Gramercy Nights (The Argo Press Trilogy Book 1) (29 page)

“So this is where you sleep?” The curiosity in his voice is unmistakable, and I try to imagine how he sees my room. It’s tiny and windowless and there’s not much space for anything other than a bed, but I’ve been living here for almost two years and it’s home. The only one I’ve got.

“I know it’s small…” I begin but he cuts me off.

“It’s very you.”

I don’t ask what he means by that. I’m not entirely sure that I want to know, honestly.

“Is that your mother?” He releases me to pick up the framed photo of my mom and me outside the Sagrada Familia, studying it closely.

“Yeah.”

“You look so young.”

“I was eighteen.”

He nods, setting the photo back down where he found it. “Your mother was very beautiful.”

I feel pinpricks at the corners of my eyes and I blink, trying to stop them before they start. “So, what’s the plan for tonight?” I ask, changing the subject. Sebastian considers me sadly and I know he’s still thinking about the smiling girl in the picture, the girl I used to be, but he doesn’t push.

“It’s a work dinner. I hope you don’t mind. I just wanted to see you.”

The car drops us off at Bistrot 65, a ridiculously fancy restaurant on the Upper East Side that even I’ve heard of. It’s housed in a brownstone that was once a private residence.

When Sebastian tells me we’re meeting Malcolm Renault, I can’t mask my excitement. I want to play it cool, but the idea of actually having dinner with a writer I’ve been reading since I was a teenager is insane.

Even though I knew Sebastian has been trying to sign him, I’m a little surprised Malcolm even agreed to see Sebastian when he could easily go with one of the Big Four. They have the money and resources to write him a huge check without blinking an eye. And something tells me, Malcolm Renault is accustomed to outlandish advances and publishers catering to his every whim.

Which I guess explains why we are meeting at such a fancy restaurant.

The restaurant is decorated in lavish cream and black art deco design, punctuated with accents of kelly green. It’s not at all what I would have expected from the impressive, and very traditional, façade of the building, but somehow it works. Bistrot 65 is breathtaking in that absurdly opulent way that makes you wonder if people are really comfortable here or if they’re just playing the role they’ve been assigned.

The hostess pulls out a plush, high-backed chair for me and I take my seat. We’re the first to arrive even though we’re a couple of minutes late because of traffic going over the 59
th
Street Bridge.

I’ve seen photos of Malcolm Renault, on the dust jacket of his books and gracing the pages of magazines, but nothing could prepare me for the gorgeous man who saunters into the restaurant like he owns the place. He’s wearing a threadbare t-shirt that shows off his muscular, tattooed arms, paint splattered jeans and scuffed motorcycle boots. People look up from their dinners and openly stare. Among the Upper East Side crowd, Malcolm sticks out like a sore thumb. But he doesn’t seem to care. If anything, he seems to enjoy the attention.

“Seba,” he says, coming to stop next to our table and cocking his head to the side, his lopsided grin giving him a boyish charm. He opens his arms wide and Sebastian glares, reluctantly coming to his feet.

They embrace and for a moment, I’m breathless, just watching them. I don’t know who is more gorgeous. It’s like comparing apples and oranges. Both men are stunning. Malcolm is Sebastian’s polar opposite: blonde, blue eyed, handsome in a playful, devil-may-care way.

“And who is this?” he asks, finally looking at me with those crystal clear blue eyes and for a second, I just blink up at him, tongue-tied.

I shake my head. “Danny,” I say, extending my hand. Malcolm glances at my hand before leaning down and kissing my check and I can smell the whiskey on his breath, the cigarette smoke clinging to his skin.

“My girlfriend,” Sebastian adds in a warning tone. For a moment, Malcolm looks perplexed before laughing and sinking into his seat.

“I thought you said you were bringing a date.”

Malcolm grins, stretching his long legs in front of him. “Gemma’s having a smoke. God, I could use a drink,” he says, trying to catch the waitress’ eye.

“How long are you in town?”

“A week? A month? Haven’t decided yet. Don’t tell me you’re already sick of me? I just got here.”

“Don’t be an ass.”

Malcolm throws back his head laughing. “Seba, I’ve missed you.”

Sebastian’s lips come together in a firm line.

“How do you know each other?” I ask, unable to hide my curiosity. Malcolm is only the second person I’ve ever heard call him Seba.

“He didn’t tell you? God, we’re practically brothers. We’ve known each other since we were kids.”

“His mother was briefly engaged to my father.”

Malcolm laughs. “Oh, stop making it sound like that’s the only reason.” Malcolm leans in, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “We were at school together. Love, I can’t begin to tell you about the trouble we used to get into. You’d never know it looking at him now, but Sebastian was quite the hell raiser.”

“Malcolm.”

Sebastian’s warning is met with more laughter. “Oh, lighten up. I’m only kidding.” Malcolm winks at me. “Sort of.”

When I glance over at Sebastian, he’s frowning. “Where’s the waitress?” he says dryly.

As Malcolm is ordering drinks, a tall blond glides through the restaurant towards our table in four inch heels and the shortest dress I’ve ever seen. She looks like a model and slides into her seat with the grace of a dancer, blinking her big brown eyes.

She glances at Sebastian, her interest momentarily piqued, before turning her attention to Malcolm. “Pierre is having a party later.”

“Sebastian, Danny, meet Gemma. She’s a doll. We met in Paris,” Malcolm says. “At least, I think it was Paris.” He scratches his chin thoughtfully. “Yes, definitely Paris.” The waitress arrives with our drinks. “She’s a model,” he mouths, his eyes twinkling devilishly.

“I told him we would be there,” Gemma adds, ignoring us.

“Of course. Seba, you should come. Bring Danny. Pierre throws the naughtiest parties. All very good fun.”

“I thought you were in town for business,” Sebastian says finally.

Malcolm grins. “Oh, can’t we have a little fun? For old times sake? You’ve gotten so dull.” Malcolm turns to me. “He’s not always like this, is he? The Seba I know would never turn down a party.”

“Malcolm, I’m not twenty.”

“Thank God for that. Who wants to be twenty? Terrible age. Crippled by insecurities. Can’t afford the good drugs.” He glances at Gemma. “Sorry, love.”

She just blinks her enormous eyes. I’m guessing she’s hovering around twenty herself. Not that I’m much older. She shrugs her thin shoulders and I wonder briefly how much English she actually understands.

Sebastian takes a long draught of his whiskey, his expression tense. I feel like I’m in a movie, one where everyone is rich and beautiful. I feel completely out of place. Not just because we are at the fanciest restaurant I’ve ever been to. No, there’s something about seeing Sebastian with Malcolm that makes me feel like they are sharing some intimate joke that the rest of us will never be privy to.

“So, Danny, how did you meet my darling Sebastian? You’re not his usual socialite type.”

“Malcolm.” The warning in Sebastian’s voice is clear.

“He came into the coffee shop where I worked,” I say.

Malcolm stares at me then slaps his thigh, laughing. “Oh god, you’re serious! That’s fantastic.”

I flush with embarrassment. I don’t tell him that I’m a translator or that my first book is being published because something tells me it doesn’t matter what I say. I will never be good enough in Malcolm’s eyes for Sebastian. I’m not going to sit here defending myself like his opinion somehow matters.

I just hope his opinion doesn’t matter.

I realize, not for the first time, just how different our worlds are.

Sebastian’s fingers find mine under the table, and he squeezes my hand reassuringly. “So, where are you living these days?”

Malcolm takes one last look at me and I think I see just the hint of regret in those stunning blue eyes of his before he turns back to Sebastian. “I spent the summer in France. You know, it’s good to get out of the city. Breathe in that salty air. Clears the head. London can be so grim.”

“Did you get any writing done?”

Malcolm laughs. “Of course I wrote. What’s a writer who doesn’t write? No, don’t answer that. I was in Antibes for a week and you wouldn’t believe who I ran into.”

“Who?”

“Kat. She sends her love. She looks good. It seems she’s found herself a Russian oligarch with a yacht. It suits her.”

“Of course she did.”

“That’s our Kat. Always looking for greener pastures. That woman was born to sit and drink all day on a garish boat. Hideously
nouveau
, but then, what did anyone expect?”

Malcolm’s eyes flick in my direction. “Who’s Kat?” I ask, feeling left out of the conversation. I don’t particularly want to sit here like Sebastian’s mute date. It’s bad enough that Malcolm probably thinks I’m a gold digger.

“Oh, just someone from the good old days, love,” Malcolm says eventually.

“Don’t tell me you’re starting to get nostalgic for your youth?”

“Moi?” Malcolm points a finger at his chest. “Don’t be silly. I don’t remember enough to be nostalgic. I believe I spent most of those years floating about doing as many illegal substances as humanly possible without killing myself. Still amazed sometimes that I survived.”

“Pity.”

“That I survived? Thank you, Sebastian. It’s nice to see you still care.”

Sebastian just shakes his head sadly and takes a sip of his whiskey. “As much fun as this is, have you given any more thought to our offer?”

“Oh, stop it. Let’s at least eat dinner before you start bombarding me with work. These two lovely ladies didn’t come here to be bored to death by us talking shop.”

Dinner is strange and exciting and mysterious all at once. I never expected to meet Malcolm Renault, much less that I would be having dinner with him. Gemma doesn’t say much. I think we bore her. She stares off vacantly. Maybe she doesn’t actually speak much English, I don’t really know.

The food is amazing. And when the waitress clears our table Sebastian stands up, brushing his palms on his thighs, smoothing down his pants.

Sebastian’s lips brush my temple. “Order me a coffee, will you?” He walks off to the bathroom.

“Gemma, I think it’s time for a smoke,” Malcolm says and Gemma nods blandly, slipping from her seat. I expect Malcolm to follow her, but he remains seated across from me.

He cocks his head, like he’s trying to figure me out. I’ve noticed him looking at me like that more than once over the course of dinner.

“You’re different,” he says slowly, like he’s been trying to figure me out all night and that’s the best he can come up with. Different. I can’t tell if it’s a compliment or an insult coming from him. “Sebastian doesn’t usually introduce me to the woman in his life.”

“You don’t say.”

He lifts his eyebrow. “What’s your angle?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t be naïve. Everyone has an angle. I just wonder what yours is.”

His words sting and I straighten up. “Not everyone has an endgame,” I bite out. “And if it’s money you think I’m after, you’re a fucking asshole. And wrong.”

Malcolm stares at me, unblinking before shrugging. “We may have our differences, but I love Sebastian like a brother. Remember that.” I can hear the threat in Malcolm’s tone and I just shake my head.

“I don’t think I’m the person you need to worry about,” I say finally, picking up the dessert menu and studying it with renewed interest. I don’t want to look at Malcolm anymore. He doesn’t add anything and I’m thankful when the waitress appears to take our dessert order.

Outside the restaurant, Gemma lights a cigarette and Malcolm pulls Sebastian aside. “What the hell are you doing?”

I watch as Sebastian calmly removes Malcolm’s hand from his shoulder. “You have no right to lecture me.”

The look on Malcolm’s face is pure contempt. “I would never lecture the mighty Sebastian Casal, don’t worry. But you are playing with fire.”

Sebastian looks over at me for a split second and my breath catches. “It was good seeing you, Malcolm,” he says. “Call me if you decide you want to work with us.”

I slid into the car and Sebastian gets in next to me, slamming the car door hard behind him and cursing under his breath.

I watch him with mounting concern. “Is everything okay?”

When Sebastian’s eyes finally focus on me, the muscles in his jaw relax and he lets out a heavy sigh, letting his head drop back on the seat behind him. “Sorry. I forget sometimes how Malcolm can be.”

“It’s okay.”

Sebastian shakes his head. “No, it’s not. He’s intolerable. It’s one thing for him to treat me like that and quite another for him to treat you like that.”