Chapter Eight #2
He was just climbing out when his phone rang. Dripping wet, he scooped it off the edge of the sink to frown at it. Unknown number, and he started to swipe it to voicemail when he remembered Sawyer.
Nerves buzzing, he answered on speaker. “Hello.”
“I’m looking for Nash Kavanagh.”
Nash snagged the towel off the rack and started to dry off. “Speaking.”
“I’m Sawyer.”
“Thanks for getting in touch,” Nash said, then wondered, okay, what next?
“No problem,” Sawyer replied. “I understand you’re looking to hire a couple of people for a project.”
Nash draped the towel around his shoulders and grinned into the fogged mirror. “In a manner of speaking. I assume Jesse filled you in?”
“He gave me the basics,” Sawyer allowed in a slow drawl.
“And?”
“And, I’m interested. But I’ll want to hear the specifics before I agree to participate.”
“Understood.” Nash mentally ran through his afternoon schedule. He was clear of meetings until four, and since it was lunchtime now… “Are you available to meet?”
“Now?”
“I’ll buy you lunch,” Nash offered. “We can go over the details.”
“That might work. Hold on a moment.”
When the phone went silent, Nash assumed he’d been put on mute, and took the opportunity to towel dry his hair. He had the towel slung around his hips and was digging in the fridge for a cold Coke when Sawyer came back on the line.
“I can do lunch in half an hour, but I need to be clear by two.”
Nash looked at the clock on the stove, did some quick math. “That’s fine. How about The Wild Orchid, in say, half an hour?”
“I’ll be there. You’re aware of my meeting fee?”
“I am,” Nash confirmed, recalling the FAQ section on Sawyer’s website. The fee for meeting with Sawyer to discuss things in person would come off the booking fee, if they decided to move forward. “I assume cash is acceptable.”
“More than,” Sawyer said, amused. “See you in half an hour, Nash.”
He clicked off, and Nash, Coke forgotten, went to the bedroom to dress.
* * * *
He got to the pub with time to spare, but Sawyer was already seated at far end of the bar when he walked in, nursing a beer in a pint glass and watching the door. He gave Nash a nod, said something to the bartender—not Chloe, Nash noted—then stood and crossed the room. “Nash?”
Nash nodded, sticking out his hand automatically. “Sawyer. Good to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Sawyer said and jerked his chin at the archway that led to the restaurant side of the pub. “I thought we’d get a booth next door.”
Nash nodded again, and Sawyer turned to lead the way.
Nash followed, a little bemused. He’d known the man was handsome—there were photos on his website, after all, and both Jesse and Chloe had described him as such. But he hadn’t been quite prepared for the gut punch of seeing him in person.
He was, in a word, beautiful. Tall, with an athlete’s build, he moved with an easy grace through the archway that separated the pub from the restaurant side. He paused there, aiming sharp green eyes and a charming smile at the woman manning the hostess stand.
“Ready for that table now,” he said, and Nash realized with a start that the woman smiling back at Sawyer was Bailey’s friend Gwen.
He didn’t know why he didn’t recognize her right off.
She looked the same as she had in college, with a waterfall of chestnut hair and big, round glasses that made her brown eyes look even more Bambi-like.
Her build hit somewhere between Chloe’s fairy-like delicacy and Bailey’s voluptuous curves, currently clad in trim black slacks and a softly draping blouse.
“You’re all set up in the back corner,” she told them, shifting to look at Nash. Her eyes, huge behind her lenses and framed with lush, dark lashes, twinkled with humor. “Figured you’d want the privacy.”
“Thanks.” Sawyer sent her a wink, then ambled away.
Nash lingered behind, wondering if he’d find the kind of hostility from Gwen that Chloe had given him. “How are you, Gwen?”
She smiled easily, her velvety eyes warm. “I’m good, Nash. You?”
“Good. I’m good.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, not sure what to say next.
“Weird, isn’t it?” Gwen said, humor twinkling in her eyes again.
“Little bit,” he agreed and relaxed enough to smile at her. “You’re being a lot nicer to me than Chloe was.”
“Well, Chloe holds a grudge,” Gwen allowed, that twinkle increasing. “And she didn’t understand what happened back in college.”
Intrigued, he angled his head. “And you do?”
“I have an idea,” she said, and for a moment her gaze looked bleak. Then she blinked, and was smiling again. “Go on, have your meeting before this place fills up and there are people close enough to overhear what you’re talking about.”
He nodded. “Thanks, Gwen.”
“Anything for Bailey,” she said, and the message was clear.
“Understood,” he said, and crossed the room to join Sawyer at the back booth.
He slid in across from Sawyer and pulled the envelope out of his pocket. “I think you dropped this.”
Amusement quirking his lips, Sawyer took it. “Thanks, I was wondering what happened to that.”
The server approached before Nash could respond, a young woman who looked like she’d graduated from high school about five minutes ago and couldn’t take her eyes off Sawyer.
She made her way through the specials, stuttering and sighing and blushing, then took their orders and scurried away like a frightened mouse.
Nash watched her go, then turned to Sawyer. “That happen to you a lot?”
Sawyer shrugged, amusement quirking his mouth, and picked up his beer. “It’s a curse.”
Nash snorted. “A curse. Sure.”