It wasn’t about the money. Jessica encountered plenty of rich men. As a hair and makeup artist for film and fashion, she’d had her share of men propositioning her to come live the privileged life with them, at least for a while. Another offer she always turned down religiously.
Mathew had something else, though. He had his shit together. A steady, even-keeled, reliable air about him that screamed stability, a good man to have around in a bad storm. An idea she normally rejected. Jessica was a wild child, a fun-loving, free spirit who stood up for what was right, not what was popular. A guy like Mathew, as proof by his reaction to her handling shit on the plane, could never understand a woman like her. Yet here she was sitting a few inches from him, yet again, and fantasizing about the taste of his lips. It was time to admit she was a glutton for punishment.
No matter how little sense it made, there was something more powerful than logic happening here. She wanted him. He wanted her. But it just wouldn’t work between them. Her usual plan in a situation like this was to have some fun, quench the desperate thirst she had for him, and then move on. Not an easy task when their paths would keep crossing.
She swept her eyeliner up her eye into the perfect wings, and she could feel Mathew’s stare on her.
“How do you do that in the back seat of the car?”
She steadied the small mirror in her hand and swept mascara across the other eye lid. “There’s a joke in there somewhere about what I’m able to do in the back seat of a car. But I’m not touching it.”
“I am sorry that Libby called you to come tonight. They don’t need to meddle.”
“Libby isn’t one to ask for help. When she does I like to make sure I’m there for her. She told me James is counting on you for this meeting tonight, and I’ll give you a better shot at success.” She ran gloss over her lips again and smacked them together.
Trying not to study his face too intently, she glanced at him again, drinking him in. His eyes were deep and black; his skin was a cool sandy color any makeup artist would appreciate for its warmth and perfection.
“Well either way, it won’t happen again. I’m going to tell them both to back off.” The driver pulled the car up to the front of the restaurant, and as she reached for the handle, he grabbed her hand gently. Was he about to profess something? Clutch her hand and bring it to his lips? The way her heart skipped in her chest made her both angry with herself and impossibly excited.
“Wait for him to come around and let you out,” Mathew said, gesturing with his chin toward the driver who was making his way around the front of the car.
Tugging her hand away, all of her mixed emotions now sliding quickly to the angry side of the scale, she blushed. “I don’t need servants. I can get myself out of the car.”
“Gavin and Genevieve Laurence are the owners of the largest fuel station chain in the Southeast. They are currently looking for a new source and vendor, and West Oil is in the perfect position to secure their business.”
“Besides the fact that there is about zero confidence in y’all right now, right?” Damn my flight or fight response. She could never just shut her mouth and take it when someone was sniping at her.
“We’re rebounding in astounding time from the issues we were faced with,” Mathew shot back defensively, clearly having had dropped that line multiple times before. “This is an important dinner.”
“Noted,” Jessica said flatly as she stepped out of the car and thanked the driver graciously for his service. “I’ll make sure Gavin and Genevieve don’t see me accidently getting out of the car on my own accord. What a scene that would cause.”
They walked quickly across the sidewalk and up to the large glass doors of the elegant restaurant. “Are you grasping the—?” Mathew was cut off quickly by the sudden appearance of Gavin and Genevieve, standing in the lobby, looking thoroughly impatient.
“Gavin, Genevieve, it’s a pleasure to see you,” Mathew extended his hand and shook Gavin’s tightly, then leaned in and kissed Genevieve on the cheek. There shouldn’t be a single ounce of jealousy in Jessica about this completely innocuous greeting, but the pang resounded in her gut all the same. An innocent kiss on the cheek, but it was more than she’d ever gotten from Mathew, and that made her suddenly irrational. She greedily wanted his lips to herself. At the same time she wanted his lips to seal shut so he could stop saying stupid shit to her. Was it so hard to find a mute man with a nice set of arms and a huge dick who didn’t want her to pretend she wanted a commitment even when he didn’t? That felt pretty reasonable.
“Where’s James?” Gavin asked, looking over Mathew’s shoulder as though his business partner would suddenly appear.
“He couldn’t join us tonight,” Mathew said, clearing his throat, and Jessica watched a flash of unease move over his face, but it vanished quickly. Mathew was a cool confident man, not easily shaken by the Gavins of the world.
Gavin was a short man with a wide round doughy face and meaty spit-covered lips. His wife was as beautiful as he was ugly and as kind-looking as her husband was grumpy. Where his hair was greasy, hers shined. Where his posture stooped, hers was arrow-straight. This was one of those pairs you could spend hours contemplating how they’d gotten together and why. Always resigning yourself to one thing. Either the little troll was hung like a well-endowed horse or money was a factor.
“I’d have canceled,” Gavin grumbled back as he adjusted his belt buckle and sucked on the tobacco in his mouth.
The silence circled around them like a lasso and tightened until it felt as if it would squeeze them all to death.
“Just give my office a call when he’s available.” Gavin was rifling through his pockets, reaching for his phone.
“Gavin,” Mathew began, puffing his chest in anger. There were a few things Jessica was good at, and diffusing a situation was one of them. The key was to find the common ground and the weak link. It was easy to see Genevieve was a much easier angle to work.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, honey,” she said, lightly touching Mathew’s arm. “I just have to ask Genevieve, is that a Welch Marlo dress?”
An effervescent glow rose up on the woman’s pretty, yet aging, face. “It is,” she sang, patting the dress down around her.
“I have to tell you, I did the makeup for all the models at his show in New York City last year, and you wear that gown better than anyone I’ve seen. It was made for your figure.” Jessica reached across and touched the delicately beaded material of the dress.
“Oh stop,” Genevieve pleaded in that, please never stop way, and Jessica obliged her unspoken request.
“I’m very serious. It just hung off those women like they were wire hangers, but you have exactly what this dress needs. Have you tried anything by Cal Vance Winterstorm?”
“He’s an up-and-comer isn’t he? I’ve heard of him. He made a big splash in Paris.”
“Don’t you know it,” Jessica purred. “He’s a dear friend of mine, and if I don’t introduce you two I’d be doing you both a disservice. A woman like you, walking around in his designs, would be a gift to him.” Jessica pulled her cellphone out and scrolled through her screen.