Wishing on a Dream

by Julie Cannon

  I saw her before she saw me, and though I interact with high-profile people rather regularly, and much to my chagrin, I hated to admit, I was a bit starstruck. My heart started to beat fast, my pulse raced, and every nerve seemed to come alive.

  Tobin Parks was striking in a baby-butch kind of way. Of course anyone under thirty was a baby in my book. Jeez, when did that happen? I might be thirty-six, but starting JOLT and making it what it is today made me feel many years older.

  Tobin looked up as we approached her table, and I almost stumbled at the intensity of her gaze. No wonder she had any woman she wanted. Her eyes were a luminescent shade of green and seemed to look right through me. God, she was young. She stood, stepped around the table, and held out her hand.

  “Ms. Fellows, I’m Tobin Parks. Thank you for coming.” Like she needed the self-introduction, but I appreciated it nonetheless.

  I took her hand, and a strong pulse of what I could only describe as energy passed between us. She must have felt it too because her eyes flared with obvious interest.

  “Ms. Parks,” I replied, equally formal. “I was in the neighborhood,” I said, suddenly tongue-tied.

  “Please call me Tobin,” she said, holding the back of my chair as I sat down. I noticed several people around us whisper to each other when they saw our introductions. Would I see my picture on the Internet tomorrow? Certainly on someone’s Facebook page, if the not-so-surreptitious cell-phone maneuvering to my left was any indication.

  The waiter appeared out of nowhere and I ordered sparkling water. I didn’t dare be anything but absolutely on the top of my game for this conversation.

  “Admittedly I wasn’t sure you’d show up.” Tobin was toying with her half-empty glass of beer.

  “I have to admit I wasn’t going to.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Why did you?”

  I was as surprised as she seemed to be. As famous as she was, I didn’t think anyone would not do as she asked, or commanded.

  “My marketing guy kept telling me I should hear what you have to say.”

  “So you’re meeting me just to shut him up?”

  “No. If I wanted to shut him up, I’d tell him to.”

  “You’re the boss,” she said.

  “It does have its privileges.”

  “And its burdens.”

  I lifted my glass and tilted it slightly toward her. “I’ll second that.”

  “I heard the food here is top-notch,” Tobin said, picking up her menu.

  “I’m sure the same is true for just about every steakhouse in Montana.”

  “Probably so. Are you staying for dinner?” She seemed uncertain.

  “Might as well.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because I’m hungry. Besides, you invited me, therefore you’re paying.”

  Tobin laughed, and the water going down my throat got stuck halfway. I tried really hard not to choke and spit it back out. That would be humiliating.

  “Well, there is that,” she acknowledged playfully.

  Tobin opened her menu and I looked at her hands. They appeared strong, which I’m sure they were, due to playing the guitar for as many years as she had. She had a cut on her thumb that was red and looked ugly. I wondered how she got it and if it affected her playing.

  “Beef, beef, beef. What a surprise,” she said, turning the page.

  “What did you expect, sushi?”

  “No, but maybe more of a selection.” Tobin frowned again.

  “Are you a vegetarian?”

  “God, no, but I do like variety.”

  Tobin’s eyes pierced mine, and I wasn’t sure if she was referring to the food on the menu or the women on her menu.

  “So I hear.” Shit, why did I make this about sex? Tobin’s conquests were legendary, and she didn’t need any confirmation or encouragement from me.

  “Well, don’t believe everything you hear.”

  “I know better than that.” I spoke sharply, remembering how a woman in front of us had been escorted backstage at her concert several weeks ago. She’d looked barely older than jail bait. Thankfully the waiter arrived to take our order.

  After he left I was certain everybody in the restaurant was watching us. Who was I kidding? They were watching Tobin.

  “How was your speech yesterday?”

  I was taken aback by her question. “How did you know about that?” What else did she know about me?

  “I do my research,” she said, not breaking eye contact.

  I thought about her question. “Not quite the adoring fans and thundering applause as you’re used to, but it went well.”

  “Accomplishments are relative,” Tobin said evenly.

  Her comment surprised me. It was more profound than I expected to hear from her.

  “Do you have a show here in Bozeman?”

  “No.”

  “Live here?”

  “No.”

  “Vacation house?”

  “No.”

  I was running out of choices. I tried one more. “Visiting friends?”

  “No. I don’t know a soul here.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Because you are,” she said simply.

  In another world, someone as gorgeous as Tobin saying that to me would be romantic and make my heart go pitter-patter. But this was not another world, so why was my heart going pitter-patter?

  “You came all the way from wherever you were to maybe have dinner with me?” The idea was awesome, in that other world.

  “Well, it wasn’t really that far and I wanted to talk to you. Dinner was an added bonus.”

  “And if I hadn’t shown up?”

  “I would have eaten alone, gotten on the next flight, and tried something else.”

  “Persistent.” I stabbed into my salad.

  “When I need to be. Neither one of us got to where we are by being a wallflower.”

  This time when my stomach flip-flopped it was due to a flashback to a time when I was, in fact, a wallflower. A very large wallflower.

  “I suppose not,” I said, my throat a little tight.

  “So tell me about JOLT,” Tobin said before lightly blowing on the soup on her spoon.

  “I certainly hope you didn’t ask JOLT to be your sponsor if you didn’t know anything about us. Or was it someone else’s idea?”

  “No. It was my idea to meet with you.”

  “Why?” I asked, getting down to it.

  “My question exactly. Why not?”

  “You first,” I said, trying to gain the upper hand in this conversation.

  “I prefer it when the lady goes first.”

  My blood raced, but I didn’t know if it was due to the blistering look she was giving me or the fact that she was actually hitting on me. Probably neither.

  “That’s why.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Tobin frowned.

  “You just hit on me.”

  “So? You’re a beautiful, desirable woman,” she replied, as if that was the only reason she needed.

  “At the risk of repeating myself, that’s exactly why.” I studied Tobin’s face for a few seconds, and she clearly didn’t get it. Was she so self-centered and shallow she thought she could come on to every woman she met? When did that become socially acceptable behavior?

  “Do you really expect that sex will get my sponsorship?” This was one conversation I have never had in my entire professional career. But then again I’d never sat across from a totally out lesbian who wanted me. I guess there’s a first time for everything.

  “I’ll do the best I can. However, I’ve never had any complaints.” She sat back in her chair looking smug.

  The thought of Tobin doing the best she could made my blood heat and that private point between my legs throb.

  “I don’t mix business with pleasure.” Good God, that sounded like a canned, prudish statement.

  “Fine by me. We can do the former, then focus on the latter.”

  Most
of my blood had settled in my crotch, and I needed a moment to dissect her statement. She was unbelievably brash and unequivocally hot. She had the body, attitude, and confidence to carry it out.

  “I do not want a spokesman for my company that has the reputation you do.”

  “Meaning?”

  My turn to laugh. “You’re not serious?”

  “I am.”

  “I don’t mean to be harsh, but are you that clueless?”

  “Now you’re insulting me?”

  “Not at all. I just have a hard time believing you actually think who you are and your image does not factor into a product endorsement. I’m also giving you the benefit of the doubt that everyone says yes to you?” I looked at Tobin closely for a sign that would indicate she had some sense of self-awareness. “Or do they?”

  Chapter Six

  When had this conversation turned south? More important, who was this gorgeous, classy woman with eyes the color of the clear Montana sky, a drop-dead gorgeous body, and titillating, mind-blowing verbal banter? I’d read quite a bit about Kiersten, but nothing had prepared me for the woman sitting in front of me. Whereas other women flaunted their confidence, Kiersten Fellows wore hers comfortably. Whereas other women often used power as a weapon, hers was understated. Whereas others’ brilliance came across as arrogance, Kiersten’s was just below the surface. And I was in way over my head. And I mean w-a-y over my head. Also, why was she here?

  I’d half expected her to show up, the conceited, I-always-get-what-I-ask-for half. The other half, the normal person’s half, thought she wouldn’t. Seeing Kiersten in person made my naughty parts spring to life.

  “May I call you Kiersten?” I asked in my polite voice. I hadn’t grown up knowing manners, but years later I’d paid to learn them and might as well use them.

  “Of course.”

  “So why did you come?” I circled back to one of my original questions.

  Kiersten waited for the waiter to refill her glass before she spoke. “Curiosity.”

  “About me?” I realized that was a big-headed thing to ask.

  “Of why you want JOLT. You can have your pick of any product in the world, and you want mine. I want to know why.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. Kiersten leaned back in the uncomfortable chair and gave me her full attention. But, different from most people around me, she seemed to really be interested in what I had to say, not pretending in order to get something from me.

  “I like what you stand for,” I said simply. When I didn’t say any more, her eyebrows rose and her forehead crinkled.

  “And?”

  “And nothing.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not following.”

  “Last year you gave thirty percent of JOLT sales to charity. The year before it was twenty-eight, and the year before that, twenty-five.” I recited the statistics I had memorized during my research.

  “And you want to be our spokesman because we give to charity?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ms. Parks—”

  “Please call me Tobin.”

  “Tobin.” Thank God Kiersten hesitated a few seconds before continuing, because I couldn’t hear anything other than the sound of my name coming from her lips. It was soft and melodious, and I suddenly wanted to write a song to describe it. WTF?

  “Thousands, tens of thousands of companies for that matter give to charity. Why not one of them?”

  “Because they’re not JOLT.”

  She continued to look at me blankly. Obviously I needed to articulate my position better. Articulate, that was the word of the day on my word-of-the-day-calendar on the desk in my coach. I’d been wondering how I could weave it into a conversation.

  “It’s who you give it to, not how much. Well, it’s also how much…but…primarily where. I mean, it’s a combination of who and where.” I was stammering and not making much sense even to myself. I hadn’t stammered since my mother humiliated me in the fifth grade.

  “And where is that?”

  I named the groups I’d been able to uncover.

  “And why do those organizations interest you?”

  “Because they’re worthy causes.”

  “Again, there are hundreds of thousands of worthy causes, any of which you could donate to.”

  It was obvious Kiersten was skeptical. “I would think if you’re committed to giving a large portion of your profits to charities, you’d want more profits. Higher sales equals more contributions.”

  “I know how the math works.”

  “I can give that to you.” As soon as the words came out of my mouth, as true as they were, they made me sound like an egomaniac.

  And there we sat, silently staring at each other in a cozy restaurant, complete with white linen tablecloths, candles on the table, and soft music piped over the speakers. We should be having an intimate conversation sharing tidbits about each other’s day or flirting as foreplay to the pleasures we both knew would come after dinner.

  I held Kiersten’s gaze. Normally my eyes wandered around the room, any room. I’d learned very young to know where everyone was in my house. But Kiersten’s look was inquisitive, confident, and questioning. It was as if a thousand questions were racing through her mind. She was trying to figure me out. What was my game, my ulterior motive, my hidden agenda?

  Our dinner arrived, giving both of us an out without losing face. We chatted about various places we’d traveled, the upcoming presidential election, and the blockbuster movie that had been nominated for twelve Oscars. When coffee came I decided it was my turn to ask the questions. “Why do you support so many groups?”

  “Because they’re worthy causes.”

  She’d parroted my answer so I volleyed it back to her. “There are hundreds of thousands of worthy causes.”

  “Yes, there are, and those are the ones I choose. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she said, folding her napkin and placing it on the table beside her cup. “I have an early flight and still have some work to do.”

  Kiersten stood and I did as well. She was a few inches shorter than me.

  She held out her hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Tobin. Thank you for dinner. It was delicious. Good night.”

  And on those last two words, Ms. Kiersten Fellows turned and walked away from my table as gracefully as she’d confidently strode toward it. If I thought my blood had raced watching her arrive, it settled in my crotch as I watched her leave.

  Chapter Seven

  “Good grief,” I mumbled, maneuvering through the crowded restaurant. The patrons that knew I had dined with Tobin were looking at me trying to determine if I was “somebody.” I silently told them to mind their own business. God, what a fishbowl Tobin must live in, and no way did I intend to be in the middle of that.

  Three couples were in front of me in the valet line, and the longer I waited the more I fully expected Tobin to be right behind me. I didn’t think she’d give up that easily. I was disappointed that she had. Obviously when she didn’t get what she wanted, she moved on.

  The ruggedly handsome valet held the door of the rental car as I slid into the leather seat. I tipped him a five, which I almost grabbed back when he called me ma’am as he closed the driver’s door. When had I become a ma’am?

  The drive back to my hotel was short. I was so distracted thinking of Tobin I almost passed my exit. If not for the sultry European voice floating out of the car speakers, I’d have missed it completely. Gathering my briefcase and jacket, I left the car with the hotel valet and headed to my room.

  For convenience I had reserved a suite. I hated sitting on the bed when it was the only place to get any work done. The desk was always so cluttered with a phone, lamps, directions on how to connect to the Internet, and assorted hotel and local-attraction information it was almost unusable.

  It was after ten but I wasn’t tired. I was too keyed up from the day and dinner with Tobin, plus my in-box was probably jammed. If I didn’t keep up with it I would suffocate in a se
a of unread messages.

  Thirty minutes later I gave up any pretense of getting anything done. I took a long, hot shower and tried not to think about Tobin Parks and how I’d felt sitting across the table from her.

  I had expected a spoiled, rich airhead. I got the rich part, but I saw no indication of the spoiled, and she was extremely articulate. She voiced her opinion on paper over plastic, why John Wayne will always be a better cowboy than Sam Elliott, and the pros and cons of the NCAA. When she started talking about free trade I knew the public and private Tobin Parks were very different.

  When she talked she completely focused on me. Her eyes were sharp and inquisitive. She asked questions about JOLT, my vision and how I got started. We had a lively discussion about expansion, and I admit she gave me a few things to think about.

  Tobin didn’t talk about herself unless I asked a specific question. Then, she answered it simply, without exaggeration. She didn’t name-drop or try to impress. I had a few twenty-somethings in my office, and Tobin was by far more mature than they. Maybe because she’d been on her own for many years or had been exposed to more things, but she was much more sophisticated than I expected.

  I expected her to be acutely aware of the women around us. Someone with her reputation would be on the prowl for her next conquest, but I had her constant, complete attention. When she looked at me it was as if she could see inside me. When we talked about serious topics she frowned in concentration and scrunched up her mouth when trying to understand. Her eyes lit up and sparkled when she laughed or told a funny story of life on the road. I was completely surprised by her and had grossly underestimated her. She was smart, well mannered, respectful to the wait staff, and very, very good-looking.

  During dinner I caught everyone sneaking a peek and some rudely staring. What were they thinking? Were they wondering if it was really her? Did they dare ask for an autograph? Several brave souls had, and Tobin had graciously signed a napkin or a drink coaster and thanked them.

  I couldn’t help but wonder what she was like in bed. Remember, I’m the one who thinks about sex all the time, and she oozed sexuality. Sitting across from a stunning lesbian did nothing to redirect that line of thinking.