“Thank you.” I hurried down the corridor toward a metal door.
Chapter 2
OUTSIDE, I DREW IN the warm summer air. Propping my hands on my thighs, I leaned forward, staring at the toes of my sparkly shoes. A beautiful mix of ache and sweetness swelled in my chest—an echo of what I felt while Zeph was singing.
I desperately tried to hold on to the feeling, but it was fading with every passing second, and I hated for it to disappear completely.
“Hey,” a male voice, rough and deep, said from the left of me.
A tall man was leaning against the wall there—well-dressed, in a grey suit, his dark hair neatly cut and styled. A thin stream of shimmering smoke curled from the end of the long, dark cigarette in his hand.
“Are you going to vomit?” he asked calmly, staring at me with a pair of silvery-grey eyes. “If you do, could you please step farther away from the door? Maybe move under that tree over there?”
With another deep breath, I straightened up.
“I’m not going to throw up,” I assured him.
Normally, I’d feel fairly uncomfortable when talking to a handsome stranger. However, this one had kind of broken the ice by starting with the most awkward topic. He had been fully expecting me to vomit in front of him. There could be no way but up for me with him.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Just needed some air.”
He nodded, a flash of understanding crossing his expression. “Is Zeph on stage?”
“Zeph?” I rubbed my face, collecting my thoughts that had been swept away by that magical voice back in the room. “Yes. He is...was. He’s just finished the first song.”
“His singing tends to have an intense effect on people.” The man took a drag of his cigarette. “It will pass,” he added with confidence.
I didn’t want it to pass...
Fragrant and rather pleasant, the smoke wafted my way. It smelled of something earthy and flowery, like moss and lavender, with a hint of sweetness. Oddly, it had no smell of tobacco, and hardly of any actual smoke at all.
“Does he know about the ‘effect?’” I asked.
“Zeph? Of course he does.”
“So, he does it on purpose then?” I blurted out, then bit my tongue, realizing how stupid my question sounded—as if Zeph should be held responsible for what his voice did to me.
The stranger silently regarded me for a moment, making me feel even more foolish.
“Never mind,” I mumbled, turning to go back inside. “I better go.”
The door opened before I touched it, letting a person out. Another man.
Zeph, himself.
“Lero—” he started, addressing my smoking companion then cut himself short, spotting me. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t realize you had company.”
When speaking, his voice sounded pleasant, although not as devastatingly enthralling as when he was singing.
I realized I could focus on other things while he spoke, things I had not noticed at all while he was singing. Like that he was wearing a dark, well-tailored suit, but no tie—the collar of his white shirt open.
Or that his hair was cropped short on the sides and was left significantly longer on top. The color of it was such a light shade of blond, it almost appeared white with a beautiful silvery sheen to it.
Or that his eyes were the most amazing shade of blue—cerulean—like the sea water of the beaches in the Caribbean.
I suddenly realized I’d been staring at him too closely for way too long.
“I was about to leave,” I muttered, dropping my gaze down.
“Must you?” Zeph asked unexpectedly, tilting his head in a way I found extremely appealing. “I like your hair,” he added, with a light smile.
I raised my hand to my wavy, shoulder-length tresses I’d dyed pink and blue before this trip.
“Um...” I’d never been good at accepting compliments. All my words, French or English, suddenly deserted me. “Thanks,” I finally managed.
“Sea colors.”
“See...what?”
“Your hair reminds me of sunrise in the ocean,” he explained. “When the rising sun shines through the water, sometimes it looks just like that under the surface—aquamarine and magenta.”
That was romantic. Poetic even.
Who would watch sunrise from underwater in the ocean, though? Was he making fun of me?
I lifted my gaze to his.
His eyes twinkled with genuine interest.
Was he simply having a conversation? Or was he flirting with me?
Honestly, I couldn’t tell. And that wasn’t Zeph’s fault. As far as interactions with the opposite sex went, I was often clueless.
Since my college graduation, I’d been spending a lot of time inside, away from people in general, including men. Being a graphic designer allowed me to work from home, which nurtured my inner introvert. By now, I’d accumulated a respectable number of clients by creating all kinds of products for them—from company logos, to business cards, to promotional fliers, to book covers. But I never actually had to meet any of my clients face to face.
I loved my work. As a result, however, my already impaired social skills had severely atrophied from the lack of use.
Zeph continued to stare at me. Shockingly, there still was no judgement, no mocking in his eyes. Seeing his easy expression, I sensed tension drain from my shoulders.
I even ventured a smile in reply. “I love bright colors.”
“I see that.” He quickly slid his gaze down my outfit—a hot-pink off-shoulder top, black shorts, violet fishnet stockings, and silver ballet flats. “Listen. Would you like to watch the rest of the show?”
“Sure.” I nodded. “Are you going to sing again?”
“Not until later. I’ll take you in.” In a chivalrous gesture, he offered me his arm.
A short cough sounded, followed by a puff of smoke that curled over my head. I’d forgotten all about the smoker by the wall. He appeared to be watching us with an unsettling intensity.
“Um, didn’t you come here to speak with...him?” I asked Zeph.
“Oh, yes. Lero...” Zeph turned his way. “Ivan is looking for you. Jaqueline accidentally broke the last bottle of Guillon.”
“Why did we only have one bottle?” Lero growled. “And why does he need me for that? Tell him to send Jaqueline to the store to buy enough until the next order comes in. And hurry before the store closes.”
“Jaqueline is needed to wait the tables—”
“Well, then Ivan will have to wait the tables himself,” Lero cut him off, gruffly. “Since he can’t make decisions as a bar manager, he’d better be good at waitressing.”
“Will do, boss.” Zeph saluted Lero cheerfully, not at all taken aback by the other man’s grumpy tone. “After you, mademoiselle.” He held the heavy door open for me.
Inside, Zeph paused in the hallway to exchange a few phrases with a stocky man who spoke French with a slight Eastern European accent—Ivan, I assumed. Zeph then led me into the room with the stage.
A beautiful dark-skinned woman in a golden gown was singing in a strong, vibrant voice while a group of male dancers performed a dynamic choreography around her.
Several pairs twirled on the dance floor and between the tables. I searched for Fleur, finding her in the company of a handsome dark-haired young man, who occupied my seat. The two appeared to be engaged in a lively conversation.