Better Than Safe (18 page)

Do you like Japanese food?

What? I ignored the text and tried to refocus on Helene’s diatribe. Something about unfairly limiting creativity by caving into audacious requests. I was sure I couldn’t appease her, so I let my gaze wander back to my screen just as a new message popped up.

Let’s go to Koi. B ready at 12

I pushed the iPad out of reach and made a herculean effort to concentrate on Helene’s newest complaint aimed at a specific couturier. I wanted to laugh at the ludicrous implication that we not take on clients, such as the major Paris-based fashion house in question, until they agreed to stick to their part of any given contract. Hmm. That wasn’t going to happen. I picked up my iPad again, intending to pull up basic financial information on the firm she suggested we cut when another text popped up.

So noon?

Ur ignoring me

Noon?

“Paul? Don’t you agree it’s outrageous?”

“Yes!” I said with more force than necessary. “It is. However, we’ll never say no to Dior, Helene.”

She looked a bit flummoxed by my vehement tone. I started to assure her I understood her side, attempting to soften my point, when my screen lit up again.

Cool. C U

I studied Seth’s text and belatedly realized I’d typed my “yes” at the same time I’d spoken it aloud to Helene. He’d done it again. I tried a vague smile in response to the look of annoyance on the art director’s face. I was chagrined at having been completely distracted whilst at work, by the same man who’d been driving me mad in one form or another for way too long. I deserved her scorn. I wasn’t sure how he did it, but once again he had my full attention. He wasn’t even in the room and all I could think of was Seth. Not my date from the night before who’d squeezed my hand and gently kissed the side of my mouth when we parted ways outside the restaurant. He’d promised to call again, and I’d assured him I was looking forward to it. Except, when I tossed and turned later that night, no doubt a product of the coffee I shouldn’t have had after dinner… all I could think of was Seth. The sound of his deep laughter and teasing banter. I was sure even a simple lunch with the man wasn’t a good idea.

B
Y
LUNCHTIME
my attention was firmly back in place. I was wrapping up a conference call with a French magazine editor who was explaining her idea for a spread she wanted to try for Hermés when my secretary gave a single knock and opened my office door. She burst into my office wearing a wide-eyed awestruck look that was… disconcerting.

“Un instant, s’il vous plaît.” I glanced up at Kerri expectantly after asking the editor to hold a moment. “What is it? I’m on the—”

“I know, I know! I’m so sorry, but you have a visitor. And OMG! He’s famous. I totally know him!”

“Who?”

“The model standing next to my desk!” Kerri made a comical “squee” noise and a silly face as she pointed her thumb toward the ajar door leading to the reception area. She swung her long blonde hair in front of her shoulder and played with the curls as she eyed me coyly. “He is seriously… wow!”

“Kerri, I’m—”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll send him in right away. He said he’s late,” she said, blushing furiously as she scampered from the room.

I blew out a rush of air and picked up my phone, willing myself to concentrate on the overseas caller instead of the gorgeous man who walked in a moment later. Seth smirked playfully as he came to stand over my desk, wearing a pair of perfectly fitted black jeans and a retro-looking gray-fringed coat. It bothered me to have him invade my space, then have the temerity to seem so damned… at home. I licked my lips subconsciously and to my utter horror, stuttered as I said my good-byes to my client.

“Whoa. That’s sexy.”

“What is sexy?”

“You speaking French. It’s hot.”

I squinted up at him, completely thrown off by his presence. “What are you doing here?”

“Lunch at noon? Remember? I asked if you wanted to try that new place, Koi.” He cocked his head and furrowed his brow as though worried about my sanity.

“Yes, I remember but—”

“Let’s go. I’m starving!”

I couldn’t hold back my imperious tone as I shook my head. “Perhaps these are small details, perhaps not. Koi isn’t new but it
is
popular. If you intend to go, even at lunchtime, you’ll need a reservation. The time is now twelve-twenty, not noon. So you’re late. Last point… you didn’t ask me, you tricked me. I’m onto you.”

“Sounds like someone’s hungry. Look, I have a buddy who works there so a reservation isn’t a problem. I’m sorry I’m late. I warned you, timeliness isn’t my thing. And I don’t remember saying Koi was new—”

“You just said it! What do you mean you don’t recall?”

“Geesh! Maybe we better skip the restaurant and get you some fast food pronto. Let me rephrase. Would you like to go to Koi?” Seth quirked his head and gave me a comic “are you satisfied now?” look.

“Hmph. I’m sorry but I can’t. Too busy.”

“There’s no way you already ate. You’re too cranky.”

“I didn’t, but—”

“That’s not good for you. Let’s go across the street to that sandwich place on the corner.”

“No, it’s all right. I—”

“Fine. I’ll go and bring back something. What do you feel like? Ham, turkey, roast beef?”

“I—”

“If you don’t say what you want, I’ll bring you what I like. So spill it or eat pastrami on rye. Your choice.”

I chuckled, charmed in spite of my best intentions. “I actually don’t mind pastrami on rye.”

“Really? I was kidding. Yuck. Whatever you—”

“Wait! What are you about? We aren’t doing this, Seth. Remember? We agreed at most to be friends.”

“Lucky for you, I’m an awesome friend. Be back with your pastrami soon.” He walked to the door and waited for a moment, as though anticipating an argument. Unbelievably, I couldn’t think of one. He flashed a bright smile, then disappeared.

I expected anything from a flurry of texts requesting my condiment preferences to radio silence. Anything could happen. He could decide the line was too long or he didn’t feel like hanging out eating sandwiches with a moody Brit who didn’t know how to deal with him or… anything really. I busied myself with my backlog of morning e-mails. Hopefully he’d give me a warning if he changed his mind about bringing lunch. I was famished.

T
WENTY
MINUTES
later a single knock sounded on my door before it burst open unceremoniously. My giggling secretary escorted Seth into the room by his arm, literally hanging on his elbow and fluttering her eyelashes.

“Mr. Fallon, Seth Landau is here to see you.”

“Thank you, Kerri.” When she didn’t make a move, I added, “Will you be leaving for lunch now?”

“Uh… oh yes!” She turned a bright shade of pink, then darted toward the door. “Be back in an hour.”

Seth lifted his eyebrows comically. “I think she likes me.”

“You think?”

“Now if only I can get you to admit you like me,” he said in a teasing tone as he held up a medium sized brown bag. “Pastrami?”

“Thank you. Let me clear a space at the table there.” I piled the magazines and portfolio books on one end of the glass conference table and gestured for him to take a seat. “I have diet or regular sodas, carbonated water or still. What would you care for?”

“Just plain ol’ water. Thanks”

I chose two water bottles from the mini refrigerator near the table, then watched in fascination as he spread the contents of the bag into two neat place settings and laid a napkin next to each. The detail was slightly fussy, reminding me of something… well, something I would do. I took a seat and thanked him again before unwrapping the sandwich. We ate in companionable quiet for a short time before curiosity began to choke me.

“I don’t get you.”

Seth stopped midbite to roll his eyes before casually leaning back in his chair. “What did I do now? And what don’t you get?”

“Why are we sitting here eating sandwiches?”

“Because you wouldn’t go out for sushi.”

“You’re misunderstanding me on purpose.” I was slightly embarrassed to be the one leading this conversation, but I needed clarification. I needed to find a reasonable way to explain his presence in my life to myself. Seth wasn’t friend material or even boyfriend material. He was a heartbreaker. Or simply an artist looking for a muse. None of those options were good for me.

“There’s no conspiracy theory. We’re a couple guys eating lunch together.”

“Can we have an honest discussion without wisecracks? Please?” I waited for Seth to nod in agreement. When he fussed with the edges of his napkin, it occurred to me he might be nervous. Unlikely, I thought ruefully. “What are we doing? After last week at your flat—”

“That was hot.”

“Yes, well… it was, but I don’t know how to be your friend. You’re too….”

“Weird?”

I chuckled. He was weird. Or maybe he was like everyone else… a little damaged in places no one could see. He reminded me of a pretty bird with a broken wing. One who could still fly, but wasn’t convinced of his own strength or endurance at times.

“You confuse me. And you enjoy it. I told you we could try a tentative friendship but—”

“Let’s be real, Paul. You don’t want to be my casual buddy any more than I want to be yours.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I like you and whether or not you want to admit it, you like me too.”

We held each other’s gaze for a long moment. He was right. Why argue the obvious? Against my better judgment, I did like him.

“We have nothing in common.”

Seth shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. We both like music and art. I model fashion; you’re in fashion advertisement. It’s not a bad start. The rest… like the fact you’re overly controlling, fastidious, and set in your ways… well, I guess you can work on those things.”

“You’re a shit.”

“It’s a step up from ‘tosser.’” Seth chuckled, looking decidedly nonplussed. “I have an idea.”

“This ought to be good,” I snarked.

“It is, smartass. We’re gonna try this friend thing out now. Here’s how it goes. I ask a question about you and your interests and you reciprocate. Got it?”

“Got it. But—”

“No. Just try. If it’s lame, I’ll take my ball and go home. ’Kay?”

“All right.”

“Follow along. So, Paul….” He sat taller in his chair and adjusted his tone so he sounded like he was interviewing me for a job.

I made a show of giving him my rapt attention. “Yes?”

“What’s your favorite breakfast cereal?”

I huffed. “Is that a real question?”

“Yep. C’mon. Play along.” He made a funny, long-suffering face reminiscent of someone patiently teaching the rules of a board game to a simpleton.

“Oatmeal.”

“That’s not a breakfast cereal.”

“Of course it is.”

“Maybe, but I meant something normal like Cheerios.”

“I don’t like Cheerios.”

“Hmm. This is harder than I thought,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “Let’s try again. What was your favorite kind when you were a kid? You were a kid once, right?”

“Ha. Ha.” I sat back and gave him a serious look before answering, “Shreddies.”

“What the fuck are Shreddies?”

I burst into laughter at his confused expression. “They’re like Wheat Chex. They come in flavors too, like Coco or Caramel Shreddies and—”

“That’s disgusting.”

“I agree. What was yours when you were small?”

“Lucky Charms.”

I chuckled at his quick response. “The marshmallow one?”

“Yep. And like every kid out there, I’d eat the marshmallows and leave the crappy plain cereal in the bowl. My mom used to go crazy. ‘I’m not buying this anymore!’” he shrieked in a woman’s falsetto. “But she did. All the time.”

I didn’t detect any sadness in his reflection of a time when he was a valued member of a family, whose needs and desires were considered on a daily basis. Down to his junk food cereal preferences. If anything, he was very matter-of-fact. I decided to follow his lead and let it be.

“My parents didn’t shop for groceries.” The thought of either parent walking the aisles of a Tesco back home was borderline hysterical. Kind of like me at Safeway, I mused. “We had a cook who dealt with market errands and kitchen duties.”

“Hmm. Lifestyles of the rich and famous, huh? Sounds pretty swank.”

“It wasn’t that wonderful.”

“What’s not to love about having someone do all your chores?”

He’d lowered his voice and cocked his head thoughtfully. There was a kindness in his expression that made me think something in my tone must have given me away, though I couldn’t see how. I was sitting in my office taking a brief break for lunch. This was ordinary. Well, except for the gorgeous model sitting across from me patiently waiting for me to embroider a piece of my childhood for him. I shrugged as though it were a nonevent and made certain my tone conveyed measured boredom.

“It was lonely, that’s all.”

“No brothers or sisters?”

“No. Only me. And I spent most of my time on my own. Don’t be sad for me. It gave me plenty of time to read and listen to music and dream of moving far away where things weren’t always painfully quiet.” I didn’t like the melancholy note I’d imposed. I needed to divert attention from myself. “Do you have siblings?”

“Yeah. A brother and a sister. Both younger. I haven’t seen them in nine years. I wonder if I’d recognize them now. Fuck… this is sad shit.”

“I warned you this might be hopeless.”

Seth smiled kindly. “Not so hopeless. To quote Molière, ‘the greater the obstacle, the more glory in overcoming it.’ It sounds like you created the life you dreamed about. And me? I’m on my way to doing something like that too. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I can’t believe you can quote Molière mere minutes after telling me your favorite cereal was Marshmallow Charms. Astounding.”

“Lucky Charms, wise guy. Ever have ’em? They’re amazing. Well, I used to think so. They’d probably suck now.”