable now that the tower’s golden twinkles had ended, as if they’d emitted heat along with a visual thrill. It was definitely time to move indoors.
Mallory gave a soft clap. “Thanks for sharing the evening with me.” Instead of rising, she turned to Dylan.
Mallory pictured him as he’d been this afternoon. Awash in the spotlight, his fingers caressing his guitar strings. Talented, built, handsome. She tempered her interest. Rich, artistic guys were known to be taken. Or not playing for her team.
She’d never heard rumors of him being with a woman. That had to be it.
Unless he’d put all his time and focus into building his career. Then he’d caught one glimpse of her in her plum sweatsuit, and Cupid’s arrow had struck him center mass.
She held in a snicker. “What brings you to my borrowed balcony on this crisp September night?”
Dylan relaxed back in his chair and tilted his head. He gave her a charming look, a mixture of temptation and appreciation. “I thought I’d let you know, in person, that I’ve chosen you to interpret for me for the rest of my trip.”
Dylan made the job offer sound like she’d won a gold prize.
“I’ll be here through next Tuesday,” he finished, indicating the job wasn’t even permanent.
No Cupid’s spell, then. Sigh . Dylan wanted her to complete a short-term job for him, not kiss him good night. That made sense. Even if the truth was a disappointment.
Though only ice bits remained, Mallory hid her letdown behind a quick drink from her glass. The hint of lime and sweetness made her want another. She lifted her index finger to the waiter on the other side of the partition.
The waiter returned to the table. “A nightcap, Madam?”
“May I take it to my room?”
The waiter nodded.
“Yes, please. Another margarita.”
The waiter held in his wince, but she could see it behind his brown eyes.
“I’ll have the same,” Dylan said.
Mallory repeated Dylan’s request in French and thanked the waiter.
“Did you sense his judgment?” Dylan asked in a low voice as the waiter walked off.
Though she had no intention of taking the job Dylan offered, Mallory provided him with a free interpretation to close their time together. “He wants to smack us.”
“Smack us like…” Dylan arched his eyebrows, silently encouraging her to embellish the sentence.
“Like we’ve ignored a nest of dragon eggs in favor of yard bird breakfast eggs.”
Dylan nodded. He gave a small grin she hadn’t seen from him before. “You have a unique way of rephrasing things.”
If he had been interested in her, this was the point when Mallory would have explained she was a fantasy romance author and let him take the first big step in getting to know her. Not that she’d reveal the level of her success—that put men off. She briefly closed her eyes. It would be nice to date a man at the top of his career, like Dylan. He wouldn’t even blink at her royalties.
“You’re not saying anything.”
“Ah, sorry.” He didn’t want to hear about her riches. Mallory got her head back in the moment. Dylan thought she was an outstanding interpreter. She had ensured a perfect interview earlier. She had to set him straight. “Your job offer is kind, but I’m not actually a professional interpreter.” The truth sounded like an evasion coming from her lips.
Dylan tilted his head. His dark eyes glinted. “ Ah .” He echoed the sound she had made, imitating her tone.
Dang, that was an attractive skill. He was like a human A.I., replacing her voice with a masculine baritone. Imagine if he were the robot voice controlling her home. Dylan, lower the blinds. Dim the lights and play me a song.
The waiter brought out their last drinks right away. He left, closed the glass doors behind him, and made a deliberate production of drawing the drapes together, ensuring there was no gap in the long fabric, as if she and Dylan were about to break into boudoir activities, al fresco.
“The French know discretion.” She’d give them that.
“Mmm.”
“If dragons were French, they’d have extra-large wings to cover their escapades.” Would that fit into her work-in-progress?
“I’d never be indiscreet with a coworker,” Dylan said. “How long have you worked at Texk?”
Mallory flushed. Had Dylan Lee just rejected her? He had. Her belief that his interests lay elsewhere eased the sting. She honestly hadn’t offered to be indiscreet with him. Not outside of her head, anyway.
“I’m here for contracts. Paperwork.” Mallory was actually staying in Paris until Tuesday, same as Dylan, as long as all the European deals got wrapped up as expected.
After that, she’d go on to Seoul to meet with the Asian rights branch of Texk. She could even speak a little Korean. Though she hadn’t gone into the hotel business like most of her family, she’d had the same early education with key languages.
She spared Dylan the multilingual details.
Dylan leaned forward. “I don’t mind that you’re not a professional interpreter.”
Ah, sweet. She still didn’t want the job.
“My next commercial gig is tomorrow,” Dylan continued like she’d agreed to be his interpreter. “There’s a job every day for you. Ample overtime.” He grimaced. “Texk loves that.”
Mallory took a sip of her sugary cocktail. The second margarita gave her a nice, buzzed, comfortable feeling. “Other than my in-person meetings, I plan on sightseeing for the remainder of my trip. Eiffel Tower.” She pointed at the monument and made a checkmark in the air. “Louvre, Notre-Dame Cathedral, Musée d’Orsay… You get the picture.” She giggled. “Sorry, I promise I’m not usually punny.”
Dylan smiled, then smoothed his lips back into heart-shaped perfection. “So you’re free. The rest is merely details to work out with Oliver.”
Clearly, he was a guy used to getting what he wanted. Most people would give in to get a smile from him.
He’d continued as if he hadn’t heard her refuse his offer. Not that she’d actually said no .
Why hadn’t she?
Because she’d like to spend more time with him. Her insides warmed. Beyond how he looked, he was one of those rare people who radiated charisma. His whole band did, that’s why they were stars. He was special, but he was also one of five, not a magical, once-in-a-lifetime find, like a unicorn-dragon hybrid.
He wasn’t into her.
She wasn’t into him. She was into Paris.
She had a city tour bus to hop on and centuries of culture to explore. Dylan was engaging, inspiring, with stellar muse potential, but he wasn’t meant for her.
Mallory told him the truth again. “You’ll be better off with a real interpreter.” She was happy she’d succeeded during the TV show taping. The interview could have gone poorly. She’d call her female cousins later tonight and gently brag about how her French had saved both Tempo Rain and the dignity of France.
“I’ll be better off with you.” Dylan said the words like he meant them.
The sentiment warmed her heart. Oh no. He was a siren, drawing her in, luring her to do his bidding.
He needed her.
No.
A rock star could repeat lyrics over and over, radiating sincerity and intensity every time. That was their job. Dylan Lee, world superstar, did not need her.
Close your ears. Look away from the romantic brown eyes that should only be in dreams .
Still, he did need an interpreter.
If she agreed to do it, she’d have a wild story when she got home. But he was too famous to tell the tale as a bit of fun vacation trivia. Someone would post the news online. He’d think she leaked the story to boost her career. She could share with her four closest besties, but other than them, Dylan would remain a secret she couldn’t tell.
He’d be a great memory. Everyone needed those.
Memories were permanent. They warmed the heart. But she already had a great memory of today. Plus, she’d lose the chance to see Paris.
“I can see in your face that you’re hesitating.” Dylan sounded more surprised than displeased. As if someone’s reluctance to fulfill his request was a novel experience. “How about we do what the band does when one of us is wavering?” Dylan held his fist over his palm, in the classic rock, paper, scissors challenge.
As far as the job, Mallory wasn’t really wavering. She was really a no. She simply had to make her lips form the word.
For some reason, her tongue resisted.
Some reason . Ha. Two margaritas and a hot guy. Women had made worse decisions for fewer reasons. “Mmm.” All her conflicted thoughts came out in that sound.
He wore a dare-you-to expression. Having grown up with multiple competitive cousins, the challenging look spurred her on multiple levels. “What do I get if I win?”
Dylan’s eyes lit up. “Anything you want.” He used a low, seductive voice as he offered the promise.
Hot images fired inside her brain. Though clearly, romance wasn’t what he’d meant. He hadn’t flirted or touched her, except to pose her. Nor had he offered to pay for the dinner or the drinks, signaling he’d be a good provider for their musically gifted future offspring. In fact, he’d already given her a gentle rejection. What did he have that she wanted? That she could ethically name?
She didn’t know. But she knew one thing. Her hands were rising above the table.
Her left palm opened, and her right formed a fist. “Rock. Paper. Scissors.”