To See You (9 page)

“Yeah?”

“It sounded cool, the gruff voice against the sugary-sweet beat. I liked it a lot.”

“Thanks. Are you hungry?” I changed the subject mostly because I couldn’t handle the compliment from her. It made me want to march around the room, pounding my chest and yelling,
She likes me! My music. Me. Me. Me
.

“Starved. I hope it’s okay to admit that here in the land of pretty people. Though, I’m not sure I’d ever say that at home either.”

The last part trailed off as if she was talking to herself, mumbling the truth, trying to convince herself to get out of Dodge. Her gaze traveled to the floor, her eyes half fluttering in quick embarrassment at her words.

After all, I wasn’t exactly pretty.

“What are you in the mood for?” I completely ignored her fumble, hoping it was the right move.

“Sushi? Do you like it?”

“I know just the place,” I lied.

I’d never been there. I’d wanted to go, but it was a hot, trendy spot. Definitely not the type of place I’d hit up with the guys. Plus, sushi never quite satisfied me. But with Charli, I was already full.

Christ, I’m turning into a romantic cornball
.

“Great!”

“I brought my car. Would you like to ride with me?” I didn’t know what the protocol was. She’d clearly taken a car service to the premiere, and she was an independent New York City girl—woman.

“Sure.” She swallowed and her delicate pink tongue came out to swipe over her red lips. “You’re not going to steal me and sell me off to Mexico or anything?”

“They do like blondes down there.”

Somewhere I found the confidence to snatch her hand in mine and squeeze it. I winked as I joked and she laughed, her giggle filling the air all around us. I wanted to reach out and grab it, shove it in my pocket, and save it for a bad day.

“You’re funny, Layton G.”

“Glad you think so, Charli. Come on.”

I led her toward the exit and out into the crisp nighttime air, handed the valet my ticket, and turned toward my . . . date? Friend? Acquaintance?

“Cold?” I asked.

She was running her hands up and down her arms. I watched tiny goose bumps pop out on her creamy skin like it was an Oscar-winning movie.

“Here.” I shrugged off my jacket and wrapped it over her shoulders. It engulfed her in a way that was almost comical.

“I thought it would be warmer,” she admitted, pulling the jacket tighter around her. “Thanks.”

My car drove up, and the valet jumped out of the driver’s side and opened the passenger door for Charli. Of course, he did.

She handed me my jacket and slid into the black leather seat of my BMW, the skirt of her dress riding up her leg. I tucked my tongue back into my mouth for the second time this evening.

“Drive safely,” the valet called out, never taking his eyes off my passenger.

I turned the key and looked toward Charli, noting the small wisps of her blond hair framing her face. “Ready?”

She nodded, a slight smile settling on her lips as she set her hands in her lap and looked toward the city in front of us.

Pulling out into traffic, I hit the button on the steering wheel to turn on the stereo. Ed Sheeran flooded the car. Hey, I worked in music . . . I knew which tunes got the ladies comfortable.

“Truth is, I’ve never been to this place but I’ve wanted to go,” I said, starting to ramble again. What I didn’t mention was that afterward, I’d probably hit up the In-and-Out so I wouldn’t go to bed hungry.

“I’m excited to eat anywhere. I had to starve myself all day to fit in this dress—” She stopped short and covered her mouth with her hand.

Me too, except it was a tux and not a dress,
I wanted to admit, but I didn’t.

“Sorry,” she said with an embarrassed grin. “That was TMI, but it’s true.”

“Well, they keep mentioning Zao’s in the LA mag, and it even had a quick write-up in Esquire last month. It’s not far, which is also a bonus because everything out here is a pain in the ass.”

“Where do you live? Near here?”

“I’m over in Santa Monica, maybe twenty, thirty minutes with light traffic. It’s a pretty cool neighborhood, hip, whatever. I bought a run-down bungalow on a jumbo mortgage when I started my biz. It was a bit of a gamble, but I needed the space for my own studio, and it was cheaper than renting one. So I put one in, and it’s paid off. And you? Back east?”

“I live in the Meatpacking District. An old warehouse converted into condos. I live by myself . . . I actually don’t do well with roommates.”

“Really?”

“I’m a bit intolerant of others when I’m working or getting ready for a run. I don’t know; I just like my own space.” She ran a finger behind her ear, securing her hair behind it, and turned her gaze out the passenger window.

“I get it. Actually, I don’t do that well living with others either. In college after the first year, I opted for a single.”

She smiled again; I could see the corner of her mouth raise in profile, and it was brilliant. “I was always the odd one left out in college because I was so far ahead, but younger without an ID. Maybe that’s why I never really got into roommates. I was always left behind. Until I met Janie. She’s my closest friend back home.”

“I still hang with a few of my buddies from school. We were all kind of a bit off-beat—” I said, then stopped short as anxiety got the better of me. “I don’t know why I’m saying all this shit. I’m a bit nervous, to be honest.”

“Why?”

“It’s not every night I have a stunning, intelligent woman in my car. Let alone one who looks as good as you do in that dress.”

I let it all hang out there. After all, I’d corresponded for weeks via e-mail with Charli. If she didn’t know by now I had a crush on her, I clearly wasn’t doing anything right.

She gave me a polite smile. “We barely know each other, so there’s no reason to be nervous. You’re just being a welcoming host to me. It’s not like you have to impress me.”

And there you have it. She didn’t know I was into her, or else didn’t want to admit it to herself. I had failed.

Just then, we pulled up to Zao’s, and another valet ran to open her door and openly gawked as she exited the car. His eyes ran her full length, pausing at her sexy-as-fuck shoes before making their way back up to her cleavage. Good thing she didn’t seem to notice.

This time, I didn’t grab her hand. We walked into the restaurant side by side after the overeager valet grabbed the door.

“Heyyy, welcome to Zao’s. Do you have a reservation?” The hostess was nearly toppling over in her five-inch heels and the sausage skin masquerading as a black dress.

Fuck. Reservations.

The place thumped and bumped all around us thanks to the live DJ in the corner, who clearly didn’t know how to adjust the bass.

“You know what? Bernie Ross from production was supposed to call ahead for me. I’m Layton Griffin . . . I’m one of the sound guys over at MGM.” I acted quickly, thought up something like a dog in heat, desperate to get knocked up. I would never have this chance again.

“Bernie? Let me look.” She ran her gaze up and down the iPad in front of her, tapping open apps with her finger. “Shell, did someone from Bernie Ross’s place a call?”

Who knew Bernie was such a bigwig here?

A woman’s disembodied voice came from the iPad; apparently it doubled as their phone as well. “Who knows? If he’s with Bernie, give him a table by the window.”

The hostess stared at me for less than a beat before she grabbed a couple of iPads that obviously doubled as menus and said, “This way.”

Wow, it worked!

My fingers grazed Charli’s back, urging her to go in front of me, and instantly caught fire. And really, I wasn’t so hard up, but the light touch was magnetic.

The hostess led us toward a two-top against the window. I scurried ahead to beat her at pulling out a chair for Charli, ignoring the awkwardness of the hostess trying to wedge herself around me as Charli paused and witnessed the whole thing.

It was better than watching the
Return of the Jedi
when Charli turned on her iPad. Her features were softly illuminated by the glow, emphasizing her plump and tender lips, as her gaze focused on the backlit menu in front of her.

“Do you like the raw stuff?” Charli’s question brought me out of my trance.

“Yeah. I pretty much like everything.”

And would need a few slices of pizza later . . . my usual sushi routine.

The server came over and welcomed us with more pomp and circumstance than I thought was usual. The Bernie factor, I assumed.

We ordered a few rolls and some sashimi. Charli ordered a glass of prosecco; I opted for a Sapporo. Mostly, we made small talk about the movie while we waited for the drinks.

“Cheers to first class and my lucky seat . . . 2D.” I touched my cold can to her glass.

“Ha,” she said, taking a sip of her sparkling drink.

Her blond hair contrasted sharply against the black walls, so shiny under the overhead lights of the restaurant. I wanted to run my fingers through it.

“So, New York all the time. That must be intense?” I focused on her collarbone and shoulders for a moment. They were perfect, slight, but not too bony. I’d give my left nut to be with a woman like this.

“It’s home. I’m used to it, been there since right after college. I have a routine, and I work a lot. Although, this place is pretty crazy itself.”

“It is, but out here everyone’s in the ‘business’ and we all drive around in our cars and show up fashionably late. Well, not me always. I’m a behind-the-scenes guy, and I guess I like fading into the background like that, especially in a town like this, where it’s all so plastic.” There I went again with my tell-all, diarrhea mouth.

“It does feel a bit fake out here, like everything’s so perfect. But I’m sure New York seems that way to some people.”

“I had a good time there, but I couldn’t believe how people rush around. I never can, anytime I’m there. I like being behind my mixing table with my headphones in my studio.”

Her eyes crinkled the tiniest bit at my comment. For some reason, she got my need to have space. Although, I doubted that she and I shared that quirk for the same reasons.

I was an outcast, and Charli? Well, she was a perfectionist.

But also perfect to the human eye.

H
ot and flushed, I finished my prosecco a lot faster than normal. This guy listened to Ed Sheeran, drove a BMW, and was totally . . . unexpected.

Then again, I wasn’t sure what I expected. Perhaps a man conjured up from Janie’s expectations and my mom’s recent fixations?

I did come partly for him, expecting him to make me laugh, but this? The whole thing with him being a romantic James Dean crossed with John Cusack,
that
I wasn’t prepared for.
Except for his build
.

Of course, he’d cleaned up well for tonight. His black hair was parted and styled, gelled into place. His teeth were white, and a light wave of cologne wafted from him. His tux was a tad tight, his stomach not entirely constrained by the pants, but from the shoulders up, he was a looker.

God, Charleston . . . get a grip.

But I was having a lot of fun, more fun than I should be having. This was a work trip, and it was only a convenient coincidence that Layton was here with me at dinner.
Right?

“I’m sure your studio is cool,” I said. “I think when you love what you do, that’s all that matters.”

His brow furrowed and his eyes locked on mine. Silver flecks sparked in his irises when he went in for the kill. “Do you like what you do?”

Automatically, my hand went for my empty champagne glass.

“Would you like another?” His gaze drifted around the restaurant, looking for a server.

“I’d better not. I barely ate today.” Inside my head, my brain was wildly waving a red flag. I was enjoying myself entirely too much, and there was no need for more booze.

“Do you like what you do?” Layton obviously wasn’t going to let it go. He was too perceptive for that.

“I do, but I liked writing more. Now I spend my days axing ideas and cutting copy. I sort of want a change already, but it feels wrong. I’m only twenty-eight. Too young for this kind of crisis.”