Fred’s shock was evident. “Reece Rowe? That’s who you left with?”
He squeezed his eyes shut for the briefest moment, recalling her rejection to his offered nightcap. “For the record, nothing happened.”
Simon gave a low whistle. “Rowe could certainly help.”
Rowe International was an international conglomerate. On the business scale, he didn’t even make the corporation’s radar. Vin wasn’t above asking for a favor, but— “I doubt even if Reece got me a meeting with her brother, he’d pay much attention to us.”
The grin Simon shot him was nothing less than calculated. “I was going to say get your reputation on track. She’s single, and dating her would make you look good.”
Fred closed his padfolio. “Reece is definitely the real deal. Wouldn’t hurt to be seen with her.”
Vin gritted his teeth. “I told you, I’m not interested in getting MediApp back.”
Fred removed his glasses and slid them into his front pocket. “No, but it might help us land other investors.”
The other seven men grunted their agreement, and after fifteen more minutes of business as usual, the room emptied.
Vin narrowed his eyes at the shutting door. To his boardroom. In his building.
He wanted to take his company public.
And if he had to choose business over pleasure, it would be business every time. So sure, he could lose the models for now.
But date Reece?
He considered himself a pretty confident guy when it came to business, and he’d had his share of women eager to hook up with him, but where Reece was concerned, he drew a blank. He knew nothing about the woman beyond what he’d heard in passing, which wasn’t much. She was everything he avoided in his female companions. Cool and classy with a side of snob. Dinner with her would be all maître d’ and sommelier when he preferred pizza and a beer.
He toyed with the #justlivelife band around his wrist. The one he’d worn ever since he’d come to understand his father’s dying words.
Vincent, you have one life, and when it’s over, it’s over.
He got that part. One life. Yeah. When he’d been a child, watching his dad strum his guitar with the case open on the sidewalk was the greatest thing in the world. His dad was a singer. A performer. And one day, his dad would be famous. So it didn’t matter they hadn’t had steady money or that his mother had worked in the pizza place down the street. Free pizza was the coolest thing in the whole world to a ten-year-old kid.
But then he’d entered middle school, and everything had changed.
His mom had given birth to his baby sister, so his dad had taken a job as a janitor at a private school. The Rowes had entered his life, showing Vin just how poor he was but offering him a scholarship to pursue academic success. For a while, Vin thought money equaled happiness, and yeah, it might have felt great to sell his first app for ten grand at sixteen and give the money to his parents, but they never seemed to care about money. They just kept asking him if he was happy.
It wasn’t until his father’s final words to him that Vincent understood the meaning of his time on Earth.
Forget everything but living, Vincent. Just live life.
That had become his mantra as he’d pursued his passion—technology—and after he’d shared that story in an interview, his marketing staff had made wristbands that had #justlivelife printed on them.
If anyone needed a crash course in living life, it was his all-around do-gooder neighbor. Reece Rowe.
…
We’re going out for drinks.
Reece pulled into her assigned parking space in her condo’s parking garage and read the text from Amelie. Her visit with the children at the hospital hit her harder this evening, so drinks sounded perfect. She was mid-reply when another text came through.
Don’t freak. I’m walking toward your car.
Amelie marched toward her, still wearing the formfitting dark gray sheath she’d had on when she’d left that morning. Clicking the unlock button, Reece dropped her phone in the cup holder and said, “I need to change.”
Amelie shook her head. “No time. I just got out of a very weird meeting, and I need drinks and more drinks to soothe my ruffled feathers.”
“Ruffled feathers?” She laughed as she put the car in reverse and backed out. She glanced down at her jeans and tank top that didn’t exactly fit their typical bar.
Amelie lowered the visor and used the mirror to reapply her pink passion lipstick. “Apparently, my feathers are ruffled.”
Reece blinked in surprise. “According to whom?”
Amelie puffed out a breath and ran her fingers through her dark blonde hair, fluffing the strands. “Your brother.”
“Which one?”
“Landon.” Amelie all but sneered the name.
Landon Rowe, Reece’s oldest brother and CEO of Rowe International Corporation, had been grumpy for a solid week now, so he’d probably said something to upset Amelie, to ruffle her feathers.
“I’m sorry. He can be an ass.”
“It’s not your fault. I should’ve known. I shouldn’t have agreed to a six p.m. on a Monday. That man has the most atrocious work hours.”
Though it was no secret Landon worked twenty-four seven, Reece still couldn’t imagine why he’d want to meet—
“Is he hitting you up for another donation?” Her brother often sweet-talked Amelie into opening her checkbook whenever his PR people roped him into doing something public to improve his image. What was it this time?
Amelie sighed. “I wish it were that simple. But please, get me to a bar before I recap everything.”
“Fine. So you don’t care where we go? I’m thinking Lacey’s.”
Lacey’s Concert Café had a casual bar atmosphere, and on the couple occasions they’d gone in the past, there’d been live country music. Country. Not rock, like her neighbor.
When had Vincent entered her brain? She didn’t care about his taste in music, awful or otherwise, so there was no reason Lacey’s should remind her of him. Except last night, he’d been strumming a tune on his guitar that sounded a little less rock and roll and a lot more country. Usually when he broke out his guitar, it was for a female or a group of friends, and though the tunes he played weren’t bad sounding, they weren’t country.
But really, she had more important things to think about, like why her brother wanted to meet with her best friend—
Vin Ferguson
Vin? The shortened version sounded sexy, and she looked again at his name written in neat, block chalk letters on the sandwich board in front of the entrance.
She drove around back and chose a space under the light. “Did you see that sign? It said Vin Ferguson. Do you think that’s our neighbor?”
Amelie opened the door and threw her legs out of the sedan, swiveling sideways and pushing herself upright. In the tight sheath, she looked stunning, but Reece didn’t know how her friend breathed in that outfit, let alone how she’d consume any liquids. “Probably. We’ve heard him play for his women.” Amelie reached back into the car for her purse. “And we both know he sounds sexy as hell.”
With a little smile, Reece said, “You’re not wrong.”
As they walked toward the entrance, Amelie nudged Reece. “Do I detect a hint of interest? You never did say what happened when he walked you home from the fundraiser on Friday.”
“Nothing happened.” Which bothered her more than she wanted to admit, considering she’d been the one to say no to the nightcap. Since when did she want something with Vincent Ferguson? The man made his preference for young models well known, and she didn’t expect one fundraiser to change that.
“But you’re interested?” Amelie asked, her tone more serious than teasing.
She wasn’t. At least she didn’t want to be. It was just that…well…he’d walked her home, and it had been sweet. And he’d smelled so delicious. “He’s not my type.” And she certainly wasn’t his.
Amelie pursed her lips.
“True. You tend to date the boring ones.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, but we can’t all be you, running off on risky adventures.” Even if she wanted to. Amelie didn’t understand—her friend didn’t have to worry about what her parents thought.
“Why not?” With a short gasp, Amelie pointed a manicured nail at Reece. “You know what your problem is?”
She hadn’t known she had a problem, but Amelie’s weird mood must have something to do with Landon, so she hooked her arm through her friend’s and said, “Tell me.”
“You look at every guy as a potential boyfriend, and when they don’t live up to your expectations, you break up with them.”
She furrowed her brow. “That’s not a problem. That’s economizing my time. Why stay with someone when it isn’t going anywhere?” Or when they were using her to get close to Landon? Or when they told her she was lucky to be adopted by the Rowes because most abandoned babies didn’t end up with trust funds?
Amelie narrowed her eyes. “Your whole family does it. Assesses every date as if it’s the last one. Why? We’re young. We have time. No need to rush forward. Jump into anything headfirst. We have careers to build. Right? I want a career. That’s what people do after college. They get careers.”
What? This sounded like it had nothing to do with her. Had Landon brought up Amelie’s lack of career? Her brother was an ass.
“So what if he’s”—Amelie did the air quotes—“not your type. You should date for fun, not for forever.”
Okay, back to the dating. “Why would I waste my time with insincere connections?” She’d been raised by a mother who insisted every connection should progress toward something. No relationship—business or personal—should be without meaning.
Amelie rolled her eyes. “Fun, Reece. You need to date for fun.”
Chapter Three
Lacey’s Concert Café had become a fixture in the South Beach social scene, and Vin played there on any Monday night he could manage from eight to ten. He never saw himself as a serious artist, not like his dad, but the strumming relaxed him, and Lacey swore advertising the CEO of Ferguson Holdings as her entertainment boosted otherwise slow sales.
He had a preset playlist, but every now and again he’d pluck out one of his dad’s original tunes. Nothing complicated, but every single song was an ode to the stereotypical Monday night need to drink after a hard day back to work. And tonight, more than most, he needed help to relax.
His conversation with his board still stuck in his head, and short of propositioning Reece—“hey, let’s date to help my chances at landing this investor who dropped me”—his options were limited. Sure, step one would be no longer dating the young hopefuls. He’d started it as a way to support the local artists, models, and musicians, and it became his thing. Still, lately, they made him feel…old. But the women his age either tried to change him or expected him to settle down, and he hadn’t met anyone yet he’d want to spend every single day with for the rest of his life.
“Amelie Archer just walked in.”
He’d been friends with Marco since Lacey’s had opened, and in that time, the man had gone through a serious breakup and overcome an almost debilitating car accident. He’d met Amelie when he’d DJ-ed at a festival, and they’d shared an intense four minutes at the crosswalk.
“Anytime you want me to introduce you, I will, you know.”
Marco drew the last cord and grinned up at Vin. “Unless I add four or five more zeros to the end of my taxable income, Amelie will never see me as a potential partner.”
Marco was a great guy, but he was right. “It’s her loss.”
Marco shrugged. “I’m heading back to the sound booth. See you at break.”
If Amelie was there, did that mean Reece was with her? His pulse kicked up a notch. The two women were practically joined at the hip. As he scanned the entrance, the bar area, and the booths, he saw only shadows with the stage lights blinding him, so unless Reece walked directly under an audience lamp, he had no real way to see her.
Didn’t matter.
Or at least it shouldn’t.
He had a set to play, and whether or not Reece Rowe was in the audience shouldn’t interest him.
But just in case she was—he ran his palms down the thighs of his jeans and took a deep breath—his first song would be “Friends in Low Places” by Garth Brooks. That song always had him remembering Reece in her fancy dress, cringing at his dirty hands.
Had Simon really suggested he date her?
It wasn’t the worst idea. Now that he’d had time to process the situation, dating someone steady through the summer had merit. Plus, it wasn’t like he’d be using her for her family connections. Just her stellar reputation. But that somehow seemed worse. Dangerous.
Because ever since the fundraiser, she’d caught his attention in a way he couldn’t pinpoint, and that bothered him. She wasn’t his usual type. Not blonde. Not a model. Not an entertainer. He’d never backed down from a challenge, but something stopped him. And it had nothing to do with the revenge-y feeling of dating the girl too good for him. Or the prospect he might be able to win her over with some serious charm. No.
This feeling of hesitation, of uncertainty, had more to do with the excitement making his chest tight and his heart pound. He didn’t feel like this unless it was related to business, his company, or a new tech product.
For him to feel like this over a woman…no. Just. No.
…
No question, the man could sing.
Reece sipped her tall glass of cool white wine and let the deep, raspy tone of the song seduce her. She couldn’t look away, and she didn’t want to. The way Vincent Ferguson—Vin—wore that chambray shirt and jeans ignited wicked fantasies she’d never act upon. He had that rough and ready look promising one hell of an adventure. Stupid Amelie for putting the idea into her head. She’d had her fair share of dates with smooth talkers over the years, but nothing, no one, gave her stomach the low ache like the guy singing about complicated being overrated.
This guy was a thousand times removed from her rock music-listening neighbor or the hard-ass CEO she thought she’d come to know. How many different faces did the man have? Now, she could add sexy country crooner to self-made tech guru millionaire playboy philanthropist.
He wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met, and maybe that said something sad about the people she kept company with. Her thoughts flew back to Friday night, when she’d been bored right up until Vin had followed her home. And here she was, standing at the far end of the bar, being seduced by her neighbor’s deep voice.
Why did the man have to sing country? It was her one weakness.
When the owner of the café approached her with a fresh glass of wine, Reece asked her, “How did you convince the CEO of Ferguson Holdings to sing for you?”
Lacey set down the Pinot Grigio on the bar and picked up the empty. “Short story is my investor, Simon Dimistar, is on Vin’s board, and when we opened, Simon sent him in here to audition. He’s played quite a few Monday nights since.”
How intriguing. She didn’t know Lacey well enough to ask for more details, so she settled with, “Wow. That’s so cool.”
The owner smirked. “Sure is. The group over there is most of his programming team. Monday night regulars.”
The young twentysomethings took up three tables to the left side of the stage. Even from where she stood, Reece could see several pitchers of beer and lots of empty plates. “Ah. Must be good for business.”
“I love my regulars.” She turned her head at someone else calling her name, and before walking away to help another customer, she said, “Let me know if you need anything else.”
Reece saw her brother walk in at the same time Amelie scoffed, picked up her purse, and brushed by him. Without pausing, Landon turned and followed Amelie outside. Reece almost followed her friend but instead stood rooted to the spot. Vin ended his set, resting his guitar on the stand and sauntering down the steps of the stage, grinning
and waving at people as he made his way to the back of the café. The man certainly knew how to work a crowd, his easy charm visible even from across the room.
As Vin drew nearer, the sound guy stepped out of the booth. “Great set, Vin.”
Vin clapped the guy on the shoulder and turned him toward the bar. “Thanks, man. What do they have on tap tonight?”
She knew the exact moment Vin spotted her, not because their gazes caught and held, but because her entire body flushed with heat under his warm appraisal.
“Reece, wow, you look”—he grinned, ran a hand through his hair, and shook his head—“amazing.”
No question. Being charmed Friday night by CEO Vincent was dangerous, but being flirted with by this Vin, country singer in the chambray shirt, was lethal. He sounded so genuine in his compliment, and the way he glanced at her with those intense whiskey-colored eyes filled with promise…
It was suddenly very hot in the café, despite the chilly air conditioning and her wearing only a tank top and jeans.
“You look good, too.” She waved her hand. “Chambray suits you, and I like the name—Vin.”
He gave her a warm smile. “Oh yeah. Most people do call me Vin. Even in the office.”
Was that permission for her to call him by the nickname? She had a strange sense of satisfaction they’d breached the formalities wall. In all their interactions, she’d only ever used Vincent, and he’d never corrected her. “I have to admit, I’ve heard you play your guitar at the condo, but here, I mean, you’re really great. Not very CEO-like. Are you sure you’re not his twin?” She snapped her mouth shut to keep from gushing any more.
He chuckled and gestured to her tank top. “Looks like we’re both a bit out of character tonight.”
On most days, she ran around in jeans and tank tops. But Vin didn’t know that. In fact, she guessed he’d seen her only in passing on her way to an official function, so maybe he really did think she wore suits and ball gowns all the time. Inwardly, she sighed. Sometimes the self-inflicted image was tiresome.
Reforming the CEO (South Beach) Page 3
