“Dylan?”
Was it wrong how he got a little bit excited at the thought of her calling out because she had changed her mind and was going to sign him on the spot? Taking a steadying breath and hoping he didn’t appear too anxious, he turned around.
“Thanks,” she said, smiling. “I appreciate the coffee and cake.”
“Oh…uh…sure. No problem.”
“Have a good weekend,” she said and then gave him a little wave.
The urge to ask her for a definite confirmation of at least a callback for next week was fairly strong. But he knew it would only hurt his cause. He had to be patient and give her time to think. With any luck, he’d given her enough information to at least consider him for the project.
Walking out onto the sidewalk, he slipped his sunglasses on and took a moment to enjoy the sun on his face. It felt good. And he enjoyed the smell of the city air. In rehab, he had been up in the mountains of Colorado and it had been beautiful, but he was a city boy at heart. The noise, the people…even the smog—it made everything seem right.
After a minute, he started toward PRW’s building, where he’d parked his car. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was a little after four. Traffic was going to be a bitch, but it wasn’t as if he was in a rush to get anywhere. Well, there had been that thought of getting laid tonight, but it was something he had to think about—no need to repeat what had happened with Heather. Or what hadn’t happened. The thought made him shudder.
Pulling his keys from his pocket, he approached his Mercedes-AMG GT and used the remote to start it. The sporty convertible had been his first purchase after rehab. It was the first time he’d trusted himself to own a nice car. Now he was able to enjoy driving himself around—something he hadn’t done in years—and it felt good. It gave him a sense of pride, and then he felt foolish for it. After all, most people were capable of driving themselves around town.
And now he was one of them.
With a grin, he opened the door and slid behind the wheel and sighed with pleasure at the feel of the soft leather and how the seat hugged him. Yeah, life was good.
And if he could get Paige Walters to take a chance on him, he might be able to say that life was great.
* * *
“Brilliant. Just brilliant,” Paige murmured as she placed her trash in the pail and carefully wove her way through the crowd of people in the coffee shop. Over and over in her mind, she replayed her clumsy act of knocking her stuff to the ground.
And that was after practically orgasming while eating a cake pop.
Okay, two cake pops.
She groaned as she exited the shop and walked toward the parking garage. Why had she agreed to go for coffee with Dylan Anders? Why hadn’t she stuck to her guns and had Daisy call him with an appointment? Not only could she have avoided making an idiot out of herself, but she also could have kept her previous clueless opinion of him intact and not have to deal with the fact that he was a nice guy who seemed to get what she was trying to do.
Other than Daisy, he was the only one who seemed to get what she was doing.
And now she realized she had a fascination with tattoos. Tattoos! When Dylan had first taken off his jacket, she was shocked and a little repulsed by the sheer amount of ink on his arms. But after a little while, she couldn’t help but keep noticing the artwork and found it to be…exquisite. Beautiful. More than once she had to stop herself from reaching out and touching his arms—which, forgetting about the tattoos, were muscular and sexy—and asking him to tell her what had inspired the choices.
Why? Why him? Why couldn’t one of her favorite authors have come in and talked with her like this? Why did it have to be a scruffy, tattoo-covered rock star who not only didn’t look the part of anything she was trying to do, but who potentially would also be a distraction for…well…her and probably any female in a ten-mile radius?
Although, she had to give him credit—other than the barista who handed him their order, no one bothered him. No one came looking for autographs or pictures. He blended right into the crowd. How was that possible? When she got home, she would do a thorough Google search and see what else she could find out. Yes. That’s exactly what she’d do. As charmed as she was by him—and she truly was—she had a feeling that part of it was an act to get her to agree to have him join the campaign.
But why? Why was this such a big deal to him? He wasn’t going to be paid for it. And compared with being in one of the biggest rock bands in the world, this was nothing. It wasn’t doing anything for him on a professional level, so why was he so anxious to be a part of it? What could he gain?
If there was one thing Paige prided herself on, it was being a good judge of character. And Dylan didn’t strike her as the selfless type. He had a swagger and a confidence that seemed in direct conflict with the image she was hoping to project with this campaign.
So was this personal? Did he know someone who struggled with reading? He was clearly well read based on what he’d shared with her, so she knew he didn’t have the issue. Someone who struggled with literacy didn’t read that many books in a three-month time span. Should she decide to work with him, she’d have to ask.
With a groan, she pulled out her keys as she approached her Toyota Prius Prime. Her sporty little hybrid was shiny and new, and she loved how she was doing something good for the environment at the same time. It had been a fight to get her father to install charging stations in the company garage, but he had relented and now…
She stopped and noted that her car wasn’t charging.
“Dammit, how could I have forgotten to plug it in?” Then she remembered how she had hurried in this morning and feared she was late. Honestly, it wasn’t the first time she’d forgotten. But as she stepped closer, she saw that was the least of her problems.
She had a flat tire.
“Dang it,” she hissed. With a loud sigh, she opened the door and tossed her bags in and then popped the trunk to get at her spare tire.
Then she really started to curse.
It wasn’t until that moment she remembered how this model no longer came with a spare but with a patch kit and a pump. Great. Like she had even the slightest clue how to patch a tire! She let out an aggravated growl and slammed the trunk shut.
“Everything okay?”
Great. Just great. Turning around, she forced a smile. “Oh…hey, Dylan. What are you still doing here?”
“I wasn’t in a rush to get anywhere and I got a call, so I decided to take it rather than be distracted on the road. So…what’s going on? Everything okay with your car?”
And for the life of her, she didn’t know why her temper chose that moment to snap, but it did. “No. It’s not. And you know why?”
Dylan was about to answer, but she cut him off.
“Because life sucks, that’s why!” she cried. “Or maybe it’s just me. I forgot to put my car on the charging station. Why? Because I’m too worried about how it will look if I’m three minutes late for work! Then—because that’s not enough—my front tire is flat. Flat! It was fine this morning! And my super-new, super-cute, super-efficient, great-for-the-planet car doesn’t come with a spare tire. Oh no. That would have been too easy. No, this car comes with a patch kit and a pump. So I have more trunk space, but now I have to figure out how to patch a tire!”
“I’m sure it’s not—”
“Do you see the lighting in here? My glasses? Do I look like someone who is going to be able to spot a hole in a tire and then patch it? Take the tire off and put it back on? Do I look like I even want to?” she asked, her voice going into the hysteria category.
Slowly, Dylan climbed from his car and walked toward her. “Okay, okay. How about we call AAA or something? Maybe they can send someone to do it for you?”
While it was a completely reasonable suggestion, it pissed her off even more. “But I wanted to leave! I wa
nted to leave an hour ago! And now I’m never going to get to leave or go to the grocery store to get brownies and wine, so I can go home and Google who the heck you are!”
“Who I…? Um…”
A rather unladylike snort of disgust came out before she could stop it. “I know who you are, Dylan,” she snapped. “Sort of. But…what’s your deal?”
His dark eyes went wide. “My deal?”
“Yeah. Why would someone like you—a rock star with the whole…I don’t know…rebel-look thing going on—why would you want to be involved in something so boring as a reading campaign? It doesn’t fit. So the way I see it, there’s got to be something in it for you, or you lost a bet.”
“A bet?” he croaked. “Paige, look…I know you’re upset about your car and all but…you’re talking crazy here. Let’s call AAA or a mechanic and get your tire fixed so you can get your brownies and wine. Okay?”
If he wasn’t so darn tall, she would’ve slugged him.
It wasn’t his fault—not completely. She didn’t know if her tire was flat an hour ago, so she couldn’t say with any great certainty that he was the reason she was stuck here right now.
But she was.
“Fine,” she sighed, pulling out her cell phone. It didn’t take long to get AAA on the phone, but unfortunately, at four thirty on a Friday afternoon in downtown LA, she was going to have to wait.
Goodbye, brownies.
Goodbye, wine.
When she slipped her phone into her satchel, she looked at Dylan and gave him a weary—and apologetic—smile. “They can’t get anyone here for two hours. So…I guess I’ll hang out up in my office until they get here.”
He studied her for a minute. “Where were you going to get your brownies and wine?”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “I’ve got absolutely nothing to do right now and I feel bad that I interrupted your afternoon. Maybe I can take you to pick up what you need and this way you don’t have to sit around and wait. And besides, you seemed like you wanted to get out of the office today. It would majorly suck if you had to go inside.”
You got that right, she thought.
“I’m not going to ask you to take me grocery shopping. That’s ridiculous.”
Dylan chuckled. “Really? Why?”
“Seriously?” she asked without hiding the sarcasm. “When was the last time you went grocery shopping?”
He laughed a bit harder before saying, “Last Tuesday.” At her shocked expression, he looked a little smug. “Believe it or not, I’m not so much of a diva I can’t do things for myself.”
Somehow Paige had a feeling that wasn’t necessarily the whole truth. “So no one does your shopping for you on a usual basis?”
He shook his head. “They used to, but not for a while now. Ever since re…” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Ever since the band went on hiatus, I found I was tired of never having anything in the house I wanted to eat. It was easier to shop for myself.”
Still, she couldn’t hide her disbelief.
“And shame on you for making assumptions,” he said, leaning closer, but she could tell he was teasing.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
Tucking his hands into his front jean pockets, he gave her a lopsided grin. “So, come on. You know you don’t want to go into the office. You’ll get sucked into working, and before you know it, it will be late and everyone will be gone, and you’ll still be sitting at your desk doing the work you wanted to put aside for the weekend.” He paused. “We’ll shop and by the time we return, AAA should be here and your tire will be fixed and you’ll be free to go. What do you say?”
She’d say he was crazy, but she had a feeling that of the two of them, right then, she had clearly come off as the crazier one.
“Only if you’re sure,” she began. “I don’t want to put you in a situation where…”
“We’ve been over this already, Paige,” he said patiently. “I’m not going to cause a riot at the Whole Foods. Or anywhere, for that matter.”
For now, she’d have to take his word for it. “Okay,” she finally said. “Thanks.”
They walked over to his car and Paige was surprised when he opened the passenger door and waited for her to climb in.
Quite the gentlemanly move.
When he climbed in beside her, she noticed several things at once: First, the car was incredibly high-tech. Second, the leather seats felt like butter and hugged her like they were made for her. And third, Dylan Anders smelled really good.
Like really, really good.
So not the thing to focus on right now.
“There is a Whole Foods not too far from here,” she said.
Beside her, Dylan nodded. “I don’t live too far, so I’m familiar with it. Is that where you normally shop?”
“Um…yeah. It’s close to the office, and I go by it on my way home.”
“I love their deli department. They have some great salads,” he said conversationally. “I’m not a great cook, so I appreciate their selection of ready-to-go stuff. And their salads are always so fresh. I’ll probably grab some dinner for myself while we’re there.”
Were they seriously having this conversation? He was a rock star with one of the biggest bands in the world and this was the kind of conversation she inspired? Grocery shopping?
Well, that was a depressing thought. She was so plain and boring that this particular rock star was talking produce with her.
Fabulous.
She made a mental note to add ice cream to her list.
They made it to the store, and while she had been having an inner dialogue over the pity party that was about to be her weekend, Dylan had kept up a running dialogue about shopping and how much he was enjoying doing things for himself. Obviously, there was an extended period of time when he’d had hired help to do everything for him.
Tough to feel sorry for the poor, little, rich rock star.
“I can tell by the look on your face that you’re making assumptions again,” he said, his voice soft and somewhat close to her ear. They were walking through the produce section, and he was practically pressed up behind her as he spoke. Paige nearly jumped out of her skin.
Maybe it was his nearness. Maybe it was the heat coming off him, but either way, she wasn’t copping to it.
“This is just…bizarre to me,” she said instead.
“Because…?”
She shrugged and picked out a head of romaine. “I guess when I think of celebrities, I don’t envision them shopping for themselves. Or if they do, they’re incognito or something.”
“So if I had on a hat and sunglasses, and maybe a fake mustache, you’d feel better about this?”
The image that flashed through her mind made her laugh. “I don’t know if I’d feel better, but I’d certainly be more amused.”
“Duly noted,” he said with mock seriousness as he stepped around her and began perusing the fresh vegetables.
For almost an hour, they walked around the store, talking about everything and nothing, and Paige had to admit, it was quite…pleasant. Dylan Anders seemed like a nice guy. Genuine. So maybe she had jumped to conclusions earlier. Maybe he could make a good spokesman for the campaign. And, if she thought about it, he could add a certain edginess to the whole thing that could hit a demographic they wouldn’t have had before.
Her mind made up, Paige was willing to give him a try. Not that she was going to tell him today—she didn’t want to seem overly anxious—but she would call him on Monday and let him know. Plus, this would give her the weekend to rework some of the promotional spots to include him. And maybe his band. Oh! How cool would it be to have his band do a spot for the campaign and have her be the one to bring them back after their hiatus?
Ideas immediately began to swirl in her mind, and as much as she was enjoying wanderi
ng the grocery store with him, now all Paige could focus on was getting home, so she could finesse her ideas.
As much as it pained her to admit, maybe Ariel had been onto something. With the potential of using bigger names in pop culture, it would open up advertising opportunities—they could get onto the music sites and magazines where they could reach out to teens or get national interviews on TV! Her heart started to race with excitement at the possibilities.
Pushing past Dylan, Paige made her way toward the checkout.
“Hey!” he called after her with a small laugh. “Where’s the fire?”
Looking over her shoulder at him, she gave him a distracted smile. “Oh…um… I’m just afraid the AAA guy is going to show up sooner rather than later and thought we should wrap things up here. Is there anything else you need?”
His eyes narrowed like he wasn’t quite sure he believed her, but it lasted only a second. Then he followed her. “Nope. I’m good. I have enough to get me through the weekend.”
Paige looked at their shared cart and frowned. He had purchased an awful lot of food. Single servings. Was it possible he didn’t lead some glamorous social life like she always imagined musicians did? Would that be too personal of a question to ask?
“So…all of this is for you? For the weekend?” she asked and then immediately wanted to kick herself.
“Sure is. I had thought about going out but”—he shrugged—“I think I’d rather stay in. And besides, did you see this grilled salmon salad? That is definitely tonight’s dinner.”
Was he for real? If this was the life of a rock star, she was seriously disappointed. “Wow,” she said with a chuckle, “and here I was thinking guys like you were eating steak and lobster and caviar and drinking until dawn and then being driven home because you overindulged.”
He paled. There was no other way to describe the way his entire appearance changed. Oh God. Did she offend him? Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut?
“I mean…” she stammered, immediately trying to backpedal, “that’s the way I envisioned the life of a rock star. I didn’t mean to offend you. I guess I’ve watched too many documentaries on musicians in the eighties. It was the decade of decadence, right? I guess I didn’t think anything had changed. Sorry.” When he still didn’t move or blink, she stumbled on. “I need to stop making assumptions about you. I swear that was the last one. Really. I…I’m sorry, Dylan.”
One More Promise Page 5
