by Kim Fielding
“I was in the mood for pancakes.”
“I need to tell you something, Landry.” Jordan’s now humorless tone made Landry’s stomach clench.
“What?”
“I know about the french fries.”
It sounded so absurdly like a line from a bad spy movie that Landry couldn’t even place the context. “You what?”
“The french fries you ate this afternoon.”
“You tracked me then too?” That came out as a squawk and made the family at the adjacent table stare.
But Jordan shook his head. “No. I just happened to be behind you when you were heading toward the hotel. I was going to call out to you, but I was curious why you were carrying a Golden Arches bag. Then I saw you eating the fries and I knew. I figured you didn’t want me to know about it, so I didn’t say anything.”
“Until now.”
Jordan spread his arms. “A little Mickey D’s pales in comparison to this.”
He had a good point, and by now Landry was far more embarrassed than he was angry. He also couldn’t help noticing that Jordan wasn’t making fun of him for his culinary choices. In fact, he’d made far more jokes at the expense of Le Renard Violet.
“Sometimes,” Landry said carefully, “I need something different.”
“Is it a stress-eating thing?”
“No, it’s not just food. I get a craving.”
“For?”
Landry struggled to find the right words. “Middle America. Every now and then, especially when I’m… emotional, I want a bit of average and mass-produced. Not gourmet and Jaguars and Dolce & Gabbana.”
Jordan nodded. “McDonald’s. Fords. Target.”
“Yes,” Landry whispered.
“Because you’re still that kid from Nebraska.”
“No! I mean… I don’t know. I didn’t belong in Peril. Some people do, and that’s perfectly fine for them. Missy, my sister? She’s absolutely content there. Loves her house and her neighbors, and she gets miserable if she has to visit a huge metropolis like Sidney or Grand Island. But that’s not me and never was.”
Jordan bit his lip thoughtfully. “I can definitely see how you’d feel more comfortable in California. But let me ask you something. All the fantastic stuff you do—the fashion, the decorating, the crafts—you enjoy it, right? You must, to be so good at it.”
“I do,” Landry answered sincerely. “I love it.”
“Sure. But you don’t have to be monogamous about it, do you? Like, I love sun and rain, right? Sometimes I’m in the mood to bask, and sometimes I’d prefer to curl up inside and gaze out at the gloom.”
“I don’t see—”
“You can love that trippy fox-motif eating place and the home of the Grand Slam. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I didn’t love Le Renard Violet,” Landry admitted. “I didn’t even really like it.”
“You know what I mean.”
Landry did, but he needed to think about it. Perhaps sensing this, Jordan quietly ate the remainder of his meal. He polished everything off, which was impressive. Landry had already abandoned the cooled remains of his eggs. But they both still had coffee, and before the waitress took their plates away, she refilled their mugs and told them to wave her down if they wanted more or were ready for the bill.
“Almost nobody knows about my cravings,” Landry said at last. “Elaine does.”
“She didn’t mention it to me.”
Good old Elaine. Landry hadn’t given her enough gratitude when she worked for him.
“Steve knew too. It used to annoy him, though, so I generally only indulged after we argued.”
“Why would he be annoyed?”
“It doesn’t match my image. We worked so hard to create my brand, and he didn’t want me to ruin it by being spotted looking frumpy in Walgreens.”
Jordan caught both of Landry’s hands with his own. “You’re a person, not a brand.” His brow furrowed with concern, and his mouth turned down at the corners.
“I’m… both.”
Although Jordan shook his head, he didn’t say anything, and he didn’t let go of Landry’s hands. Landry could have pulled away easily—Jordan’s grip was gentle—but he didn’t try. Like an emotional lightning rod, the contact drew much of the turmoil away from his heart.
Eventually the waitress tended to a nearby table, and when she turned their way, Landry smiled at her. “Could I get the check, please?”
“Sure, honey, I’ll be right on it. You two need to get out of here and find yourself somewhere more romantic.”
“See?” Jordan said after she walked away. “The waitress thinks we make a good couple.”
“She’s an excellent waitress, but I’m not sure I’d turn to her for personal advice.”
“I totally would.”
True to his word, Jordan grinned at her when she returned. “Can I ask you a question without being a pain in the ass? I know you’re busy.”
As Landry well knew, Jordan was too charming for her to refuse. Some of the exhaustion lifted from her posture, and her eyes sparkled. “Ask away, sweetheart.”
“Thanks! So, this guy’s my boss. But he’s also amazing, right? And we’re both completely, horribly single. So I’m trying to convince him our relationship should get way more personal, and I’m pretty sure he’s at least a little bit into me. But he’s reluctant because… I’m not exactly sure why. Mostly because I work for him, I guess.”
Seemingly delighted by Jordan, she nodded as he spoke. Landry had to resist the temptation to sink under the table—or at least hide behind his hands.
“So,” Jordan continued, “I bet you see a lot of couples here.”
“Of course I do. This is Vegas.” She had dimples when she smiled.
“Then based on your experience, do you think the two of us should be a thing? Or just employer-employee?”
She didn’t answer immediately, and when she did, she addressed Landry rather than Jordan. “Honey, workers come and go. You can always find someone to work for you if you pay decently and you’re not a jerk, and this guy can always find somewhere to work, I bet. But love? You better catch that when it comes close to you, ’cause you might not get a chance at it again. If you’re feeling tender toward this guy—and I think you are; God knows you’d be a fool not to—then don’t push him away. You’ll regret it if you do.”
“Thank you,” Landry said, and he was sincere. He still wasn’t inclined to rely on the advice of this complete stranger, but he appreciated how seriously she’d approached the task. She seemed to be genuinely trying to help, which was far more than she’d signed up for when she clocked in that day.
“Good luck, you two.”
Landry left her a tip nearly as big as the bill; even without the romance counseling, she’d provided excellent service. Besides, she worked hard, and he could afford a few extra dollars. Look how much he’d wasted on their earlier ridiculous dinner.
They walked hand in hand after they left Denny’s—Jordan’s idea. Landry had never been prone to public displays of affection. He preferred to reserve such things for more private times. Still, it was pleasant to hold Jordan’s hand. It made Landry feel less lost in the crowds.
As they walked, something aligned inside Landry. It was as if he’d long had a joint out of place, and now, strolling through the commercialized chaos with Jordan at his side, that joint slipped back where it belonged. It was a good sensation but also a big one—too big for him to analyze tonight.
Despite the late hour, the activity on Fremont Street hadn’t abated, and during their Lyft ride back to the hotel, traffic remained heavy. Throngs still swarmed the casino too, and a weird sensation settled on Landry as he and Jordan walked past the card tables, as if he were trapped in an alternate dimension where time had no meaning. Except if time truly didn’t exist, he wouldn’t be tired, would he? Yet he yawned hugely while the elevator rose.
“Long day,” Jordan agreed after echoing the yawn.
“And too much food.”
“Two dinners. ’Cause the first one was maybe point two five of a meal, but Denny’s made up for it.”
“I agree with your calculations.”
They walked slowly down the long corridor.
After entering their suite and locking the door, they stood in the entryway. Close but not quite touching.
“I need to sleep,” Landry said.
“Got it. I’ve been pushing you really hard. Sorry.”
“Maybe I need a hard push. I don’t know.” This time Landry reached up to trace Jordan’s cheekbone. Jordan closed his eyes and breathed in as if he were basking in the sun.
Landry let his hand fall, but before he could move away, Jordan pinned him in place with an intense gaze. “Can I tell you something?” Jordan asked.
“I doubt very much I could stop you.”
“Point. Look, please don’t take this the wrong way. I can tell how much you loved Steve, and I bet he loved you just as much. Plus it sounds like he was fully supportive of you and your dreams, and that’s hard to find in a partner. But maybe you guys got so focused on building Landry Bishop, the brand, that you neglected Landry, the man. Maybe you sort of trapped yourself inside your own packaging.”
Landry had a vision of himself as a Ken doll, scrambling desperately to escape his cardboard-and-cellophane prison. But even if Ken got out, he’d still be what he was made to be, destined to do no more than sit stiffly around the Dreamhouse, smiling vacantly. Unlike Barbie, he couldn’t even restyle his hair.
“I’m going to bed,” Landry said.
“Okay. What do you want to do tomorrow?”
“I have work—”
“Work to do. I know. But all day?”
Impending deadlines. The Suzee Show. A slew of holiday-themed blog posts. Landry sighed.
But Jordan lightly touched his arm. “Tell me what I can do for you. That’s what I’m here for. How can I ease your load?”
“I’ll… give you a list in the morning.”
“There’s the spirit! And if I help you enough, will you have time to do something with me in the evening? ’Cause I have a plan.”
Landry was going to simply agree and then shamble off to his room. But he found himself stepping closer, resting his palms against Jordan’s jawline, and then pressing their lips together.
Still not a deep kiss, although far from chaste. Jordan’s skin was a little rough from late-night stubble, his lips sweetened by pancake syrup. Wonderful. Heady enough to make Landry swoon. But he’d already processed too much that day, so he gave Jordan an additional little peck on the cheek and then walked away.
“Night,” Jordan called softly.
Landry turned to look over his shoulder. “Good night, Jordan.”
Chapter Eight
LANDRY had always been a morning person, so despite staying up late the night before, he awakened early. He put on his designer exercise clothes, and before leaving the suite, he succumbed to temptation and peeked in at Jordan, who’d left his door open. He had closed only the sheers over his window, so there was plenty of light to see him curled up fast asleep. He’d pulled the covers up to his neck, but one hand lay softly curved on the pillow beside his face. He looked sweet and young and vulnerable.
Landry tiptoed out of the room.
The property boasted an elaborate fitness center, mostly empty at this hour. Landry chose an elliptical machine and, after deciding the morning news made him ill, listened to his workout playlist instead. He’d originally created it as a joke—a collection of songs exclusively from the eighties. But he’d discovered that he liked having Madonna, Cyndi Lauper, Wham!, Olivia Newton-John, and Billy Idol as his workout buddies. And if “Eye of the Tiger” always made him imagine himself in a boxing montage, well, that could be excused.
Sweaty but pleased with himself for not letting all the Denny’s calories take hold, Landry returned to the suite to discover Jordan standing in the living room in his underwear, a bottle of water in hand.
“Here,” Jordan said, striding over and handing him the bottle. “Hydrate.”
“But—”
“A good PA anticipates his boss’s needs, right?”
Maybe Jordan had an app for stalking Landry’s exercise too. But Landry could hardly complain, seeing as he was really thirsty. He downed half the bottle. “Thanks.”
“How about if I get you some breakfast while you shower? Then you can compose my task list while you eat. Super efficient.”
Landry couldn’t argue with that. He set the bottle down and headed for the bathroom.
The hotel shower was wonderful, with excellent water pressure, endless hot water, and plenty of room to move. At home in droughty LA, Landry was very much aware of the need to conserve water, but he indulged himself this morning, luxuriating in the warmth. He sniffed the hotel-provided toiletries but opted to use his own.
By the time he emerged into the living room, dry and dressed, Jordan had arranged plates and silverware on the coffee table. “Is this all right?” he asked.
“It’s perfect.” And it was. A cup of fresh fruit and a slice of toast topped with braised kale and a poached egg. An enormous cup of coffee and a glass of cucumber water. Landry sat down on the couch and took a sip of coffee. “But where’s yours?”
“I’ll catch something later. Right now I’m on the clock. What do you want from me today?” Jordan stood with a notebook in one hand and a pen poised in the other.
Landry ate slowly, dictating as he went. Jordan should make sure to find him a good salad for lunch and keep him periodically supplied with iced tea. There were appointments to set in LA, fan emails to sort and prioritize, and a small-appliance manufacturer with questions about where to send samples they wanted Landry to review. Landry was also going to need some new outfits for hosting the Suzee Show, so he asked Jordan to scan ads and magazines and come up with suggestions. His blog comments needed attending to, and his Instagram account required updating. Jordan should calendar a trip to IKEA, in the interest of research for one of Landry’s books. And because Landry had become dissatisfied with his pool service, he wanted Jordan to hunt for a new one. “Oh, and the Jag needs servicing. Please arrange that.”
Jordan wrote everything down, asking a few pertinent questions along the way. He looked neither daunted nor upset by the length and complexity of the list. In fact, when Landry stopped talking, Jordan looked at him expectantly. “What else?”
“That should keep you busy for a while, I think. Make sure you don’t neglect yourself.”
“I’ll be fine. Can I suggest something?”
“What?”
“They’ve got cabanas by the pool. How about if I book you one? Then we move you, your laptop, and your iced tea, and you can slave away outdoors. I’ll make sure the room gets serviced while you’re out there.”
Landry opened his mouth to decline but then thought better of it. The temperature would be perfect in the shade, and he wouldn’t mind a change of scenery. The hotel had one pool reserved for guests who rented the fancy suites, which meant tranquil surroundings and no screaming children. “All right.”
“Really? I didn’t expect you to agree so easily.” Jordan cackled like a cartoon villain. “My magic is working.”
“Just keep your magic from interrupting me while I’m writing.”
“Done.”
Jordan made a couple of quick phone calls while Landry gathered his things, and then they walked to the pool together. Jordan had arranged for the most ideally located cabana, which included a power outlet and Wi-Fi. After making sure the seat cushion was comfortable and the little table arranged perfectly, Jordan trotted over to the bar and returned minutes later with a huge glass of iced tea. “I’ve asked the bartender to wander by now and then to see if you need a refill. He won’t bug you, though. Just ignore him if you’re good. And text me if you need anything.”
Landry felt like the Prince of Las Vegas. With palm trees waving in a slight bre
eze and sweet-scented flowers masking the chlorine scent of the pool, the entire setup was close to heaven. He liked how he could glance outside his little palace to see the hotel buildings towering around him, then turn his attention to his cozy writing nook.
True to Jordan’s promise, the bartender checked in unobtrusively. Landry accomplished a lot of writing—a blog post about inexpensive accessories to dress up a holiday outfit, and one about the best culinary herbs to grow indoors over the winter. He also completed edits to a magazine article on paint color schemes for family rooms, and when he’d finished those more pleasant tasks, he brainstormed more questions for the Suzee Show guests. Just as he stood to stretch and have a quick break, Jordan appeared with a large paper bag and a smile. “Everything going okay?”
“Perfect,” Landry said, which made Jordan brighten even more.
“Good. I come bearing mixed greens, oil and vinegar on the side, and a packet of crackers in case you’re dying for carbs.” As he spoke, Jordan produced the items from the bag and set them beside the laptop.
“And your morning?” asked Landry.
“Did everything except the clothing options—still working on those. Our suite has been cleaned. I had a veggie burger for lunch, and I booked you an afternoon massage at the spa, which you can totally cancel but I don’t think you should.”
“Massage?”
“You spend a lot of time hunched over a keyboard. It’ll be good for you.”
It had been ages since Landry’s last massage, and honestly, it sounded wonderful. “That’s a solid plan. And how about if we go shopping afterward?”
“You still want to dress me up all pretty?”
“You’re pretty no matter what you wear, but you need suitable attire for certain events, and Vegas is as good a place as any to get it.”
“Cool!”
Jordan left Landry to work some more. Perhaps fueled by the promise of the spa and shopping, the words flowed easily onto the screen. So much so that Landry packed up a little early, lugged his laptop to the suite, and texted Jordan. Heading for the spa shortly. Did you book yourself a massage too?
