by RH Tucker
I don’t care. I’m trying to get out of this meeting early, and I’ve already decided I don’t want to give Winston the impression that I’m interested in him. His father gives me the same glare that mine did, but Winston chuckles.
“Business,” he answers. He shoots a tiny glance over at his dad that no one else seems to notice, and looks like he wants to say more.
“Right,” I answer, still with some sushi. I knew what he was going to school for—it’s all either of our fathers have talked about—but I figured I’d try to be at least somewhat cordial before Steph calls.
“Winston will be taking over as an executive vice president within Thornhurst Properties once he gets his MBA,” his father speaks up.
I look over at Winston, who seems to shrink at his father’s words. I think I almost see a frown cross his lips, but it’s gone in less than a second.
“Yeah, I’m working on getting my bachelor’s right now. It’s funny, I really enjoy—”
“But business is where your head’s at, right?” his dad questions, which is anything other than an actual question. It’s a statement.
“Uh …” Winston reaches over and grabs his glass of water. “Yes, sir.”
His father smiles, but it’s fake. Or maybe not fake, but definitely insincere. “My father founded our company. A Thornhurst must oversee it,” he says, and I know whatever Winston might’ve had to say is long gone.
It’s unfortunate, because that might’ve been the first time to actually get to talk to Winston in an honest conversation. But we’re strictly back to business talk, so I know what’s coming next because he’s repeated it at least four times in the last couple of meetups.
“We were nervous when Mavin International purchased Thornhurst Properties. You can never tell what another company’s plans are when corporate takeovers happen.” Oh. This is different. Maybe we’re actually going to talk about business for once and not— “I’m certainly glad your father decided to let the two companies move as separate entities. And, of course, your family’s been more than accommodating. I’m thrilled you and Winston are getting to know one another.” There it is.
I stuff another piece of sushi in my mouth as our waitress comes back, setting down the plate of sashimi. “Oh.” My eyes widen in honest craving. “Yellowtail.”
Reaching over the waitress’s hands before she has time to pull them back, I grab a piece of the fish and pop it in.
“Cecelia, what is wrong with you?” My father grabs my elbow, leaning closer to whisper so only I can hear.
I know why he’s upset, but I can’t help it. He knew I didn’t want to come to this. And Mr. Thornhurst’s last comment of, yet again, mentioning how his son and I are “getting to know each other” grinds my nerves. So instead of apologizing for my conduct, I apologize for something else.
Looking over at Mr. Thornhurst, I shrink a touch, then reach for another piece of yellowtail. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I tell him, holding up the piece of fish toward him. “Would you like some?”
His expression and reply aren’t surprising. Delivering a stoic stare, his eyes flick over to my father, who doesn’t say anything. I’m sure Daddy is silently telling him he’s not sure why his well-to-do daughter, that’s been given everything she’s ever wanted, is acting like an unkempt brat right now.
But something else happens. Winston snickers, trying to hold back a laugh. I can’t help but look over at him, and he holds his hand over his mouth in a casual attempt to hide his smirk.
My phone starts vibrating, and I pull it out to see Stephanie’s name across the screen. “Hello?”
“Hey,” she replies. “So, this is me. Calling you.”
“What? Really?”
“Here we go.” She giggles.
“Oh my God, I can’t believe that.”
“You really need to work on better lines, Cece. One of these days your dad is gonna catch on.”
“Oh, you’re right. Absolutely. I’ll be right there.”
“Okay, see ya— Oh, hey?”
“Yes?”
“Word around town is Bradley Peterson is bringing his entourage to the club tonight. I want to be prepared in case I meet him. Should I wear something lacy or a G-string?”
I bite down on my tongue. Hard. I might’ve drawn blood. Bitch.
“Okay, I’ll be right there,” I tell her, hearing nothing but a loud laugh on the other end. Hitting the end button, I get up from the table. “Daddy, I’m so sorry, but I have to go. There’s an emergency at the club and—”
“Emergency? Cecelia, I thought that’s why I hired Leslie and Tina.”
“I know, Daddy, but I need to take care of this. Luxe is mine, and I’m not going to just shrug off the responsibility to someone.”
“Fine.” He waves me off. “Don’t forget lunch next week with your mother and brother.”
“I remember,” I tell him, pushing in my chair.
Looking over at the Thornhursts, the elder gives me the same perplexed and annoyed face my father is giving me. Winston stares up at me, and there’s a small glint in his eyes. Does he know I’m lying? I don’t wait to find out and turn to leave.
Getting outside, I pull up a car service on my phone to take me to Stephanie’s when someone grabs my arm from behind. “Cecelia?”
Turning around, I find Winston. The last three times we’ve been across the table. Indoor lighting, formal attire, with both of us flanked by our fathers. We’re standing a couple feet apart, so it’s nothing monumental, but I finally see him in a somewhat normal atmosphere and not an appointment setting.
He’s clean-cut and shaven. Now that he’s standing up, I notice more how thin he is, but he’s at least six inches taller than me. His light brown hair is styled, combed back and partly to the side. The clean-cutness of him is only enhanced by his aqua blue eyes. By all accounts, he’s his father’s son on both resemblance and the corporate attire he’s wearing. But there’s something about his face that’s different. Maybe it’s the small smirk he’s still holding on to. It seems genuine. Natural. Not like something he’s supposed to be doing because he’s in a business meeting. There’s a warmth to him that eludes his father.
“Hey, Winston.”
Another first happens. Instead of the calm and collected Winston I’ve seen around the table, a small nervousness seems to shade him. Looking away, he scratches the back of his head. “The old, ‘call me so I can get out of this date if it’s bad,’ huh?”
Now I feel bad. His nervous expression morphs into a somewhat humorous one.
“Look, I know these setups have been awkward. Actually, that might be an understatement.”
Well, that’s a plus and makes me feel a little better. At least he’s aware of how weird it is for our fathers to be setting us up like we’re in kindergarten or something. “Yeah, that’s one word for it.”
“Whatever the reason this whole thing started, I wouldn’t mind getting to know you.”
I pinch my lips together. He seems to have gained some confidence since stopping me, but as much as the line I told his father about not having time as I focus on Luxe was to set him straight, it was also true.
“You seem nice, Winston, but I wasn’t lying. Luxe is where my focus is at right now.”
“How about this?” He holds up a finger. “How about I come and check it out? What about tonight?”
He is cute, but this entire premise and how we were introduced has done nothing to sway my opinion on possibly dating him. I can’t erase knowing my father wanting to marry into a wealthy family, or his father’s expression just a few moments ago.
I lift my shoulders, though, because what can it hurt? And hey, maybe he’ll report back to his dad that the club is amazing and somehow that can lead to some connections down the road. Highly unlikely, but you never know.
“Sure, why not,” I tell him.
7
Maddox
Hanging out in my dressing room, Adam and Derrik continue to laugh. No, laugh i
s too small a word for what they’re doing. They’re in hysterics. Convulsing in howls. I roll my eyes, wishing I never told them what happened. What happened between Cecelia Mavin and me happens to guys all the time. Just not to me.
“And then …” Adam tries to compose himself, grabbing his stomach in laughter. “He … He … He called her Baby Mavin.”
Derrik doubles over on the leather couch he’s sitting on. “Dude! Everyone knows she hates that name.”
“I forgot!” I yell at both of them.
Adam wipes the tears from his eyes, the smile still plastered across his face. He makes an O shape with his mouth, rubbing his cheeks. “Oh, my face hurts. I don’t think I’ve stopped laughing since you told me.”
“If you two can contain yourself from humiliating me for five seconds, I do have a defense.”
Derrik calms his laughter enough to quirk an eyebrow at me. “Oh, this I have to hear.”
“First of all, you were both here opening weekend. Did you see her anywhere?”
“No,” Derrik answers.
“Do you know what she looks like?”
Adam, still smirking, wiggles his hand back and forth. “I mean, kind of.”
“Really? So you could pick her out of a lineup of hot chicks?”
“Okay, I might not be able to do that, but you saw her at the deli. You mean to tell me after meeting her that day, then you being in the elevator—the employee elevator—that it wouldn’t finally dawn on you who she was? She’s in nearly as many gossip rags as us.”
He waits, glancing over at Derrik, who also stares at me with an incredulous expression. Both are waiting for my answer.
“She was a hot chick!” I throw my hands into the air, trying to control my annoyance. “I’m not thinking about some hotel heiress who’s being gossiped about in Page Five!”
“You and Peter met with her when you wanted this gig,” Derrik adds. “How do you not remember her from that?”
My brow furrows, but all I can do is shake my head at him. “I wasn’t paying attention. I figured I had it in the bag. I’m Maddox freakin’ Barkley.”
Derrik starts laughing again. “Damn, Adam. How does he get that ego through the front door in your guys’ apartment?”
“It’s a struggle,” Adam goes with the joke. “We’ve had to take down the door a couple of times.”
“I hate you guys.” Getting up, I start to do some light stretches with my shoulders and fingers. I learned a while back when the Kings were touring it’s good to loosen up your limbs. I thought it was stupid at first, but after being sore for a week, I started doing that before our shows and found out it helped immensely.
A knock at the door sounds. “Five minutes,” Frank says, popping his head inside. He’s basically the roadie for the club. He sets up my stage, makes sure all the lighting is working, and works the sound system when we’re playing random music in between sets.
“Thanks, Frank,” I tell him. “If you jackasses don’t mind, it’s time to go to work. If you’re still laughing at me when my first set is over, I’ll make sure you’re both kicked out of the club.”
“Fine,” Adam replies, defiantly. “We’ll just call your boss on you and have you embarrassed again.”
My jaw clenches in aggravation. “Idiots,” I hiss at them, leaving the room.
Finishing my first set, the crowd applauds, and I lift a hand to them. The heat around the stage isn’t really there when I first start, but after two hours of working the boards, and more and more people in the area, the mugginess is inevitable. Grabbing a bottle of water, I down the entire thing and head off to the side. While I was playing, I saw Adam and Derrik leave the backstage room and head up to the second floor in our private booth.
While the random radio hits play for the crowd, I’m approached by attendees, giving thanks and respect for the session. Making my way up to the booth, I find Jenny sitting next to Derrik and Adam, as they chat. Zoey, Derrik’s girlfriend, sits next to him and talks with a couple of the other girls that Adam must’ve invited.
Jenny sees me and gets to her feet, hurrying over to me. “Great set, Maddox,” she says, taking my hand. Leaning closer, she gives me a kiss.
If you didn’t know any better, you’d think we were a couple. But I do know better, so I kiss her back and take a seat next to Adam. Jenny plops down, sitting across my lap.
“Hey, what’s up, Zoey? Ladies?” I greet everyone else. Adam gives me a silent toast, raising his glass that looks like it’s filled with a mojito, with a lime wedge on the rim. One of the girls, a petite ginger, keeps her arm around his.
“Hey, Maddox,” Ginger greets me with a flirtier tone than friendly.
Jenny lifts a hand to my face, making sure I look at her. It doesn’t take a genius to realize what she’s doing, and it makes me chuckle. Leaning closer, my lips brush against her ear. “Jealousy is a good look on you,” I whisper.
“I’m not jealous,” Jenny replies, then gives me a quick kiss. “Just making sure she knows whose you are tonight.”
I chuckle. “Wow, marking your territory? You gonna ask me to tattoo your name on my arm next?”
She lifts her shoulders, giggling. “Maybe.”
Off on the other side of the second floor, Cecelia walks behind the bar, talking to the bartender.
Derrik goes back to talking to Adam, but I slap his shoulder.
“Check it.” I point to the bar area.
His vision moves to the area I’m pointing to, and I hear him chuckle. “Seriously? You want to get shot down three times?”
“Bet!” I yell at him.
“Oh, I’ll take that bet.”
My “bet” phrase is something I did during our tour. It didn’t happen much, because, after the first few times, it wasn’t a challenge. But when I was trying to help Derrik get over Zoey, who he swore at the time he was over, I’d take him out to clubs and parties. I’d point out a girl and yell, “Bet.”
We’d name our terms, and if I couldn’t get the girl’s number, I’d have to follow through. If I did get her number, then he would have to pay up. Our terms were everything between buying one another some sneakers to an expensive piece of music memorabilia.
“Terms?” I look over at him.
“What are you guys doing?” Jenny asks, but I ignore her.
“If you don’t get her number, you buy the band lunch for the rest of the month.”
“Done. When I get her number, you have to sing ‘I’m a Barbie Girl’ in between one of my sets.”
He starts laughing. “Dude, you’re never going to do it. You already dug yourself in too deep.”
“Do you agree?”
“Oh, I agree. I’m just telling you that you already lost.”
“What is happening right now?” Jenny asks.
“Sorry, babe. I need to do this.” She slides off from my lap, and I get up, cracking my neck. I glance down at Derrik, who’s still smirking, and I nod to him as if to say get ready to pay up.
“Watch this,” Derrik tells Zoey.
I don’t look over at him. I’m getting in the zone.
The deli was an anomaly. That’s what I’m calling it. She’s technically my boss, and I was completely caught off guard. The elevator was a mistake. After our first encounter, I should’ve realized who she was, but I was so stuck on the fact that she burned me at the sandwich shop. That was my bad.
This time? This time it’s in the bag.
As I stroll over to her, she smiles at the bartender, and he says something to her, but the music is loud enough that I can’t hear what it is. Walking closer, I give a playful knock on the bar. She looks amazing. Instead of the skirt I remember her in, tonight she’s wearing what appears to be a pantsuit ensemble with a small blazer. It’s all black, but along the collar, it’s outlined with lavender-colored accents. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, but she still has the alluring lipstick I’m continually drawn to. She looks like a boss. I mean, she is the boss in Luxe, but she looks … i
n charge.
The bartender—a tall, slender man with a thin-lined beard that travels around his chin—looks over and smiles. “What can I get for you?”
Cecelia’s vision follows his question, and she sees me. I’m waiting for an expression. A look that says she knows or remembers our interactions, or … something. Instead, I’m met with the same stoic gaze she gave me in the elevator.
I clear my throat. “Good to see you again, Cecelia. Can I call you Cece?”
She doesn’t roll her eyes, but her expression is apathetic. Damn, how do I get through to this girl? “You can call me boss or Ms. Mavin.”
I take a chance. “Cece it is.”
I see her jaw clench, but there’s a slight smirk that breaks through the red lips. It’s not much, and if I wasn’t staring at her lips, I might’ve missed it. But it was there. I have a shot; I just can’t mess it up.
“What do you want, Maddox?”
“I wanted to apologize.” My words seem to catch her off-balance. A small twitch of her head, her eyes stay on mine. “I screwed up, I realize that. Sometimes I let the rock star thing go to my head.” I lace my word with a smile. “Can you blame me?”
She takes a moment, seeming to ponder my words. Probably wondering if she can believe them. I don’t feel like I let the rock star thing go to my head. I’m not a complete ass, but this is all part of the game. And I think I’m starting to take the lead.
“Okay, then,” she replies. “Thanks.”
Thanks? That’s it? She turns back around, looking over a row of liquor bottles, and then taps the bartender on the shoulder. Wait, what’s happening here?
“Sorry,” I call over to her. “So, now that we’ve put that behind us, I thought maybe we could …” I let the words hang in the air.
I’m expecting one of the usual reactions I always get. A little flirty response or “The Look.” The look that says she knows what I’m talking about.
“We could?” She throws the words back at me, seeming to not have a clue what I’m talking about.
Giving her a smirk, I tilt my head to the side. You know, my eyes tell her.
