Read This Changes Everything Online

Authors: Gretchen Galway

Tags: #Contemporary, #Romance

This Changes Everything (6 page)

BOOK: This Changes Everything
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“I’ll join you.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to set more stages or whatever you do for—”

“Don’t want to come on too strong,” he said. “I know there’s a lavender farm in Carmel Valley. I’d love to see that. We could drive there. Interested?”

Was she? Her rapid pulse suggested that something was interesting her. “It’s probably too late in the year to see much. And I don’t feel like getting in the car.”

“So we’ll walk.” His hand moved down to her hand and clasped it.

Walking. Not as easy as it sounded. Her attention was so distracted by the touch that she tripped over the threshold on the way out the door.

She pulled her hand away and pretended to adjust her ponytail.

They could walk, but just for a little while. And then she was going to have a headache.

It was almost true.

8

S
ly drank
his third mineral water in the bar, watching the lobby for Cleo. They’d only walked for a little while that afternoon before she’d come down with a headache. They’d returned to the room, but when she made it clear there was nothing he could do for her, he’d quickly dressed for dinner and left her there with a pillow over her eyes.

Maybe she did have a headache. But he knew he’d sent a few mixed signals, testing her out, and her running away with a headache was one of the results.

He was done mixing any signals with Cleo. Weeks of no work had messed up his head. He got twitchy if he wasn’t conquering something—climbing a mountain, closing a sale, seducing a woman. He had the sinking feeling he’d fixed his sights on Cleo out of pure leisure intolerance.

Tonight he’d do what he could to interest Poppy Lee in Mark’s company, and then he’d do some networking himself. The sooner he got back into the workforce, the better.

“Evening, Sylvester.”

He spun around on his seat to see Teresa standing behind him with a silver vase of sunflowers in her arms. “Hi.”

“Help me out? They screwed up the arrangements, and I’m trying to fix them before everyone gets into the room.”

He hesitated.

“Come on. I can see you’ve finished your drink. I just need help carrying the last few vases.” She thrust the sunflowers at him and turned. “Follow me.”

Sly had never liked wishy-washy women. Being a man prone to domineering behavior himself, he liked being with someone who could hold her own. Teresa, however, had a pathological need to control everything at all times, even a charity auction at which she was the guest.

“Come on, come on,” Teresa said. “People are arriving.”

He looked around one last time for Cleo before following Teresa through the lobby to the banquet hall, figuring that carrying flowers was better than brooding at the bar.

Just as he passed the sitting area, he noticed a woman standing there with her back to him. Her snug emerald-green dress showed off an ass that could stop traffic. It had certainly stopped him.

And then his peripheral vision registered the color, length, and texture of her blond hair, and his heart began to pound harder.

When Cleo turned, he was holding the vase so tightly he was glad it wasn’t glass because he might’ve shattered it. “Hi.” He cleared his throat. “I’m helping out with the flowers.”

She smiled. “I can see that.” The dress was modest, with long sleeves and simple lines, but it clung to parts of her he’d never known she had. “Like my work clothes?”

He imagined the work she could do in it. “Excuse me?”

“You know, when I play at events.”

“Right.” Slowly, the gears in his brain began to turn again. “How’s your headache?”

“Better, thanks. But seriously, is the dress all right? I didn’t know if it would be too cheesy. It’s good for weddings and anniversaries, but at those I’m just the chick playing the piano, not a mogul’s hot date.” She waved her hand up and down in his general direction.

“It’s very all right.”

Smile faltering, she reached for the flowers. “Can I help?”

He hugged the vase against his chest, suddenly needing to squeeze something. “I’ve got it. Teresa drafted me. You might want to hide before she catches you too.”

“It’s not me she wants to catch.”

With a grim nod, he gestured to the banquet hall, and the two of them made their way through the growing crowd. Teresa was at the far end of the room near the stage, placing another vase of sunflowers on a round table. Immediately, as if she’d been watching the door, which she probably had, she waved him over.

Sly paused.

“I’ll take them,” Cleo said. “You can find us a table.”

“Are you sure? That would be above and beyond the call of duty.”

“It’s what a jealous girlfriend would do.”

Their eyes met. He handed her the vase. “Thanks.”

Because it’s what an admiring boyfriend would do, he watched her walk across the room, her generous hips swaying, her hair shimmering under the chandeliers, then back to her hips…

Teresa seemed to be staring past Cleo at him, watching him watch Cleo. He couldn’t read her expression, but it wasn’t happy.

He tore his gaze away and found a table in the middle near the side doors. Picking up an auction booklet as he sat, he returned his attention to Cleo, who was already walking back to him. For a woman who loved men’s pajamas, she certainly looked comfortable in a dress. The soft, clingy fabric draped around her curves like the toga of a Greek goddess.

“You’re laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?” she asked him as she sat down next to him. “I think she got the idea. She told me I was a lucky woman.”

Forcing a smile, he put an arm around the back of her chair and lowered his mouth to her ear. Her perfume struck him again. “I’m the lucky one.”

She didn’t move, didn’t say anything. Her hair, loose and glossy around her shoulders, was brushing his cheek.

I want her
.

He jerked away and reached for a glass of ice water. His palms were sweating.

“There’s Poppy,” Cleo said.

Keep your eye on the prize, Minguez
. He got to his feet and waved to Poppy, then held out his hand, palm up, to invite her to share their empty table. If he could talk to Poppy all evening, he might stop trying to check out his good friend’s body. Or taste it.

Thank God, she was coming over. Except instead of taking the seat next to him, she took the one next to Cleo. Her husband, a quiet man whose name he couldn’t remember, sat on the other side.

Sly stood for a moment. “Great to see you again.” He introduced Cleo, the three of them shook hands, took their seats, and then Poppy got her husband’s attention. He had buried his face in the auction booklet.

“Bob,” Poppy said. “This is Sylly.”

“Totally agree,” Bob said, throwing down the booklet. “We could just write a check directly instead of going through all this hassle.”

“Sylly’s an old nickname.” Sly was able to smile at the misunderstanding, although he didn’t enjoy it as much as he used to. “Short for Sylvester. People also call me Sly.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cleo smiling around her wineglass.

“Sorry,” Bob said. “This is why I try to let Poppy do all the talking.”

Poppy kissed him on the cheek. “Bob hates these things. He’s sweet to put up with so many of them.”

“It’s not the charity. It’s the crowd.” Bob’s gaze darted uneasily around the table. “I’ll shut up now. I don’t know why she doesn’t leave me at home where I can’t cause any trouble.”

Poppy kissed him again. “You need to get out every once in a while, pumpkin. Besides, the food here should be fantastic.”

“The food everywhere is fantastic these days,” Bob said. “And I’m not picky.”

Lips pressed together, Poppy gave Sly and Cleo a discreet eye roll.

“I’ve never been to one of these,” Cleo said. “At least not as a guest.”

Poppy held up her glass in a toast. “I was a waitress all through graduate school. Hardest work I’ve ever done.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was,” Cleo said. “I was lucky enough to just be the pianist.”

“A pianist,” Poppy said. “How wonderful.”

Sly put his hand on hers. “Cleo’s very talented.”

“You know,” Cleo said, withdrawing her hand, “I bet the two of you have a lot to talk about. How about we switch places, Sly?”

“No, no. Don’t do that,” Poppy said. “Then you’ll end up with nobody to talk to.”

“Maybe that’s the idea,” Bob said, lifting the booklet again. “We’re not all extroverts like you, dear.”

“And few are as reclusive as you, honey,” Poppy said.

This comment gave Sly an opening, and he wasn’t one to miss an opportunity. “Have you ever met Mark Johnson, Poppy?”

She threw her head back and laughed. The famous silver hair barely changed shape, even with the shift in gravity. “Speaking of recluses, you mean?”

Sly grinned. “Exactly.”

“I haven’t had the pleasure,” Poppy said. “You’re an old friend of his, aren’t you?”

“I am. In fact…” Sly launched into a brief history of his work at WellyNelly, his relationship with Mark, and the start-up he’d just left. Cleo seemed to relax, sinking back into her chair with a smile as he talked with Poppy. In his element, he was able to shove aside thoughts of curves in emerald-green satin and lose himself in the conversation.

At least for a while. Salads appeared before them, other people at the table caught Poppy’s attention, and Sly let the business conversation fade away. He’d gotten her personal email and the impression she was interested in something new, especially with Mark.

While Poppy was looking the other way, Cleo leaned against him. “You’re good,” she whispered in his ear.

Inhaling her perfume, heat rushed through him, obliterating the calm he’d regained while talking shop for a few minutes.

This attraction wasn’t going to go away. He was going to have to deal with it.

He looked into her eyes, searching for any sign of what he himself was feeling. “You have no idea,” he said in a low voice.

♢ ♡ ♤

The live auction would’ve been a lot more fun to watch if Cleo had been able to pay the smallest bit of attention to any of it. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves, and the various educational foundations raked in a fortune thanks to the professional auctioneer who lathered up the privileged crowd and inspired higher bids for each item, praising their generosity, their social consciousness, and their obscene wealth (that last one was a running joke that always got a laugh.)

Cleo was glad when the meal was over. Sly’s romantic playacting—whispering in her ear, touching her hand, holding her gaze—had lathered her up in an entirely different way.

But finally she could relax. Sly reignited his professional rapport with Poppy over the cheesecake, and when loud dance music started playing, the four of them escaped to the lobby. Sly and Poppy walked shoulder to shoulder, talking business, while Poppy’s grumpy husband and Sly’s fake girlfriend trailed in their wake.

His grumpy fake girlfriend.

“Nice guy,” Bob said to her. “Your boyfriend.”

“He is a nice guy,” Cleo said.

“You can tell a lot about a person by who their friends are. Or girlfriends.”

Afraid shy Bob was about to get too personal, she glanced over his shoulder for the exit.

“You’re a nice woman,” Bob went on, confirming her fears. “That tells me Sly is a nice guy. He could be with somebody like that lady over there.” Bob nodded at a woman in a sleeveless black dress that ended just low enough to cover the bottom curve of her ass.

Cleo couldn’t resist. She smirked. “He likes that type too.”

“Of course he does. But he’s here with you, isn’t he?” Bob seemed to realize he’d used up his daily allotment of words, because he shook his head, pressed his lips together, and walked faster, patting her on the shoulder as he left her behind.

Poppy took her husband’s arm, waved a business card at Sly, and walked out a side door. Cleo saw Bob cop a feel just as they were turning the corner.

“Nice guy,” Sly said, unwittingly echoing Bob’s words.

The thought of going up to their room for the night filled her with dread.

OK, not nearly enough dread.

“So, who won the piano?” she asked.

“Let’s go see.”

“Where?”

“They mark the winners and the highest bids on the sheet. It’s fun to see what they went for.” He bumped his shoulder against hers, a platonic gesture that shouldn’t have made her shiver.

They returned to the space where they’d seen the silent auction, but the door was closed and all the tables with the winning bids were lined up outside with a dozen or so people looking at the results.

“Checkout is in the lobby,” a woman in a dove-gray dress said, looking them over. “If you’re a winner, bring the tag to the register and we’ll give you a receipt.”

“Thanks, but I’m not a winner,” Cleo said.

“Sure you are,” Sly said in her ear.

Shaking off another shiver, she searched the posters and tablet displays, but didn’t see one for the piano. “The last bid I saw was way over what it was worth. I’m curious to see how high it went.”

“I bet it’s still in the room.” Sly gave her a meaningful look and moved toward the door. When the woman in the gray dress was looking the other way, he turned the handle, pushed, and signaled for Cleo to follow.

“You rebel,” she said, hurrying past him into the room. This was what she loved about him. He was fun.

He closed the door, enveloping them in darkness. Only the moon and the city lights outside illuminated the room. At the far end, the grand piano sat in the shadows, dark and alone.

“It looks lonely,” Cleo said. “I think it would rather be at the party.”

“Why don’t you try it out? Make it feel better?”

“You didn’t buy it for me or anything, right?” she asked, suddenly worried he had.

“Cleo, don’t say that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I would’ve loved to buy it for you, but I figured you’d never accept it.”

She nodded. “Totally true.”

“But you thought I might.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I should have. Sneak it into your apartment when you aren’t looking.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Where would it go? It’s bigger than my living room.”

“That’s not saying much.”

“Don’t insult my home, mogul boy.”

Clapping his hands together, he walked deeper into the room. “All right, piano woman. Why don’t you play us a song?”

She looked around at the stacked chairs in a ring facing the windows. “It looks like they’re getting ready for another event.”

“Looks like they’re not here.”

Why not? It would delay the moment they went back to their room. She walked over, sat down, lifted the lid, and lightly caressed the keys first. “It’s not new.”

“The poster said it was just a stand-in for the donation. This one is always here.”

She played a chord, sending rich notes into the darkness. Then she began to play in earnest, loud enough to feel the vibrations in her chest, her arms, her legs. Tension drained out of her. Whatever was bothering her, music lifted her out, above, and up into that space beyond reality where she could recognize her own insignificance and touch, for just a moment, the vastness of the universe.

BOOK: This Changes Everything
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