9. Dash/Natalie #2
Dash listened. Soft music drifted from a cluster of potted plants. Probably an outdoor speaker.
Kate’s eyes fell closed. "Now there's a true artist."
"I agree. My mother loved her."
"She's coming to Houston soon, you know," Kate said, swaying.
"Want to go?" he asked.
Her eyes widened. "You have tickets?"
"No. But I can probably score some."
She crossed her arms. "Sir, do you know what it takes to score Barbra Streisand tickets?”
Dash shrugged. “A phone call? Maybe two? Highest bidder on eBay?”
“More like divine intervention. She’s playing a small venue and it sold out months ago.”
"Maybe I have access to a secret concert-ticket network,” he said, flashing his most lethal smolder.
Kate poked his arm. “Maybe you’re full of shit.”
He laughed. "If I get tickets, will you go?”
"Only if your lover gives her permission," she teased.
“Miranda?” He shook his head. “No, she and her husband Cecil are family. He’s the reason I got in—and out—of the oil business. Cecil’s retired now but works as a consultant. Miranda is the OG hot mess. She’s one heck of a lady.”
“She’s a spitfire. I liked her immediately.”
Dash paused at this comment.
Game recognizes game.
“You should see the two of them together," he said. “He's still the dashing mogul and she's the forever Homecoming Queen. They're worth millions, but you'd never know it."
Kate arched an eyebrow. "Her jewelry says otherwise."
"Tomorrow, she'll be shoveling manure in her garden wearing one of Cecil's old fishing shirts."
"And where is this Cecil character tonight?" she asked.
"At home, watching the pay-per-view fight."
"Too busy to escort his own wife?"
"He's allergic to art galleries. And tuxedos. Also, I lost a bet."
"You're here because of a bet?"
"Yep. Missed an easy four-footer on the last hole. Had I sunk it, Cecil would be hand washing my car every week and I'd be sitting at home watching the fight."
Kate leaned forward and whispered, "Surely tonight hasn't been a total bust."
The look in her eyes matched the tone of her voice, flirty and fully enjoying their exchange.
"I didn’t mean … well …” Dash backpedaled.
"I'm teasing,” she said with a wink.
The banter. Her confidence. Her legs. Yes, again with the legs because they deserved continual recognition. He took a sip of his drink, still locked on her eyes. If the night kept going like this, that old dating app would be deleted before sunrise.
"I'm serious about those Barbra tickets,” he said.
"I'd love to go. Just … don't get your hopes up."
He pressed a hand to his chest. "You doubt my abilities?"
"Of course not. But you should have a Plan B."
"Such as?"
"Dinner at my place. We can listen to my Barbra collection on vinyl.”
"That's a terrible idea." He fought back a shit-eating grin.
She cocked her head to one side. “Why?”
"Because Plan B should never sound better than Plan A."
Natalie's phone buzzed on the nightstand. Still half-asleep, she squinted at the Caller ID.
"Is it Dad?" Natalie asked, her voice full of panic when she answered.
"Why do you assume a late call means tragedy?” Kate slurred. “You woke me at all hours when you were in London.”
Natalie recognized her big sister’s tone—one fueled by a heavy-handed bartender.
“You’re right. Sorry. How'd it go tonight?"
"That's why I'm calling," Kate said, dissolving into tipsy giggles.
"Cookie finally wore you down? You're getting your own show?"
"No. That fussy little queen is on my shit list. I met someone," Kate confessed.
Natalie shot straight up. “What?”
"Yes. And Cookie nearly ruined it.”
"What happened? Start talking."
"There was this gorgeous older woman—Miranda something—early seventies, loaded. She knows Cookie. Anyway, she brought this incredibly handsome man, an energy CEO who—"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. My environmentally conscious sister spent the evening with an oil and gas guy? By choice?"
"He used to be in oil and gas. Now he runs a renewable tech firm. Brilliant stuff. Trust me, we are totally aligned where the environment is concerned."
Natalie snorted. "Yeah, we'll see. Continue."
She put Kate on speaker and stepped into her closet, staring down tomorrow: an extravagant Soiree bridal shower, then drinks with Blaine Sheridan, a well-connected potential client for Natalie & Co. She pulled shirts from hangers as Kate chattered on.
"Cookie interrupted us because he ‘needed a driver’. Drama queen.”
“You didn’t drive home … in your current condition … did you?” Natalie asked.
“Of course not. We called for a car, duh.”
Natalie sighed with relief. "So, what was this Miranda woman doing while you monopolized her date?"
"Oh, they’re just friends. Dash—that's his name—brought her because her husband couldn't make it. Nat, I’m telling you. This guy’s got it."
"Got what?"
"Potential.”
"You didn't sleep with him, did you?"
"You mean drop my skirt for some rank stranger like my baby sister did in London? We were in an art gallery, for God's sake."
Natalie’s eyes shot to a certain pair of jeans hanging on the bottom rung of her closet. "For your information, they were jeans, but point taken,” she conceded, feeling a tiny sting at her sister's playful jab. "Was there a kiss?"
"Only on the cheek. Right up by my ear. Sexiest non-kiss of my life."
"And he's got your number?"
"I gave him my business card. He might stop by the studio tomorrow."
"How old is he? What’s he look like?"
"I didn’t check his ID, but he’s my age. Late thirties. Maybe forty. Tall, dark and handsome."
"Our favorite flavor."
"And the bluest eyes too. And wow, can he fill out a tux."
The bluest eyes. God, to see Mr. Crown’s again.
Or hear his voice. Like whipped butter … and I’m toast.
Ok, stop. This is Kate’s moment.
“He’s also worth millions, according to Cookie. A mega-millionaire, he said. Not that I’m into him based on his finances, but it definitely doesn’t suck.”
Natalie crossed to her dresser and picked up the framed photo of Kate and Malcolm. Their smiles, frozen in time. The kind of love she and Mr. Crown never had the chance for. Bold. Unapologetic.
"I'm proud of you,” Natalie said softly. “Malcolm would be proud too."
Kate sighed. "It probably won't go anywhere. But flirting felt good. Really good. Not to brag, but I’m damn good at it."
"World-class,” Natalie agreed. “Every boy I ever brought home fell madly in love with you."
"Incorrect. They fell in lust with my tits. They fell in love with you. And speaking of tits, I ordered a pair for Dad’s birthday—soap-on-a-rope boobs.”
“Oh my god, Kate. You know he gets so embarrassed about stuff like that.”
“Exactly. Payback for all the times he’s embarrassed us.”
He’s gonna turn forty-eleven shades of red.
Oh, Pop, it’s gonna be so fun to watch you squirm.