Normally, I wouldn’t think of drinking alcohol during something work related, but I suspected I would need at least one to get through the night. “White zinfandel, please.”
He nodded and disappeared. Someone else brought my drink a few minutes later, then I went back to waiting anxiously. I’d only met Brandon Frere once, a few weeks after I’d started working at the magazine. It wasn’t until chatting with Emily earlier that I’d even remembered the encounter. I’d still been learning the ropes, at the time, and did little more than stand behind Mr. Gabriel as he made comments on the set and lighting, which Brandon seemed intent to ignore.
When the host reappeared with a tall blonde man following him, who looked to be not quite ten years my senior, I quickly stood and extended my hand to him. “Mr. Frere, thank you for coming. I’m Reagan Castell.”
“Please, call me Brandon,” he said as we shook.
We took our seats across from each other, but Brandon kept his gaze fixed on me. “When Donovan called earlier today to apologize that he wouldn’t make it to dinner and was sending someone else, I expected Marie.”
Why hadn’t Mr. Gabriel asked Marie to stand in for him? It was ultimately her decision, anyway. I had no power to alter the offer if Brandon wasn’t satisfied. Honestly, I was a lousy choice for this meeting. Brandon didn’t exactly seem displeased by my presence, but he was clearly curious as he watched me attempt to come up with a response.
“I’m in charge of image acquisition and work directly with all our photographers,” I explained with false confidence. “Mr. Gabriel wanted to make sure we’d work well together. He’s pretty much already sold on hiring you if he can convince Marie you’re the best option.”
Brandon smiled. “Ah, Marie. She and I worked together, years back, and she still holds it against me that I stayed at Rousseau after she left.”
“Were you involved back then?” I asked, and immediately wished I hadn’t. I knew better than to ask personal, illegal, questions at an interview. A blush spread across my cheeks, making Brandon smile slowly.
He leaned forward, one elbow on the table at a casual angle, and shook his head. “No, Ms. Castell. Marie is not my type, being that she’s a woman. She was, however, a good friend who thought my career would be better served following her around like a puppy, as if only under her guidance could my talent truly be realized.” His smile widened. “Clearly, that wasn’t the case. She holds that against me as well.”
Our conversation was interrupted as the waitress returned with Brandon’s drink and stayed to take our entrée orders. She disappeared after that, but my curiosity had been piqued and couldn’t be resisted. “Does Mr. Gabriel know about your history with Marie?” I asked.
Brandon laughed. “Yes, Donovan is well aware of Marie’s feelings toward me, which is why I was surprised he didn’t push her into sitting down with me to force her to tell me face to my face that I wasn’t the best candidate.”
He leaned back in his chair, considering me to the point I had to resist the urge to squirm beneath his gaze. Finally, I was forced to speak up. “I hope you’re not offended he sent me instead. Mr. Gabriel sincerely wants you to join the magazine.”
“Not offended,” he said, “just curious.”
“Curious? About what?”
Brandon smiled, a challenge lurking at the edges. “What were your instructions for this meeting?”
Hesitating, I debated how honest I should be. There seemed to be something behind his question, but I couldn’t figure out what and didn’t actually have anything to hide. “He told me to convince you to accept the offer Marie plans to extend to her choice, and do a test shoot at the studio tomorrow so he can take the proofs to Marie as a means to convince her you’re the best.”
“Marie knows I’m the best,” he said, his tone more matter-of-fact than arrogance.
“You won’t do the shoot?” I asked, my heart rate inching up as I began to fear I’d already failed.
Brandon considered my question. “The shoot won’t convince Marie to hire me. She already knows what I can do. She wants to see if I can complete an assignment without making too many demands or stirring up trouble.”
I cringed inwardly, remembering Emily’s story about him walking off a shoot. If he threw a fit about something, would that change Mr. Gabriel’s mind as well? I feared it would, but surely he knew Brandon well enough to know his temperament. “So, will you do the shoot, or not?” I asked.
Brandon frowned. “I’ll do it, but I do have one demand.”
Bracing myself and hoping I could give him what he wanted, I asked, “And what would that be?”
“I want you to sit for me.”
“What?”
Our first course arrived, curtailing the conversation. I didn’t hear anything the waitress said as she set out the salads and mentioned something about soup. Brandon seemed to have no trouble at all, and chatted amiably with her until she excused herself. Then his attention focused back on me.
“Well, do we have a deal or not?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I’m not a model.”
“No, you’re the image acquisitions manager and, if I’m not mistaken, the print layout manager as well.”
Not entirely sure how he knew I was the print layout manager, I was too focused on his request to question him. “Why would you want me to sit for you? I wouldn’t have the first clue what to do.”
“You’ve watched enough photoshoots, I’m sure you’d manage.”
“But why?” I asked.
His lips curled upward, a teasing smile that put me on edge because I didn’t understand the joke. “Why? Because the shoot is for an article on the best ways to light a set when shooting bare skin, isn’t it?”
Wondering how he knew that, as well, I regarded him warily. “Yes,” I said cautiously, “but I still don’t see what that has to do with me?”
“As your dress so excellently reveals, you have beautiful skin. A difficult tone to light correctly. Pale, creamy, flawless, such a challenge not to blow out the exposure,” he said, still wearing that same teasing smile. “If Donovan wants an article that will truly be useful to photographers, I need you in front of my camera tomorrow.”
I knew there was some kind of game going on of which I wasn’t aware of. Brandon appeared to know my boss well enough to address him by his first name, and had a less than ideal history with Marie. There was no doubt in my mind it was a ploy, but I had no idea who it was targeted at, and whether or not it was a bad thing. If Brandon was just trying to prove some kind of point before taking the job, wouldn’t that be a good thing? Mr. Gabriel had told me to do my best to convince him to do the test shoot. It was a simple thing to sit for him. Even if it turned out to be awkward, if it convinced Brandon to sign the contract, it would be worth it, wouldn’t it?
“Okay,” I said slowly.
Brandon’s mouth split into a Cheshire grin. “Perfect. Now why don’t we enjoy our meal together? Work can wait until tomorrow.”
He dug in while I hesitated picking up my fork. My gut told me I’d walked into something I didn’t understand. I had the uncomfortable feeling of being an insect caught in some clever spider’s web. There wasn’t much I could do about it by that point, so I took a bite of my salad and kept a close eye on Brandon.
THREE
Right Frame of Mind
Marie squeezed my shoulder as she walked by. I hovered at the door of the banquet room, not ready to face the crowd of guests and the purpose for this fundraiser. I knew her parents were around somewhere, and that they’d expect me to say something later. Unsure of whether or not I was capable of that, I was avoiding running into them for as long as possible.
“Hiding?” A familiar voice mocked. “I can’t imagine why. Honestly, I’m shocked you even showed up.”
“I was invited,” I said, my voice tight nearly to the point of snapping.
“Purely out of politeness, I’m sure.”
Turning to look at him, I met
his gaze head on and immediately wanted to beat the fucking smirk off his face. “You’re the only one who blames me for her death, Cyrus. Leave me the fuck alone.”
He pushed away from the wall, a falsely civil smile on his face. Bastard. “Now, that’s not true, is it? I can’t be the only one who blames you for Keira’s death, because you blame yourself even more than I do.”
Having accomplished his goal of both infuriating and embarrassing me, Cyrus walked away to greet another guest. I didn’t realize my hands were clenched into fists until an ache spread through my knuckles, begging me to release the pressure I was putting on them. I shook my hands out quickly and stuffed them in my pockets. I had never liked Cyrus, and that hadn’t improved with Kiera’s death, but if I continued to hide it would only fuel his mockery and hatred.
It took a focused effort to remove the scowl from my face and begin making my way through the crowd. I forced myself to mingle, to thank people for coming, even though it wasn’t my event. They all assumed I was involved in its inception rather than having been reluctantly dragged into it. My phone buzzed while speaking to a couple I knew had donated rather generously to the foundation, but I felt strangled by the attention and quickly excused myself.
Once I was safely in the hall outside the banquet room, I checked my notifications, needing a distraction, and tapped on a text from Ben. I grimaced as I read his enthusiastic description of how Reagan looked in the green dress. Struggling to come up with a response more mature than asking for a picture, my desire to not be at the banquet grew to frustrating proportions.
I knew I couldn’t leave without embarrassing Keira’s parents, but thinking about Reagan having to face down Brandon Frere not only made me feel like an asshole, it also made me desperate to rescue her. There was nothing I could do about that now. Later, though, I knew she’d be feeling the same way I already felt by that point and would need something to take the edge off. Perhaps in more ways than one. Marie’s insistence that I settle things with Reagan kept replaying in my mind. If there was a night I needed a woman to at least talk to, this was it. I sent Ben a quick text, changing plans yet again, and hoped Reagan wouldn’t hate me by the end of the night.
***
Exhausted, I texted Ben as soon as Brandon and I parted ways. His promise of remaining nearby was clearly kept when he pulled up to the entrance barely two minutes later. He was opening my door before I could attempt to do it myself. After thanking him and climbing into the SUV, I collapsed against the seat.
Two hours of torture. The entire meal, Brandon was a perfect gentleman, but I could see it in every expression and hear it in every word he spoke that I was the butt of someone’s joke. I hated to think Mr. Gabriel had used me in some way. Perhaps the awkwardness I felt interacting with Brandon had more to do with his motivations than my boss’s. I had no idea and was too tired to figure it out.
We had been driving for several minutes before I realized Ben wasn’t taking me back to the office. My clothes and car were still there. The clothes weren’t a big deal, but I needed to pick up my car so I could get to work in the morning.
“Ben, I need to go back to the office, not home. Can you turn around?”
Glancing back at me, Ben frowned. “I’m not taking you home, and I’m not supposed to take you back to the office. Mr. Gabriel is waiting. Didn’t he tell you he wanted to meet and go over Mr. Frere’s answer?”
I shook my head. “He told me to call him when I was done. Which I was going to once I got back to the office.”
Ben shrugged. “I guess he changed his mind, because I’m supposed to take you to meet him.” He glanced back at me again and frowned. “Is that okay? It’s what he wanted, but I can take you back to the office if you really want me to.”
I could hear the regret in his voice that I might ask him to disobey his boss. Sighing, I said, “It’s fine, I guess. I wish he’d update me as well as he does you, though.”
Ben gave me a sympathetic look before turning his attention back to the road. Leaning my head against the cool glass of the window, I watched the buildings disappear into the night. When the upscale storefronts and restaurants began to morph into places Ben and his friends were more likely to hang out, a hint of concern began to creep up my spine. Did Ben really have instructions to take me to Mr. Gabriel, or was this some misguided attempt at a romantic gesture. It really didn’t seem like him, but this area also wasn’t somewhere I thought Mr. Gabriel would spend time.
I sat up straight as Ben pulled to the curb in front of a worn-looking tavern. Not only would I truly stick out in a place like that while wearing a dress worth several thousand dollars, I was afraid of what sort of attention walking in might bring. Turning to ask Ben if he was sure about the address, I saw he’d already stepped out of the SUV. A second later, my door popped open and I jumped at the noise.
“He’s waiting for you inside,” Ben said. “Do you want me to walk you in before I head home?”
“Home?” I asked, hating the fearful squeak in my voice.
“Yeah. Mr. Gabriel said he’d take you back to the office when you guys are done talking.” He frowned, considering for the first time that I might not be okay with that. “If you’d rather I wait…”
Honestly, I didn’t know what sounded less bizarre by that point. I took a deep breath and told myself I was being ridiculous. “No, that’s fine. Go home. Mr. Gabriel can drive me back.”
Ben grinned. “Great.” He pushed my door closed and turned back, a shy smile on his face. “You look really nice, by the way. I meant to tell you that earlier.”
“Thanks.” I held back the chuckle bubbling in my chest. He really was cute, but too young and too innocent. I watched him scurry back to the driver’s side and climb in before turning toward the tavern. Trying to put aside how odd the night had been and how much I really didn’t want to be there, I forced myself to breathe and calm down.
There was no one at the door to open it for me as there had been at Brie, so I gripped the heavy brass door pull and was surprised when it swung open easily. One or two of the patrons nearest the doors glanced up at me, one blinking in surprise as he took in my dress and what my dress wasn’t covering. He looked away quickly when he realized I saw him staring. Sighing, I scanned the room for Mr. Gabriel.
When I finally spotted him, I was surprised to realize he was watching me. Slightly annoyed he hadn’t met me at the door, or at least gotten up to greet me and make sure I didn’t stand there looking for him all night, I frowned when he waved me toward him. I didn’t appreciate being beckoned like a pet. His bossiness and forgetting to keep me in the loop were seriously grating on my nerves, despite how good he looked in a tux. The dinner with Brandon was too stressful to be followed up by this sort of thing.
Standing when I approached his booth, Mr. Gabriel smiled. “I’m sorry about having Ben drag you across town like this. My dinner plans were rather draining and I needed a drink afterward.” He shook his head, making me worry his meeting had gone badly, though I had no clue what it had been about. His gaze refocused on me, more firmly than usual. “I hope you’re not opposed to having a drink with me. I know you were nervous about meeting with Brandon and thought you might need one.”
Wondering if that were truly his motivation for bringing me here, I sighed when I realized I didn’t care. I did need a drink. I could forgive his behavior in exchange for whiskey. “That would be great, actually.”
Mr. Gabriel smiled and gestured for me to take my seat ahead of him. I slid into the circular booth and leaned against the cushioned seatback. I was startled into freezing when Mr. Gabriel slid in beside me. He reached across the table to where he had been sitting before I arrived and lifted his glass of scotch. When he settled back next to me, he took a drink as if our seating arrangement were completely normal, and set the glass back on the table.
I was still trying to figure out what was going on when he flagged down a server and then asked me, “What would you like to drink, Reagan?”
My brain wasn’t working properly. I stumbled over a response as the young blonde woman slipped up to the table and fixed her gaze on me. “Uh, a glass of, I mean, um, whiskey, please.”
The server smiled, as though she knew I was having quite the night and needed something serious to take the edge off. “We have what we call Whiskey in a Jar. Old Overholt, Jack, and Johnnie, one part each, on the rocks. Want to try one? It’s great for after dinner, and…” Her gaze drifted to Mr. Gabriel, probably making the wrong assumption, but enjoying whatever thoughts were running thought her mind. “…for relaxing.”
“Sounds perfect,” I said, mostly just hoping she’d go away and stop thinking things were going on that weren’t.
The server smiled, slow and sultry, but it wasn’t at my boss. Heat welled in my core and I looked away, which only made her chuckle as she walked off.
“If I weren’t already paying for your drink, I think she would make the offer,” Mr. Gabriel said with a laugh that seemed to have an edge to it for some reason. Blushing furiously, I tried to avoid his gaze, but he shifted to face me, the intensity of his focus pulling my gaze up to his. “Does it bother you that she finds you attractive?”
“What? No,” I said quickly. “I mean, it’s just, I’m not…uh, interested in women, even though she’s very pretty herself. I’m not used to that kind of attention and didn’t know how to respond.”
Mr. Gabriel lifted his glass to his lips and took another slow drink. I watched him swallow, wondering why I only seemed capable of attracting the interest of the wrong people. Whatever game Brandon was playing didn’t seem to be sexual, but I had the feeling if I gave this young woman the kind of attention she was looking for, it wouldn’t stop at flirting. Yet, I sat next to a man I had been fantasizing about for a year and was positive he was more interested in his scotch than me.
“I find it hard to believe you don’t deal with that sort of attention on a regular basis,” Mr. Gabriel said. “From men and women. You’re a very beautiful woman, Reagan.”
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