by Anna Paige
Maybe I was.
“Ouch, you don’t pull punches, do you?” A pause. “Emily, are you laughing at me?”
“No.” I cracked up again. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Nothing, you have a great laugh. Maybe I can hear it again, say around twelve? I’ll pick you up at the gallery.”
That effectively put an end to the giggles. “You’re serious.”
“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?”
“Sorry, I’m having another one of those ‘this must be a dream’ moments.”
“You dream about coffee?”
I snorted. “Funny.”
“What’d I tell you about me and sarcasm?”
“You sprinkle that shit on everything.”
“Exactly. See you at twelve. Goodbye, Miss Emily.”
“Goodbye, Ethan.”
Holy crap. Ethan Chase was taking me out for coffee.
Longest ninety minutes of my life.
I kept my head down and trudged through a stack of paperwork I’d been putting off since before Ethan’s show, one boring form at a time.
I felt like I should tell Arthur I was stepping out, but I didn’t know how to broach the subject or if he’d allow it even if I did.
There was no specific policy on this as far as I knew. It was coffee with a client to discuss his exhibition, so that qualified as a work thing, right?
The fact that he’d already kissed me once, and I really hoped he’d do it again was irrelevant, wasn’t it?
Wasn’t it?
I had no idea.
I ran to the restroom at a quarter till and checked that my hair and makeup—what little I was wearing—were holding up. Not runway perfect but close enough.
My hair was loose, hanging midway down my back in soft curls courtesy of a new styling wand Dana had gotten me for my birthday. I loved that thing. Especially today.
Any other Monday might have found me sporting a ponytail. The curls, they were so much prettier. And with my hair down, there was something for me to hide behind if I said something to embarrass myself.
You will, given enough time.
And there it was, that nagging voice. I wondered when Mother would show up.
Not today, you shrew.
I forced the doubt and anxiety to the back of my mind, silencing it as best I could, and returned to my desk.
At the very least, I should let Arthur know I was meeting with Ethan, so I could gauge his reaction.
The front door chimed just then, interrupting my train of thought.
When my eyes fell on Ethan, I was incapable of thought at all.
Gone were his slouched posture and hoodie. Today, he stood straight and tall in a pair of dark jeans, a deep red button-down shirt, and tailored black leather jacket that gave a great indication of how nicely he was built. His shaggy so-dark-brown-they-were-nearly-black curls almost touched his collar and—dear God—they looked so soft. Why hadn’t I run my hands through them the other night when I had the chance?
Who’s to say I won’t get another chance?
Now, that was a voice I didn’t mind having in my head. And it was all mine.
Ethan offered me a charming smile, removing his dark shades and pinning me with his piercing blue eyes as he made his way over. I would have met him halfway, but I was so busy gawking that I forgot my manners.
“Hello, Emily.” He reached for my hand and brought it to his lips, barely brushing them against it as he exhaled warm air across the backs of my knuckles. “You’re looking lovely today.”
He held my hand there, not quite touching it to his mouth but letting enough of his heat seep in that it gave me goosebumps.
Arthur noticed our visitor and cut in. “Mr. Chase. Nice to see you. Is everything okay?”
Ethan spared him a quick, reassuring glance before his eyes returned to mine. “Just fine, Mr. Murphy. I was so impressed with Emily’s work the other night that I thought I might like to talk to her about it over lunch, if you can spare her for an hour or so?”
“I thought it was just coffee?” I managed to say, my eyes still locked on his lips.
“We’ll go for coffee after.” He winked and shifted his gaze to Arthur. “It may be more like two hours, actually. But given that it’s a working lunch, I’m sure you don’t mind.”
So charming. So sure of himself.
So sexy.
“Of course,” my boss agreed, eager to appease Ethan. “Take all the time you require. I’m so pleased that the two of you got the ugliness from the other night sorted out.”
Ethan turned to him, suddenly serious. “There was nothing ugly about that night, not a single thing. Emily did an exceptional job with the exhibition. As a matter of fact, I’m considering working with this gallery for a show I’m planning after the holidays because of what I saw here.” His eyes returned to mine, and he smiled, slow and sweet. “But first, lunch.”
Arthur practically shooed us out the door after an announcement like that. He barely gave me time to grab my coat and purse. I would have laughed if I wasn’t so busy trying to pick my jaw off the sidewalk.
“Did you mean that?” I asked as a few snow flurries floated on the air around us.
Ethan motioned for me to hook my arm through his and slid his sunglasses from the collar of his shirt, slipping them on. “Of course I did. Why would I say it if I didn’t mean it?”
I shrugged, trying to focus on walking instead of noticing how hard his bicep was under my hand. “A lot of people say things they don’t mean.”
“I don’t. If I tell you something, it’s the truth.” He said it so matter-of-factly, like honesty was supposed to be a given.
“Okay,” I tossed out, not sure what else to say.
He stopped, tugging us both out of the flow of foot traffic and under the archway of a small sewing and embroidery shop. His shades slid down his straight, perfect nose revealing his eyes as they searched mine. “You don’t believe me. Why?”
“I don’t know. I just figured you wouldn’t want to work with the girl who called you the Unabomber,” I joked, fidgeting under his stare. He was so close.
“If that were true, what would motivate me to tell Arthur otherwise? Hell, why would I be here right now if I really felt that way?”
My eyes started to sting, damn them, and my mother’s voice was loud and vehement in my head. “Because you saw me having a meltdown behind the gallery and felt sorry for me. Or because you’re worried I’ll tell what I know.” I glanced around at the unending stream of unconcerned faces. “I signed an NDA right after the event, by the way, so you don’t have to worry.”
He shook his head, one corner of his mouth lifting in a ghost of a smile. “I didn’t ask you to sign anything, Emily.”
“Arthur did.”
“Because Arthur was covering his own ass, not necessarily mine. And I didn’t ask him to give you that NDA.” He leaned forward, bending slightly at the waist to bring his face closer to mine. “I told you I trust you, and I meant it. Just like I meant what I said about you handling another one of my shows.”
“Why?”
He smiled so wide I could see both rows of his straight, white teeth. “Because I like you. Knew I would from the first death-stare you shot my way.”
His goofy grin made me laugh, and I threaded my arm back through his. “You’re just being facetious now. Maybe you’ll give me the real answer over lunch.”
He steered us back onto the sidewalk and measured his pace so I could keep up. “I answered your question, beautiful. You’re just not hearing me. Yet.”
Chapter Six
Emily
Ethan drove what could only be described as the most comfortable thing in which I’d ever sat my unrefined ass. When I asked, he said something about it being a BMW X6 but I was barely listening as I sank happily into the warm leather seat. I didn’t need to know cars to know this one was way above my pay grade.
I looked over at the odometer and saw
that it had less than a thousand miles on it. “Do you not drive much or is this car that new?”
He followed my gaze for a moment then returned his attention to the road. “I’ve had it for two years. I just rarely drive it because I’m never in New York. It stays here while I’m traveling with the band or in L.A. recording.”
“So, you have a place here then?” I couldn’t even fathom having a house I didn’t live in and an expensive car I barely drove.
“I do. A loft.”
I thought about that for a minute. I didn’t want to inundate him with a bunch of trivial questions. I had to make them count. There was really only one that was important to me at that moment, so I went with it. “How long will you be in town?”
He pursed his lips, keeping his eyes on the road. “I leave later today to meet up with the guys. We have a few shows scattered around the US over the next month, special-event stuff we’re doing with other artists for charity. Then we head back here for a Thanksgiving night concert before we get a few much-needed weeks off for the holidays. We have a New Year’s Eve concert somewhere, but I honestly can’t remember where. Thank goodness we have people to keep up with this shit for us, or the scheduling alone would drive us all crazy. We’re always on the go. It seems like it never stops.”
“Is that why you paint? To slow down?”
He didn’t respond immediately, weaving slowly through traffic toward whatever destination he had in mind.
The longer the silence stretched, the more antsy I became. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. “You don’t have to talk about painting with me. I shouldn’t have pried.”
His hand drifted over to my hand, landing there gently before returning to the shifter. “No. I like that you’re interested in that part of my life. I’m just unaccustomed to answering questions because no one really knows about it. I mean, the band, our PR rep—who’s also Kade’s wife—and maybe three members of our management know, but no one else. And I don’t really talk about it with anyone.”
“Like I said, I shouldn’t have pried.” I placed my hand over his on the shifter, surprisingly comfortable with the intimacy of the gesture.
“You’re not hearing me again, Emily. I said I like that you want to talk about my art. I just need a minute to find the words because I’ve never had to articulate any of this before.”
I waited for him to look my way and gave him an encouraging nod. “Take your time. I think Arthur expects me to be gone all afternoon, so we don’t exactly have to rush.”
He chuckled softly, looking relieved. “I did sort of kidnap you, didn’t I?”
“Something like that.”
“I probably should have asked if you were okay with spending the afternoon with me before I just stole you away.”
“Probably, but I’ll let it slide since I’m too comfortable to balk at this point.” I leaned back into the supple leather with a sigh, letting my eyes fall closed. “Consider me your willing captive.”
He made a noise low in his throat, and I could feel the heat of his gaze on me, roaming my body while he thought I was unaware. The car suddenly lurched to a halt and he swore under his breath. I cracked one eye open and fought off a smile. “Having trouble navigating this thing?”
His eyes flashed to mine, full of amusement. “Sorry. I was admiring the seat cover and lost focus.”
I laughed at the cheeky comment and closed my eyes again, the midday sun pouring through the tinted windows and warming my legs in an insanely pleasant way. The warmth spreading through my core was attributed to something else entirely.
And it wasn’t the heated seats.
He was flirting with me. Checking me out. Being charming and witty.
The majority of my nervousness had dissipated, quelled by his easygoing demeanor. In its place was a building arousal that was so incredibly unlike me it was unnerving. I didn’t usually have this strong of an attraction to someone this quickly.
Was it because he was Ethan Chase or because he was Conspicuous? Neither? Both?
I had no way of knowing, not yet anyway. Maybe as the day progressed I would be able to better pinpoint the source. Until then, I’d just have to do my best to control it.
I risked a peek in his direction and caught sight of his lean, corded, tattooed forearms as he gripped the shifter. The car was an automatic, so his firm grip was unnecessary. Unless he was feeling the same building tension as me.
I pressed my thighs together and caught him tracking the movement from the corner of his eye. We were incredibly aware of each other, which made me even hotter and all but guaranteed I’d be unable to hide it from him.
Shit.
It was going to be an interesting afternoon.
Chapter Seven
Ethan
I decided to take Emily to an exclusive little place I’d found not too far from my loft in Manhattan’s financial district. It was quiet, low-lit, and served the best comfort food in the city—albeit with a high-end twist on each dish that made them stand out. Last time I was in town with the guys, we commandeered the entire back room and ate till we thought we wouldn’t be able to stand up. I’d never tell my mother, but they even managed to outdo her homemade mac and cheese. It was my favorite dish growing up, even if I hadn’t had it in ages because of our…estrangement. Of course, she’d never put truffle shavings in her mac and cheese, so it wasn’t a totally fair comparison.
The back room was darker and more intimate than the front of the restaurant. The red brick walls were peppered with quirky pieces of Americana, soft white light emanated from high-mounted colored glass fixtures, and high shelves just inside the swinging kitchen door held trays of rising dough that left a yeast and butter scent in the air.
We were seated at a table in the far corner of the room, and both of us angled around the back so we could look out over the space while remaining close enough for quiet conversation. She could have taken the chair across from me, but she hadn’t. When I’d dropped my jacket to the back of my chair and waited for her to choose, she’d immediately moved to the spot closest to me. When I pulled out the chair for her, she offered a sweet smile at the gesture and folded herself into the seat.
The table was on the small side, designed to be intimate, so when we both sat forward, our knees brushed against each other. I half expected her to shift away from the contact, but she surprised me by letting her knee lean more heavily against my own. Not in an overtly sexual way, just comfortable, familiar.
I liked it.
I liked her.
The server came over and presented us with menus, bowing his head to me with a passing note of recognition before doting on Emily and offering his drink recommendations. He wasn’t flirting, exactly—just being attentive—so I didn’t give in to the odd twinge of jealousy that thrummed through me. This wasn’t even a date, not technically. Dates generally took place at night and ended with frenzied fucking atop whatever surface was most convenient before parting company, never to speak again.
Or maybe that was just my dates.
I may have had the soul of an artist, but I still had the opportunities and appetites of a rock star.
The waiter took our drink orders and hurried through the kitchen door, leaving us alone.
“I can’t tell you the last time I saw chicken pot pie on a menu,” she muttered, smiling as she continued reading.
“Judging by that drawl you try so hard to hide, I’d say you’ve seen it more frequently on menus closer to home.”
She feigned innocence. “I cook my own, I’ll have you know, and I don’t have a drawl. It’s a lilt. Drawl sounds too overbearing. My accent, whatever there is of it, is faint and charming.”
“It gets more noticeable when you’re annoyed, and I couldn’t agree more. Quite charming.” Her head came up, and I averted my gaze, chuckling.
“Are you making fun of me, drummer boy?” She tried to sound affronted but did a terrible job.
“Not at all. I’ve yet to find a single thing a
bout you that doesn’t charm the hell out of me, Emily,” I answered earnestly, meeting her eye.
She shook her head and arched one brow in an ironic expression. “You’ve clearly never had to deal with me before my morning coffee.”
No, but I’d like to serve it to you in bed.
My mind was instantly in the gutter, and it must have shown on my face because she blushed and looked away. “So, what’s good to eat here?”
“Everything,” I answered quickly, clearing my throat and discretely adjusting myself under the table. That wasn’t why I brought her here. “The guys and I have been here a few times, and we’ve worked our way through the entire menu. When I say it’s all delicious, I mean it.”
She nodded and went back to reading over the offerings. “Is the rest of the band here now?”
“Nah. They wanted to come, but I thought it would be too conspicuous for the entire group to be there.” She chuckled at my pun. “They’re in L.A., soaking up the sun in the brief lull between shows while I freeze my ass off up here.”
“You don’t sound the least bit envious, either,” she teased, smiling.
“I’m not,” I told her honestly. “It was worth braving the frigid temps to get a chance to see that exhibition. It was stunning.”
Just like you.
Shit, I needed to stop that.
“Thank you. I can’t begin to tell you how much that means coming from you.” She was blushing so hard even her ears were red. Apparently uncomfortable with the praise, she changed the subject. “So, you’ll be back this way for Thanksgiving?”
I nodded, trying not to smile at her attempt to avoid my compliments. “We’ll probably get into town the weekend before. There are usually radio and TV spots leading up to the concert, so we have to be here for those. Why? Looking forward to a second date already? I must be knocking it out of the park.”
