Z doubted that, but he understood the pleasantry. Figuring RT wanted to take the lead on this particular meal so that they didn’t contradict one another, Z sat idly by, listening and waiting.
“So what is it that you do?” Amahn asked after the server had poured wine.
Z stared at the glass, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with it. He didn’t drink wine, didn’t even like wine. He needed a beer.
As though reading his mind, Jericho laughed, lifting his hand and calling the waiter back. “What’s your pleasure?” Jericho asked.
Z looked up at the waiter. “Corona?”
The man narrowed his eyes at him.
“Heineken?”
No response.
“Fine, no import?” The man again didn’t respond. “Right. Then bring something domestic on tap. Both of us.” Apparently the waiter understood that, nodding and disappearing back toward the kitchen.
“We’re…entrepreneurs,” RT told Amahn. “We dabble in a little of this, a little of that.”
Z knew it was imperative that they kept their identities on the down low if they expected this to work, but based on Amahn’s inquisitive gaze, that wasn’t going to be as simple as it sounded.
“And you’re down here on business?” Amahn probed.
“Pleasure, actually,” RT answered. “We’ve got a house on the beach. Unfortunately we don’t get to visit as often as we’d like.”
Z leaned back in his seat, casually resting his elbow on the back of the chair. Yes, he was aware he lacked some of the decorum necessary to reflect wealth and status, especially in this…whatever this place was. A French restaurant of all places. He didn’t even know what French food was. He doubted French fries counted.
But even as he sat there surrounded by well-dressed people assembled around fancy, white-linen-covered tables with flickering candles as a centerpiece, Z refused to be someone he wasn’t. It was one thing to pretend to have a certain job or come from a particular area, but Z wasn’t going to fake it when it came to who he really was on the inside. He definitely wasn’t one of these pompous assholes whose closet consisted of three-dozen neck nooses to go with their Armani suits.
“RT’s two favorite things are the beach and art,” Z lied through his teeth when it appeared Amahn was looking for more detail. “So, I thought it’d be nice for an extended vacation. He gets the sand and the sun, I get the water, and thanks to our good friend here, we get art. Our interest was in meeting with a few collectors while we’re here.”
“That’s why we sought out Jeri,” RT tacked on, his eyes glued to Z’s face, clearly stymied by Z’s blatant misrepresentation of the truth.
Amahn’s lips pursed slightly, likely surprised at the casual reference to his lover. It hadn’t eluded Z that Amahn had referred to him as Jericho a few moments ago. “And I hear you’re having a get-together tomorrow night. Will anyone we know be in attendance?”
Yes, Amahn was suspicious; there was no doubt about that.
“You’ll have to come and find out for yourself,” RT said teasingly. “Shall we?” he asked, nodding toward the menu.
“Yes. Of course.” Jericho’s laugh had an edge of anxiety to it. “Let’s order. That’s why we’re here. We can continue the interrogation over the meal.”
Right. And Z figured that wasn’t very far from the truth. It was obvious that Amahn didn’t trust them. But that went both ways. Z’s first impression of the guy was that he was a snake. He was after something and he had to assume it was the painting. That or Jericho’s money.
Either way, he was going to be someone they would definitely have to keep their eyes on.
*
Turned out that the questions at the beginning were the highlight of the meal. For the past hour and a half, Z had endured endless explanations regarding what Jericho and Amahn did for a living, including boring details about the art at the gallery.
He was surprised he hadn’t fallen asleep.
With three beers under his belt, Z was feeling better than good, although he was hardly buzzed. Thankfully they’d taken a cab over, which meant he didn’t have to worry about driving home. But he did have to worry about groping RT when they were alone. The beers had relaxed him enough that he could deal with eating the fancy meal that tasted like cardboard, but they hadn’t helped ease his desire to put his hands all over RT.
As it was, Z had focused most of his attention on RT. Watching him interact with Jericho and Amahn…it was no wonder the man had taken Sniper 1 Security to new heights since he’d taken on more responsibilities in recent years. The guy was phenomenal. He spoke eloquently yet still appeared casual and approachable.
And sexy as fuck.
RT reminded Z a lot of Jessie Pavelka, the fitness expert/television host. Well, except that RT was taller.
And right now…as RT sat talking art with Amahn and Jericho, Z was pretty damn sure the man had never been hotter. He rocked that light gray suit and that dark blue tie like no one’s business.
“Well, I think it’s time we move on to more interesting things,” Jericho said. “I know you’ve got to put finishing touches on your party, which we will definitely be at, by the way, so what do you say we head out?”
Z got to his feet before the others, but they quickly followed suit. RT shot him a questioning look, but Z merely smiled, then placed his arm around RT.
Yep, that’s right. I’m touchin’ you.
RT didn’t pull away, which only encouraged Z. As they headed for the door, he maintained a position close to RT, his hand on RT’s back as though guiding him.
After Jericho and Amahn climbed into the sleek black car that had been waiting for them, Z asked the valet to hail a cab.
It wasn’t until they were in the cab that RT turned to him.
Z fully anticipated a scolding for something he’d possibly done to screw shit up tonight, but that wasn’t what he got.
“We’re meeting them at the gallery,” RT informed him, heat blazing in his eyes.
Right. Gallery.
Fuck.
No, he definitely didn’t get a scolding, nor did he get anything else from RT. What he got…was a stupid reminder that the night wasn’t over yet.
THEY’D TAKEN A CAB TO the gallery, and during that short trip, Ryan could’ve sawed the tension with a chainsaw and still not cut completely through. His vow to keep distance between him and Z was failing miserably, mainly because he found he enjoyed Z’s company, more so than he’d anticipated. More so than he wanted.
Ryan had managed to talk himself around in circles when it came to Z. Last night, before he’d finally dozed off, he had committed himself to keeping things professional between them. That was a hell of a lot easier to do when he wasn’t around Z. Pretending to be a couple… It wasn’t helping. Ryan found himself hoping, sometimes convinced that he could manage a relationship with Z if he’d just give it half a chance.
But then he remembered what happened if it all fell to pieces. And that was the equivalent of being doused in ice water.
Now, as he stood next to Z, he could feel the man’s overwhelming presence. Once again, he drew attention from those in the room, many eyes slowly perusing him. Ryan knew what he was feeling couldn’t possibly be possessiveness, but he didn’t know what else to call it, so he pretended not to notice all the people looking their way.
The gallery was just as Ryan had expected. Sterile, white, and cold. Since he wasn’t much into art, the colorful, abstract paintings on the wall and awkward sculptures were lost on him. Z as well, if his expression was anything to go by.
But the floors were nice. Odd thing for Ryan to notice, but he appreciated the stained concrete. The charcoal color flowed throughout and offset the bright white walls. There weren’t any ceilings, only a variety of lighting that hung haphazardly from the rafters in an obvious attempt to once again highlight the main focus of the place.