They leave before I have a chance to respond, and I’m left with my kid sister’s words echoing in my head, resonating off the deepest fragments of my conscience and all the parts of me that wish I never walked into Blue Stream Records that random Tuesday in May, flash drive demo in hand, and crossed paths with the CEO himself in the elevator lobby.
I should’ve known when Hunter said, “I don’t normally take unsolicited demos, but you seem like exactly the kind of act I’m looking for right now,” that he wasn’t talking about music.
Not at all.
Chapter Seven
Love
“What are you wearing right now?”
I smirk at my reflection in the mirror as Tierney’s voice comes through the speakerphone.
“Something appropriate for a business dinner,” I say, fastening a modest diamond stud into my right ear before attending to the next.
She exhales into the phone. “Bo-ring.”
“That’s all this is. We’re discussing how to get Agenda W off the ground. Nothing more, nothing less.” I dig through my makeup bag in search of my blush and bronzer compact.
“You’re killing me, Love,” Tierney says. “I’m not saying you need to rush back out there and find a man, but there’s nothing wrong with having fun. Casual dating does not equal marriage.”
The last time I casually dated anyone was in college, when I met Hunter LeGrand in Econ 101 and he asked me to study with him over pizza one night. We were inseparable after that, and there was never anyone else after him, so my dating history is akin to a blank piece of paper at this point.
“Right. I know that,” I say, tapping my blush brush in a compact of Nars Orgasm before sweeping it across the apples of my cheeks. “And that’d be fine if this is what that was, but like I said, this is a work thing.”
Tierney laughs. “Whatever you want to call it is fine, but I guaran-freaking-tee you he’s going to try to kiss you at some point tonight.”
“Let him try.” I laugh, clasping the compact shut before reaching for my mascara, ironically called Better Than Sex.
I sense a theme here but it’s pure coincidence, I swear.
“He’s going to be here any minute,” I say, checking the time on my phone screen.
“Call me tomorrow,” she says. “Tell me everything.”
Rolling my eyes, I give her my word before pressing the red button.
Finishing my lashes, I toss everything back in my makeup drawer and head to my closet to step into my Valentino flats in basic black. Heels scream “fuck me,” especially on a Friday night, so I figured flats would send the right message. Plus, they complement my black pencil skirt and white button-down blouse. My hair is down, pressed sleek and straight and parted deep on one side, finishing off my look.
I need to look serious, like a woman trying to launch a business operation, not like I’m looking to get a piece.
Tucking a strand of hair behind my left ear, I give myself a final once-over in the mirror just as the knock at my door echoes down the hallway.
He’s here.
Smoothing my hands down the front of my skirt, I take my time heading to the door, grabbing my clutch off the console in the foyer and softly clearing my throat before answering.
“Hey.” Jude stands at my threshold, his hands resting in the pockets of slim-cut khakis that show off his runner’s legs. A crisp, fitted white button down hugs his upper body, straining against his tight chest and broad shoulders. A belt with a silver “H” buckle—Hermes—ties the look together. For a second, I almost see Hunter standing before me as this is exactly the kind of outfit he’d have worn for a casual dinner, but I force his image out of my mind. “We match.”
He points to his shirt and then mine as he winks, which somehow immediately puts me at ease when I didn’t even realize I wasn’t at ease in the first place. My breathing slows and steadies and I laugh at his cheesy attempt at making a joke.
“Seriously though, you look nice,” he says, eyes dragging the length of me, his intense gaze lingering in certain areas for a beat longer than necessary.
“You aren’t supposed to say things like that when it’s a business dinner,” I remind him, stepping out of my apartment and locking the door behind me.
“Thanks for the reminder. It must have slipped my mind.” Jude places his hand on the small of my back, sending an unanticipated quiver down my spine, and then he guides me toward his apartment door.
“Did you forget something?”
“Nope.” He reaches for the knob and a second later the door swings open.
His place is dark, save for the flicker of candles set at his dining room table and the sparkle of the city lights filtering in through his living room window.
“Jude …”
Two silver cloches rest at two silver place settings at the table, and a chilled bottle of wine nestled in a bucket of ice sits beside the candlelit centerpiece.
“I ordered in,” he says. “Hope that’s okay. I find restaurants can be too distracting, especially on Friday nights. It’s just not conducive to a business meeting.”
“Were candles and wine really necessary?” I’m standing in his doorway now.
“The catering company did all of that,” he says with a shrug. I think I believe him. Hunter used to hire a caterer sometimes for our hosted dinner parties, and they’d do the same thing with the candles and the wine. “Would’ve been the same way at the restaurant.”
True.
“Anyway, I hope you don’t mind. I got you the petit filet with the gunpowder crust,” he says. “Side of scallops.”
I always used to order that exact meal from Maestros.
“How’d you know I like those things?” I ask. I still haven’t taken a single step.
“I didn’t.” He makes his way to his dining room table, lifting the cloche from his plate. “Figured everyone likes either seafood or steak, so I got you both just to be safe.” Jude’s green gaze lifts toward mine. “You’re not a vegetarian, right?”
I shake my head and his mouth curls at the side. He’s so casual, so natural around me, and I can’t help but feel like I’ve known him longer than I have.
“You going to come in and eat?” he asks. “Or you just going to stand there like I’m Hannibal Lecter about to serve you braised brain and Chianti?”
“Sorry,” I say, finally closing the door behind me. “I guess this just wasn’t what I was expecting. A little taken aback.”
“If you want, we can ditch this entire thing and go grab a slice of pizza?” he offers. “I’m just as comfortable talking business under fluorescent lights.”
There’s something fascinating about Jude, something contradictory in the way he looks so high brow but speaks to me like the boy next door. He wears Gucci shoes but cracks lame jokes and doesn’t take anything seriously. He smiles at me constantly, and it isn’t a creepy smile, but one that makes my heart do the tiniest somersaults sometimes.
The way he acts completely challenges the way he looks, and I’ve never met anyone like him. Didn’t even know guys like him existed, least of all in the Upper East Side.