Calvin leaned forward, rubbing his temples. “I already told you; it’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“You were discussing me on the phone. You know how I feel about being toyed with. Why won’t you just tell me? It was about me.”
“Look,” he said, blue eyes darkening. “It’s a long story and I can promise you it isn’t something that affects the way things are between us now. Trust me; it’s for your own good.”
“Calvin,” I said, returning his stare, although I had a feeling this battle was already lost. “You said no more games. You promised me.” I didn’t care how desperate I sounded; I needed to know that he wasn’t screwing with me.
He grabbed my hand and squeezed. “I meant what I said. This is something to do with the original contract that needed to get sorted out.”
I sucked on my lower lip, eyes searching his face, wanting to believe him. He sounded genuine, no trace of deception. If he said I didn’t want to know, maybe I really didn’t want to know. Relenting, I exhaled deeply. “I’m not happy about this…” I said, “but I will give you the benefit of the doubt. For now.”
Calvin sat back in his chair. “Good. Don’t leave like that again. Understand?”
I felt myself nodding. He’s irresistible, why pretend otherwise?
“Let me make it up to you. May I take you to dinner?” he asked and for the first time in the conversation, he sounded almost vulnerable. A small, hopeful smile curved his lips.
I couldn’t help returning it with one of my own, feeling my frustration begin to melt. “Sure,” I said. “I’d like that.”
“Good. I have one more meeting, and then I’ll pick you up at your hotel. Does 5:30 work for you?”
“Mm-hmm,” I answered, already planning my outfit. Peep-toe shoes? Check.
***
When Calvin pulled up in front of the Gansevoort, I was already waiting outside, eager to see what he had planned.
“Mmmm, gorgeous,” he said when I got in the car, and I felt his eyes caress me, taking in the clingy skirt, exploring my smooth calves. I’d spent plenty of extra time on exfoliating, shaving, and moisturizing today. I wanted his hands to soon be where his eyes were now.
“I blushed. Despite all the effort, including an extra twenty minutes perfecting a smoky cat-eye, I felt plain next to him. “You look pretty good yourself.” He hadn’t changed, but had discarded his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He was sexily, disheveled, powerful, gorgeous… and I knew his appeal was effortless.
“How hungry are you?” he asked.
“Not very,” I said. “I had a late lunch.” By which I meant the skinny cappuccino I’d had in the café, but I wasn’t going to spell that out. No way he’d approve. “Why?”
”I’d like to take you somewhere first,” Calvin said. His eyes sparkled. He didn’t offer to say where, and I had a feeling he wanted to surprise me.
I smiled, biting my tongue. ”Sounds good,” I answered.
In a few minutes, we’d pulled up to an unmarked white building. The sun was just beginning to set, and warm colors reflected from the mirrored skyscrapers.
“After you,” said Calvin, holding the door of the building open for me.
Vivid splashes of color lit the wall, and I realized we were in an art gallery. “You seemed fascinated by the paintings in my office,” Calvin said.
I blushed… again. Stop blushing, Sabrina. “They were unusual,” I said, “intriguing. I like Baroque art, and they reminded me of that… but a bit more… edgy.” ”
Calvin smiled, seeming pleased that his observation had been correct… I was fascinated.. “The artist who did those pieces is showcasing his new collection tonight.”
”Oh, wow,” I said, sincerely excited. Enough so that I forgot to be embarrassed. “I love gallery showings, I can’t wait to see more of his art.”
“What piqued your interest in art?” Calvin asked. “Since your major is dancing?”
“Art is art,” I said. “I like Baroque art because it parallels what I love about dancing in so many ways. Strong, expressive, emotional pieces, dramatic motion, stylized figures… I think an interest in visual art has inspired me to be a better dancer, too.” I paused to catch my breath and realized I was rambling excitedly. Don’t blush again, I thought. “Anyway,” I finished lamely, “I took fine arts electives whenever I could.”
But Calvin was smiling, and squeezed my hand. I loved making him smile. Before our conversation could continue, a server appeared, offering hors d’oeuvres. I politely declined. I’d have to eat in front of Calvin, obviously, but I’d minimize it when I could. I was feeling a bit light-headed already, but I was determined to persevere.
We spent an hour lost in the paintings, arguing over the painter’s intention, deciding which pieces were our favorites. Calvin was articulate in his opinions, and I could tell he put much thought into analyzing each work. It turned out that we were drawn to similar paintings, both deciding that we preferred the artist’s oils to watercolors.
“Now, are you hungry?” Calvin asked, as we stepped on to the sidewalk, back into the night. “I have reservations at the best Italian restaurant in the city.”
I just nodded, with a smile. You have no idea, I thought, the acidic espresso from earlier having done little to dampen my appetite.
***
The restaurant was gorgeous, dimly lit and intimate, small lanterns on every table, illuminating the small space with a warm glow. “Welcome to Cipriani,” a waiter greeted us, handing us menus as we settled in our chairs.
“You’re full of surprises, Sabrina,” Calvin said. “I enjoy learning about your passions,” he said.
He means the paintings, I told myself. But his seductive tone indicated he could mean much more. Don’t get your hopes up, Sabs, I scolded myself.
A sommelier returned with wine, and I watched Calvin sample it and approve, a picture of sexy refinement. The waiter returned as well, to ask about appetizers.
“Do you mind if I order dinner while we have him here? I’m famished,” he asked me. “I’ll order a few of their best dishes.”
“Please do,” I said, happy to skip the anxiety of decoding the huge menu.
Calvin pointed to a few things on the menu before turning back to me. “So, tell me more about your interest in art,” he said. “You downplayed it earlier, but one doesn’t toss out terms like chiaroscuro without having studied.”
”It wasn’t really until I was in college that I started learning about it,” I said. “Dance doesn’t leave a lot of time… or energy… to pursue other interests. But of course, I had to take classes other than dance. I started with a semester of art history 101 and was hooked. I realized that the visual arts really spoke to me, as a dancer. It’s all about putting aside words and expressing things that are… raw… and refined… beautiful, painful…” I trailed off. “Words aren’t enough sometimes,” I finished, quietly.
Calvin nodded, leaning toward me and taking my hand across the table. “Very perceptive.”
Those two simple words (and, of course, his amazing eyes looking deep into my own) took my breath away.
“And of course,” I said, needing to lessen the intensity just a bit, for my own sanity, “Art doesn’t just about individuals—it’s about society. We had a field trip for one class, and saw the paintings of an Italian artist whose work actually started political controversy. Which is one thing to read about in a history book, but when I finally stood in front of one of his paintings, you could just feel the raw power of it.” While I was speaking, Calvin’s face grew more rapt, eyes shining brightly. Finally, I stopped, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Salvator Rosa,” Calvin said. “You saw a Salvator Rosa exhibit.”
My eyes widened, “Yes, how’d you know?”
Calvin smiled, resting his head in his hand. “Not too many people know his work. He’s one of my favorite artists, very underrated. And there was a huge Fort Worth exhibit just las
t year.”
The waiter came with the food, and refilled the wine glasses.
“Have you mentioned this to me before?” I asked.
Calvin chuckled. “I don’t believe so. The man’s a genius though. I own a few of his pieces. I’ll show them to you.”
”That would be incredible,” I said. “His paintings actually were a big part of why I refused to give up dance, even though my parents weren’t very supportive. You can’t look at one of his works and not know how powerful artistic expression can be. It’s not a pointless hobby, it’s one of our greatest achievements as human beings.”
“I don’t know whether there’s anything more important than doing, and sharing what you love,” Calvin said.
“I think Rosa would agree with you. One of his quotations says, ‘Our wealth must consist in things of the spirit.’ You don’t have to be religious to understand that,” I said.
Calvin’s lips curved into an appreciative smile. “So, tell me, Sabrina, what about the wealth in your bank account? What are you planning to do with the money you’ve earned in this deal?”
“I’ve thought a lot about it,” I said. To him $3 million wasn’t much, but he had to know that it was a fortune to me. “My first impulse is to do what I can to develop as a dancer. The hard truth of the matter is that I don’t have very many years to perform professionally, if I can even make the grade to start with. Physical strength, demand for certain body types, all that means that if I want a chance to dance on stage for a living, it’s got to be soon. Most professionals retire from the stage at 35… and it takes some time to start out, to be recognized, to become part of a prestigious dance company. The program I’m in is very good, but there’s a world class program in Boston that my parents wouldn’t consider, even though I have a good chance at being accepted. That’ll be the first thing I try. This money will give me the means to devote myself completely to dance, to see if I really have what it takes to make a career out of performing. If that falls through, then I will be able to start up my own teaching studio once I finish school.”
“A girl with a plan,” Calvin said. “I like that.” Between the way Calvin looked at me and the sweet haze of the wine, I felt giddy.
“I’m sorry for leaving Chicago,” I said suddenly. “I didn’t tell you, but Brandon—my ex-fiancé—called me that morning. I freaked. I was scared, worried that I couldn’t trust anyone, not even you. I can’t handle thinking something’s going on behind my back, at the best of times, and I was already a wreck that day.”
Calvin set down his wineglass and leaned forward, covering my hand with his. “I wish you would have told me.”
“I was going to,” I said softly. “But then I heard the phone call, and I panicked.”
“What’d he say to you?”
“He wanted me to come back to Dallas. Until he found out that something had happened between us. Then…” I looked down. “Well, he said some pretty ugly things. He thinks I should be ashamed for what I did.”
When I looked up at Calvin, his face was carefully controlled, but his eyes were on fire. “I think it’s a little more complicated than that. What I’m thinking is what must have happened to you to react the way you did. There are people who would do something like that on a whim, but I have a feeling you’re not one of them.”
“I know. I know I shouldn’t even care what he says. Especially after what he did. How does someone even do that to the person he loves? I just don’t understand.” I pushed a carrot around my plate.
Calvin shook his head. “When you love someone, you should protect her.” He was quiet for a moment. “But not everyone thinks that way.” He sounded sad, reminiscent. “How long were you with Brandon?”
“About two years. I thought he really loved me, thought he accepted me for me. He knew… everything about me, Calvin,” I said. Tears welled up but I blinked them away. “And it’s not all, you know, pretty. He knew the good and the bad. I thought that meant… more than it did, I guess. He was the one person that knew everything, and seemed to love me anyway. Seemed to actually accept me. Before, well, before he did what he did… he wasn’t ever harsh, he was easy to please. But I guess in the end he was just… easy.” I stopped, knowing my tone was turning bitter.
“You didn’t feel accepted by your family?” Calvin asked.
“No. I was never good enough for them. One of my first dance performances, for example—I was just a little girl—we did a great job. The teacher praised me especially, and was saying all of these kind things to my mother about me. And then when she walked away, my mom just pointed out another little girl, one who didn’t even do very well in the performance, and said, ‘Look how nice and trim she in her leotard, Sabrina. You could look like that if you tried. And it wasn’t so much that she was critical, it’s that she didn’t even notice the good things, you know?” I sighed. “Mothers.” I looked up and caught my breath. Except he didn’t even have one, and you’re complaining and complaining about yours, way to be sensitive, Sabrina.
Calvin read my face, and smiled gently. “It’s okay, Sabrina,” he said. “So, well, Brandon was my first love,” I said, trying to get back on track. “But it was a big deal for other reasons, like the family thing, too. Have you ever been in love?” I asked. “No,” he answered.
“No? Just no? Care to elaborate?” I teased, taking another sip of my wine.
He shot me a roguish smile. “Just no. I’m a busy man.”
“Do you want to be in love?”
“I believe in passion. And pleasure.” A tingle worked its way into my stomach as his eyes burned into mine. “But love? Love is dangerous.”
“Maybe, I’m dumb,” I said, the wine lowering my inhibitions. “But even though my heart was crushed, I don’t believe you. I think that real love, it heals. It doesn’t hurt. It can be scary… but it can save you, too.”
He smiled a slow, sorrowful smile. “I wish I could agree.”
“Another bottle of wine, sir?” Our waiter shattered the silence, and I set my empty glass on the table.
“Yes, thank you,” Calvin said. He frowned at my plate, noticing I’d barely touched the filet or potatoes, only snacking on a few glazed carrots. “Sabrina, do you want to order something else? Can you bring us the menu, please?”
The waiter nodded and shuffled off. “If you don’t like it,” he said. “Pick something else. I’ll have him take this plate away.”
“No,” I protested. “Really, it’s delicious. I’m just not that hungry. I think I filled up on the appetizers at the art show.” I regretted it when I saw his brow furrow. He’s way to detail oriented to buy that, Sabs. He knows you didn’t touch the food.
“I’ll have him bring another entrée.”
“No!” I said, more loudly than I intended. Carefully, I lowered my voice. “I mean—no, please. Everything is delicious. I don’t want the restaurant to go to any more trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. I just want to make sure you don’t go hungry.”
“I’m not hungry,” I hissed, verging on hysterical. “Please, Calvin, just drop it.”
He studied me for a moment before nodding. “Sure,” he said, waving the waiter off when he returned, toting a menu. “Actually, just the bottle of wine is fine, thanks.”
I took a deep breath, not wanting to ruin the evening with my compulsions. “So, when did you become so interested in art?”
Calvin rubbed his hand over his jaw. This late in the day, he was getting a sexy five o’clock shadow. My mind wandered, thinking of his rough cheek against my neck. I snapped back to reality as he spoke.
“A couple of years ago when I was visiting the Met for the first time. I’d just got started on my own. I instituted a corporate culture program where, once a month, all employees were given a day to explore the city, cultivate a passion. Juliette invited me with her to see an exhibition that her friend curated, and since then, I’ve been hooked.”
“Corporate culture? Are you like the world’s b
est boss or something?”
Calvin smiled. “People do better work for a good boss. Seriously, though, there were a few reasons for it. One, it’s important for employees to know they’re appreciated. Two, cultivating any higher passion betters the person—and the person as an employee. And three, as you learned with fine arts and dance, these pursuits can give people a new perspective. Fresh perspectives are vital in business. So, yes, I want to be a good boss, but it’s not entirely selfless.”
“I’m impressed,” I said. “My dad’s a partner at a law firm, and he gets pissed if one of his attorneys has a ‘family emergency.’”
He shrugged. “People’s philosophies differ,” he said. “Mine has worked very well for me so far.”
And how, I thought. You’re one of the most successful men on the planet.
After we finished the bottle of wine, Calvin paid the bill and tucked his arm around my waist, escorting me out of the restaurant. We didn’t discuss where we were going after dinner, but when I buckled my seat belt, I closed my eyes and made a silent wish that he’d take me back to his house. I didn’t want the evening to end. My heart sank when we passed the interstate on-ramp, instead, taking the street that led directly to my hotel.
When Calvin pulled into the valet, he shut off the engine, unbuckling his seat belt to face me. His hand rested gently on my thigh, and he began to rub circles with his thumb. I held my breath as he leaned forward, brushing his lips against mine. He pulled back and interlaced his fingers with mine.
“I’m glad you told me about your family. And what happened with Brandon. I know how difficult it is to share those things with someone. I appreciate it.”
My heart beat wildly in my chest. “I thought you should know,” I said softly. “I wanted you to know.”
Calvin rested his head against the back of his seat. “I didn’t have it easy growing up, either. I know what it’s like to feel alone, to feel not good enough. My dad was…” He trailed off, looking for the right words. “His frustration left bruises. When he got angry, he was out for blood, and I was an easy target.”
Chambers of Desire: Opus 1 Page 15
