Just a Number (Downtown #1) (20 page)

“This is a nice California wine.” And here it was. “You might want to contact them for sponsorship; a better match for your event.”

I was instantly defensive, and snapped at him, “You’re not my boss.” Then promptly finished what remained in my wine glass.

He, on the other hand, was calm. Weighing his words carefully, he spoke in an authoritative tone. “That’s true. But
they
are
my
clients. Not sure it’s a match up.”

“I don’t know how familiar you are about their industry, but Dupree-Lovingier is a well-known name in the fashionista world.” I may have been a little louder than I should have been. I lowered my voice; losing my cool was not going to help my case. “Their clientele includes designer royalty.”

“In New York.” He took a sip. “It’s a different realm.”

“The Los Angeles showroom represents the exact same high-end designers,” I served him information and facts.

After listening to my comparisons, he hit back with a lethal backhand. “People talk about the ever popular New York Fashion Week.”

I refused to let him win when he knew nothing about the event details. He had not bothered to ask me about them, and I was the only one that knew everything. “Lark… Skylar is planning a spectacular Red Carpet event. She’s lined up a fashion show that will draw media attention. Music industry biggies. Celebrities.” I continued to give him a list of impressive attendees.

He didn’t seem impressed in any fashion—pun not intended. He just asked about one person. “Dupree?”

“Yes. She will be attending. She’s French. She wants French wine; Pinard Vineyard. But, don’t discount Lark, ever. She has worked alongside Ida for thirteen years. She brought a fresh, new dynamic to her showroom with cutting-edge brands that have hit it big… Ida would tell you the same thing. She is thankful for Lark and her innovations. It’s important in the fashion world to keep up with the trends or, better yet, be ahead of them.”

No one should ever question Lark’s passion… her drive. I met her a year before she fled to the East Coast. We were both enrolled together in a few fashion merchandising courses at the Fashion Institute, known by most simply as FIDM. Our connection was immediate; she was a go getter, too. While she had a good relationship with her father, another man in her life had her on the fence. Like me, she was determined to prove her worth. Besides our similar goals, she taught me a great deal about the fashion world. Without her lessons, I would’ve gone blindly into my desired realm of public relations. Instead, I knew what I was getting into and I absolutely loved it.
Do something you love! Don’t let anyone discount you!
I was stating my case.
How could he deny me?

“Suze is backing you.” Even if Dash wasn’t convinced, at least she had my back.

She had helped me before, but I wanted to win our current battle on my own. “Not you, though. You’ve been leery about my decisions with Katie’s Swim Shack and now Pinard Vineyard. You approved me on Katie’s.”

“I was uncertain about the vineyard before. It’s not about you, Willow, your clientele or your record. They’re both commendable. I just take my work personally. It’s my name on the line.”

“I refuse to fail,” I replied in a calm voice, opposed to how I was truly feeling inside. My blood was beginning to boil.
How dare he challenge me!
I may not own the company, but I had been in the public relations field as long as he had. I was good at what I did. I took care of my clients. My name had some weight, as well.

As I was about to add to my mounting case, a sexy blonde bombshell invaded our table… Dash’s table. She paid no notice of me, turning her backside into my face as she addressed my dinner companion. “Good to see you, Dash. All settled in? Ready to take me on? I’m in need of one of our personal sessions.” She was running her hands suggestively over her ample curves, completely ignoring that he wasn’t alone. I ceased to exist to her until he cleared his throat and introduced us by first name. Lacking in class, she said “Hello,” overlooking my extended hand.

Listening to his placation of her, it was obvious she was a client. Yoga or PR, I wasn’t sure. All I knew was, she wanted a little personal one-on-one time with him. Watching her walk away, a smirk graced my face. “I see you do take a
personal
interest in your clientele.” Then it hit me, seeing who the glamazon joined at the bar. Isn’t that Taylor Winston? And she is… Marlena… Gentry?”

He turned to follow my gaze. “Not familiar with her. The other one is my client. Only.
Nothing more.
She’s represented by Woodland, Oliver and Associates.”

“It’s none of my business what you do in your personal life. We’re here to discuss business.” He had made it perfectly clear he wanted nothing do with me
physically
.

He looked at me over the rim of his second glass of wine. I refused to show my true feelings and looked away.
Yes. I was a tiny bit jealous.
An emotion I had never felt with a man. I’d been jealous of being overlooked for a job. Jealous of someone getting a bright shiny new car, designer handbag, expensive watch, et cetera. I knew what it felt like, but not in a relationship. Not that we had a relationship, other than a business one. The stab in my chest was all new. I rambled on as he tried to speak.

“I know New York, Paris, Milan are the big ones. Even London has been gaining more notice. LA is an entirely different breed. We’re about beach living, even though most people don’t live near the beach. We’re about restaurants. We’re about tourist traps. Celebrities. Hollywood. Cowboys, God knows why they don’t move on from that… We’ve never been looked at for high fashion, but we have the clients here. The store buyers do come to shop the showrooms. To be schmoozed. To be wooed. I’ve been present during market weeks—fashion weeks. Lark and her girls put out a big, amazing spread of refreshments from some of the best downtown restaurants. She has even begun to serve Pinard wines. She has music flowing through the wide open loft while they put on a show, exhibiting her designers’ latest wears and goods for the appropriate season. The buyers absolutely adore her.”

I took a big breath and kept going. “And, let us not forget that LA has the biggest fashion show of the year. The whole world tunes in for it to see who is wearing what and whom. Celebrities are matched with fashion designers; The Academy Awards. There is no other city in the world that can compete.” I settled back in my chair with my arms folded, waiting and taking a few, much needed, breaths.

“Okay.” His word was simple.

“Okay?”
Had I won? Or did he just what be to clam up?

“Yes. You win.” He smiled, amusingly, with his beautiful full lips.

I knew he said I won, but I needed to convince him just a bit more. “I would never do anything to hurt a client. And certainly not one of yours, either. I calculate everything. I research. I make sure when combining clients that it’s truly good for both of them. I love Pinard wines. I love Lark’s showroom…”
I love you. Where did that come from? How did that flow so easily?

“What happen to you, Willow?” I knew exactly what he meant.

“I was told I couldn’t be a business woman, that I should be a wife and mother. That I should go to college to find a successful man to take care of me. That women were ruining the corporate world, along with the institution of marriage, and neglecting their children.”

“I want to know you…”

He wanted to know me. I already felt like I knew him. He had never spoken about anything more than superficial things: food, drink, current events, whatever was going on around us. It was the unspoken words that made me feel a connection with him. It was physical and yet, it wasn’t. I had never been so quiet, yet so alive. The way our bodies slipped, twisted, bent, and curved together. So quiet, I noticed our breathing. How linked it was, like the ebb and flow of the sea. His exhalation… my inhalation. His inhalation… my exhalation. I had never felt a man’s body like I did his. Our hands roamed and explored. His skin was soft, thinner in some spots, thicker in others, rough and textured with coarse hair varying in density. Our movements, slow and rhythmic; we were in tune to each other. Fast and rough, bent over downward dog, rabbits pose, taken from behind, face to face—we fueled each other. Panting. Breathing. Moaning. Simultaneously we connected without words.

“Where did you go, Willow?”
How long had I zoned out?

“I was thinking… We don’t know each other. Rex and Tomasina spent one night together swapping stories. They know each other’s history. We don’t know details about each other but…”

“I want to know you. No rules. No restrictions. I want details—lots of them.”

“Spiritually…”

“Spiritually?”

“We know each other spiritually… We fit together. Without details of our pasts. Without shared hopes, dreams, and wishes. Our connection…”

“We are connected. I feel it too. I want more with you, Willow. Only
you
.”

It was my turn to give a simple answer. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes. But not tonight. Tomorrow. We’ll meet up, have brunch, and lots of champagne. For now, let’s just drink. Eat. Listen to…”

“No, Willow. I will not be leaving you tonight. We will walk to brunch tomorrow. Tonight, we will dance and then I will walk you to your house… wherever that may be.”

“You want to go home with me?”

“Yes. I am going home with you. I am going stay with you all night. I am going to take us to a whole new spiritual level.”

“Feed me first.” I smiled, sitting across the table from my…
yes, my
gorgeous man, dining by candlelight.

We enjoyed a variety of enchantedly named foods:
Little Gem Lettuces, Filet Mignon Au Poivre, Little Bunny Frou Frou
and finished off our meal with
Chocolate Pot de Crème
for dessert. Ready to move into the lounge area to sample a few uniquely titled cocktails crafted by the bar staff:
Hemingway on the Beach
or
Midnight in Paris
for me, a
French Maid
or
Lolita
for him, we stopped abruptly as a certain familiar female co-worker came into view.

Standing in front of us, behind a stack of electronic equipment—DJSuze—with red headphones perched on top of her wild blonde tresses. She was moving her body along to the rhythm of the music she spun. Wearing a sexy halter dress, a brightly colored butterfly, surrounded with musical notes, tattoo was visible on her left shoulder blade, another secret revealed.

“Did you know about this side of her?” Stepping back a bit, we stood obscurely out of her line of sight, watching her master her sound system.

“I didn’t know she was performing here, but I did hear that she was spinning music around town. I did see her a few weeks back on the top of the Standard.”

“You’re quite the night clubber.” He ribbed me, lightly.

I snickered. “Hardly. I was actually there with one of my walkers—not the one you met—eating at the German beer garden on the west side of the building, situated behind a row of trees. As we were leaving, I saw her spinning vinyl, sliding gadgets, maneuvering a laptop, and incorporating lighting. She looked like she really knew what she was doing. She’s good!”

“She’s great! Look at her.” His eyes sparkled as he watched her.

Nudging him, I suggested, “I think we should slip out without her seeing us. I’d rather she come out of her musical closet on her own time.”

“Agreed.” He offered me his arm. Excepting it, we turned to leave the bar.

“Funny! You two are perfect partners. So alike; you the rockstar-yoga-guru, her the DJ-goddess.” I laughed as we escaped down the ornate, yet rickety, old elevator.

Out on the street, we crossed Pershing Square, and rounded the Sixth Street corner to my apartment. Hand in hand, we walked, stopping occasionally for Dash to gift me with a brush of his lush lips on mine. A little taste of what was sure to escalate inside the privacy of my loft.

Dash

A
s we stopped in front of the entrance of her building, I gazed around, familiar with the area. I had walked past her place hundreds of times. On the way to work in the morning, I grabbed my favorite coffee drink from a shop that was kitty-corner to her apartment. On weekends, I often had brunch at the tavern at the end of her block after teaching or attending a sunrise yoga session in downtown. My pastry cravings took me to Bottega Louie around the corner from her, too. For months, we’d been living so close to each other. Almost even closer. When I first decided to rent a place in LA, I actually toured a couple units that were going to be available in her building. Not able to wait, I secured other temporary housing.

Pulling on my arm, I followed her inside. A quietness enveloped us from the elevator to beyond her front door. Our eyes said things that no words could verbalize. There are rare moments in life when actions speak louder than words; that was true for us. I wanted her to know that I didn’t come home with her merely for a roll in her bed. I was serious when I said I wanted to take us to another level. That was what I was attempting to convey.