Pleasure.
“How was your day?”
“Mmm.” His hands slide around my waist.
“Mmm?” The sound vibrates against my skin and sends shockwaves through me.
“It was good. Wonderful. Long. I could go on.”
“I see you got my text.”
“And your gift.” I run a hand down my abdomen to smooth the dress down and my hand hits his and stays there. “Thank you. It was unnecessary.”
“A lot of things are . . . that doesn’t mean you still don’t deserve them.”
“Your place is gorgeous.” I say looking at it through the reflection in front of me. Dark blues, soft greens. Masculine but cozy.
“I’m here nowhere near as much as I used to be, but it’s nice to have when I am.”
“Thank you for letting me stay here.” I feel silly for saying it, but it’s true. I was expecting the coach or a hotel . . . not his place. Not with him.
“After everything we’ve been through?” He chuckles and moves his lips to the side of my neck. “I figured we at least needed to go out in style.”
His words make my stomach lurch into my throat. I’m sure he didn’t mean them how I took them—one last tryst before we part ways—but it’s where my mind went with it and hell if it’s not hard to remind myself to separate my feelings from it all.
Enjoy the moment, I remind myself. Breathe it in. Live in the now.
“I tell you to pick any restaurant in the city, money’s no object,”—he laughs and points at me with his breadstick—“and you ask for takeout on the rooftop.”
I look up from my half-eaten piece of pizza, smile softly, and wish I could take a snapshot of him like this right now. Seated cross-legged on the ground, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, bare feet sticking out beneath his slacks, hair disheveled, eyes ablaze, and that shy smile of his I love directed straight at me.
“Sometimes simple is better. No frills. No pretenses.” I shrug and feel ridiculous as I point to the scenery around us from the rooftop patio that I assume is highly coveted in this concrete jungle. There’s a covered trellis overhead giving us privacy, an expansive patio set we’re resting our backs against, a soft rug beneath us, and the city laid out around us complete with twinkles and moonlight.
“That’s one of the things I like about you.”
“I’m surprised you like any of me after being stuck on a bus with me for two months.”
“You and your slurping straw,” he teases.
I stick my tongue out at him and take another bite, realizing that no matter how many times I look away from him, when I look back his eyes are always on me. Always looking closer than I want them to. The question is, what exactly is he hoping to find? “How was your day?”
“Good. Busy. Some meetings in the morning for some of my other businesses. A quick drink with Robert to go over some last minute details. Some time spent catching up on the day to day.” He reaches out and fills my glass of wine without asking. “How about you? I want to hear all about your meeting with Essie.”
“Where do I start other than to say it was incredible. She’s absolutely wonderful and charming and nothing like I imagined she’d be.”
He chuckles. “That’s only because she sees tremendous potential in you. If she hadn’t you would have found her curt and bitchy and aloof with not much to say, so that’s a good sign she liked you.”
“She was a fountain of knowledge. I think my head is still spinning. Trends and markets and exposure and, gah! I’m still trying to process it all.” But even the mention of today, of the once in a lifetime opportunity he set up for me with one of the biggest modeling agencies in the world, has me feeling like I’m floating on air.
“How’d you leave it with her?”
“She wants me to forward my contract with my existing agent to her when I get home so she can see the terms. She thinks it’s possible to get me released from it so I can sign with her.”
I’m still in shock over that. Freaking IMG Models wants to manage me.
“I didn’t expect any less,” he says, pride owning his voice. “Do me a favor and let a lawyer see it first before you send it to her. I can even have mine take a glance at it for you so that you’re given a neutral opinion. If Essie wants you that bad, her bias will be a little slanted, and I just want to make sure you’re protected.”
I want to protest and say I can hire my own attorney and yet I wouldn’t know the first place to start. “Thank you. I don’t expect you to do it for free . . . I just wouldn’t know where to even begin.”
“Not a problem on all fronts. Anything I can do to help you, Harlow . . . please, feel free to ask.”
“Again, thank you.” It’s all I say, nerves jumping out of control for some reason at the simple compliment exacerbated by the guarded look in his eye.
Tell him, Low.
I stand without talking and pad around the small space.