The Critic (6 page)

The streets were crowded and lined with cars on either side. A thousand different scenarios ran around my brain as I tried to think of what to say to this arrogant man. The curbside parking was full, but thankfully the restaurant had valet parking. I pulled my Accord over and hopped out. The valet, in his black-and-white uniform, looked at me from head to toe. My clothes weren’t the norm for someone dining at this establishment, but I didn’t care.

I tossed him the keys in exchange for a ticket. “I won’t be long.”

I took the carpeted stairs two at a time to the hostess station. The sound of flatware on china mixed with the delicious aroma of the diners’ lunches.

The hostess was stunning. She had auburn hair and deep brown eyes that perused me as the valet’s had. “May I help you?”

With a straight spine and my head held high, I said, “Yes, please. I’m here to meet Mr. Chambers.”

She pursed her plump, and no doubt silicone-injected, lips as she looked at the reservation book on the wood-and-brass podium. “It doesn’t say Bent—I mean, Mr. Chambers—is expecting anyone.”

“Really? Well, I wouldn’t want to be the one who made that mistake.” I looked around as if I had a deep, dark secret to tell her. “You know how he gets when he doesn’t get his way.”

This woman obviously knew him. Her pouty, full lips turned into a snarl, and I realized she was probably a gold digger who had carnal knowledge of him. Just the thought of that made me queasy. He was probably old enough to be her grandfather.

“Yes, well, we don’t make mistakes here, but I will take you to him.” Her voice was a tad shakier now.

I felt a hint of guilt but not enough to tell her it wasn’t an error. “Thank you.”

I followed her through the crowded restaurant. I peered around her right shoulder and saw a stodgy-looking older man dining alone. He had to be about eighty. No wonder he didn’t know what passion was. Did his dick even work anymore? Mack wanted our kiss to make him hard, but clearly the man needed a little pill for that. I stifled a laugh.

Just when I thought the hostess would stop at his table, she shifted to her left, exposing the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on. Scratch that—I had seen him at the diner! My heart hammered as I tried to quash my nerves.

“Mr. Chambers, your guest is here.”

Well, fuck me!
My stomach was in knots as my breathing increased.

He gave her a confused look. Then he saw me, and his lips curled into a shit-eating grin. “Thank you, Melissa.”

He winked, and her face reddened. She looked at me and grimaced before she left us. Yup, they definitely had carnal knowledge of each other. I rolled my eyes before his deep blue eyes locked on mine.

He wiped the corners of his mouth with the black linen napkin. “Ms. Jordan, what a wonderful surprise.”

Sex oozed from him. He placed the napkin back on his lap and picked up what I assumed was a scotch neat and sipped it. I couldn’t stop staring at his perfect lips as he licked the amber liquor off them. His crisp, perfectly pressed white shirt definitely contrasted with my Levi’s and “I’m With The Band Raging Urge” T-shirt. I glanced down at my attire.

Shit.
I needed to focus. I sat in the cushioned chair across from him and prayed my shaking legs didn’t touch the table. He was more mouthwatering than the meals being served. Never in my wildest imagination had I pictured Bentley Chambers being the sexy man from the diner.

“I won’t be here long.” I peered back at Melissa’s retreating back before returning my attention to him. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your dessert.”

He chuckled as a waiter came up and offered me a menu, which I declined. He filled my water glass and left a small plate of lemon and lime wedges. I didn’t bother with adding citrus to my water. My mood was sour enough.

“So what is it that I can I do for you, Ms. Jordan?” His voice was deep and made the fine hairs on my arms stand at attention.

Why couldn’t he be the ugly old ogre I had envisioned? I mustered up all the courage I could and prayed my voice didn’t tremble. I realized I was fidgeting with the edge of the white linen tablecloth, so I brought my hands to my lap. “You can tell me why you take pleasure in decimating my career.”

He slid aside what was left of his lunch and leaned his elbows on the table. “Decimate? I don’t find pleasure in decimating your career, nor do I feel that I have. I think you’ve done a fine job of that on your own.” His features remained perfectly chiseled and impassive.

Stoic. Remain stoic.
What a rude son of a bitch. I’d have been in tears if I wasn’t so pissed. “Excuse me?”

“Look, Ms. Jordan, I don’t know what you’re doing here, but if you think I’ve ruined your career, then you need to take a look in the mirror.” His tone didn’t fluctuate as he reprimanded me.

I tried to swallow my heart, which was in my throat. “You’re a theater critic, correct?”

“Yes. I thought that had been established.” He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, making his biceps flex.

“Have you ever taken an acting class, Mr. Chambers?” I’d become more irritated since I sat down. My elbows were firmly planted on the table.

“No, I’m a writer. I haven’t been on stage since high school. That doesn’t mean I can’t see the difference between a good performance and poor one. Is this why you came here, to review my resume? How did you find me anyway?” He lifted his glass to his lips without wavering at all.

“Don’t change the subject. So you’re not an actor, yet you critique my work and say that I lack passion and talent? Who gave you the right to determine who’s good and who’s not?” I felt my shoulders roll forward in defeat, so I straightened my spine.

“Well, quite frankly, my employer does. Andrea—can I call you Andrea, or do you prefer Andi?”

“It’s Ms. Jordan to you. My friends call me Andi.”
How does he know my nickname?

Before I could ask, he smirked, which made me want to reach across the table and slap his smug face. “Fine, Ms. Jordan. I didn’t say you couldn’t act. Well, not entirely. Deep down, you may have the passionate woman needed to play the role, but you aren’t there yet. That doesn’t mean I don’t think you can’t get there. I think you have it in you. Your coming here shows me that you want it. So tell me, when was the last time you were in the throes of passion?”

Was this guy for real? My eyes caught his, and I felt something different, unexplainable. I felt as though he looked through me rather than at me. My insides were in a knot a sailor would have been proud of. “I don’t see how that is any of your business.” I prayed my face wasn’t beet red.

“Ahhh, I think I have my answer. You may have the passion for acting, but can you feel real passion—that’s the question.” He picked up his drink and took a taste. As he set the glass down, he grinned. “I could help you with that.” He winked at me.

I abruptly stood, hitting my thigh on the underside of the square table and making it wobble. The audacity of this man! “You have some nerve! Who the hell do you think you are?” I spun around and noticed the other diners looking my way. I sarcastically smiled and felt like flipping them off.
Fuck this and all the pretentious assholes in here.

As I speed-walked across the restaurant, dodging the wait staff and ignoring the stares, I prayed he wasn’t following me. Melissa shook her head in disgust as I breezed by. I glared back at her and pushed through the revolving door. On the sidewalk, the valet walked up to me. With a shaky hand, I gave him the ticket for my car.

Standing on the corner with my arms crossed, I felt his presence behind me. My brain whirled with how arrogant he was, not to mention his stunning looks. Why did he have to be one of the most striking men I’d ever seen? When he’d asked me about passion, my body tingled with anticipation. I internally chastised myself for that betrayal.

“Ms. Jordan.” His deep voice cut through my thoughts and not in a good way.

My focus remained on the passing cars while I waited for the valet.

“Ms. Jordan!” His voice was sterner, and that irritated me.

Not only was my mind abandoning my reason for being there, but hearing his voice call my name made my skin tingle. I’d said my piece, and now I needed to get the hell away from him.

I twisted to look at him. My head craned back to meet his eyes. “What? What do you want? Am I standing in the wrong spot? Do I have a hair out of place?” I ran my hand over my head in an exaggerated manner. “Didn’t I look convincing when I gave the guy the ticket to retrieve my car?” People leaving the restaurant were looking at me as if I were crazy, so I tried to calm my nerves and took a deep breath. “So are you going to speak or just stand there looking pretty?”

He moved toward me swiftly and brought his hands to each side of my face. He pulled me to him which made me roll up on my toes and crashed his mouth onto mine. His grip became firmer as he tilted his head, making my lips part. His tongue slipped in, and I allowed it. I was totally and utterly gone. Our tongues tangled as his hands slid through my hair, and my hands went under his leather jacket to his strong back. He groaned and pressed his hips against mine. As soon as I felt what the kiss was doing to him, I backed off, looked into his deep blue eyes, and swung my hand at his face.

He grabbed my wrist, stopping the blow, and stared at me. “That is passion, Ms. Jordan.” He trailed his thumb over the corner of his lips, wiping away the moisture that had gathered from our kiss.

I pulled my wrist out of his grasp. “No, Mr. Chambers, that’s acting.”

“Bring that to the stage, and you might keep your job,” he growled without taking his eyes off me. His brows drew together, creating a small crease above his nose.

I squinted in the sunlight as he slid on a pair of aviators that made him look more like a biker than a critic. That, mixed with his perfect hair and overconfident charm, made me weak. All I could do was pray my expression didn’t scream, “I want you.” The valet pulled up with my car, and I was thankful I was wearing Converse sneaks instead of stilettos because I felt as if I could fall over. I sensed that passion in every cell of my body. Damn it, and damn him!

“Good-bye, Mr. Chambers.” I walked behind the car and greeted the valet, who was holding my door open. My body trembled as I slid in.

He shut my door, and the passenger door opened. Mr. Arrogant slid in, shut the door, and buckled up.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” My voice was so loud that the valet looked at me.

Bentley’s eyes narrowed. “We’re not done, and I think you know that as well as I do. Drive.”

“Get out!” Was this guy kidding, just hopping in my car like that? His cologne had begun to permeate the air in my car, and I hurried to open a window so his scent wouldn’t linger.

“Let me help you.” He reached for my hand, which I quickly moved.

“What? With what?” It didn’t matter—he irritated me more than a cold winter’s day. “No! Get out!”

He didn’t move. Instead he faced forward, grabbed his phone, and made a call. “Vanessa, it’s me. Can you please clear my appointments for the rest of the week and send Michael to the shows I was going to review?” He paused, obviously listening to her response. “My doctor’s office?” He glanced at me.

I tried to hide my smile and bit down on my lip.

“Hmm . . . I see. Well, if Helen should call again, tell her that I’ll contact the office when I return to the city, but that won’t be until next week. I’m staying in Jersey through Friday.”

My mouth gaped as I looked at him. “No, you’re not!” My knuckles whitened as I gripped the steering wheel.

He chuckled and focused on his call. “What? No, that was the maid. Yes, it’s fine. Thank you. Have a good week.”

“Get out of my damn car!”

As soon as the words left my mouth, a police officer pulled up alongside me and told me to move.
Damn it! What next?

“I guess you’d better drive unless you want a ticket.” That snarky smirk appeared again, making my blood boil.

The audacity of this man!
I looked at the black-and-white car and waved to the officer before I pulled away. “Where are you staying? It better be close, or I’m dropping you at the corner.” I should have dropped him there anyway.

“The Ritz on Belmont. You won’t have to drive far.”

A rush of relief, laced with a twinge of disappointment, passed over me.
What was wrong with me?
“Fine. I’ll drive you there, and then I don’t want to see you again—ever.”

“Oh, you’ll see me again. I’m going to stay here and help you, and you’re going to let me.”

“The hell I am!” I tried to keep my cool as I drove through the city streets. A few stoplights later, I was at the Ritz. I pulled into the semi-circle in front of the entrance and tossed my car in park, unlocking the doors. “Good-bye, Mr. Chambers.”

He opened the door and got out. Before he closed it, he leaned into my car and handed me his business card. His fingers brushed mine. I didn’t know what was happening to me, because my heart rate picked up and not because I was angry—he was turning me on.

“I know you don’t like me and think I’m a horrible person, but deep down, I think you know I’m right. Don’t lie to yourself and tell me you didn’t feel the heat between us on the sidewalk. Think about it,” he said, his confidence never wavering. “My cell phone number is on the other side. Ms. Jordan, my goal is not to ruin your career. In fact, I would love for the opposite to happen. If you need to go through your script, you have my number. I know you have Justin, but I don’t think he evokes fire in your soul.”

“Pfft! And you think you do?”

“Think about that. My reach in this industry is deep, Ms. Jordan. I’ll expect your call.” He was about to close the door when he leaned in. “By the way, this is for you.” He handed me a penny. “I wouldn’t want to be the source of your bad luck.” He winked and shut the door.

My brows lowered as I watched him walk through the revolving door. I looked at the copper coin.
Bad luck?
As if a lightbulb had turned on, my mouth dropped open. I flashed back five years to a small store. That was him? No wonder he looked familiar! He remembered that? Holy shit, what had I gotten myself into?