“I wasn’t aware Mr. Dylan would be gracing our offices today.” Beman nodded at me approvingly. “We’re so thrilled you’ve agreed to be part of the piece this year, David.”
David rubbed the back of his neck. “This isn’t the type of publicity I usually do.”
“I expect you’ll receive anemphaticresponse.” Beman brushed his hand along the sleeve of David’s suit jacket. “This is Italian, isn’t it? I know my wool.”
David cleared his throat. “I . . .”
Though his rare discomfort kind of made me want to laugh, I threw him a bone. “We should get going,” I said. “I’ll be conducting David’s interview at The Revelin.”
David arched an eyebrow. This time, I’d done my homework. Well, some of it. After his e-mail, I’d looked up his firm’s current projects. David was the lead architect on a hotel coming to the Riverfront, but that was as much as I knew.
“I’ve followed your work since that piece in theTribuneyears ago,” Beman said. “I’d love to come along and see the space?”
“Miss Germaine and I have set aside this time for our interview,” David said. “With my hectic schedule, it’s the only time I could spare.”
I smiled at Beman. “You understand.”
“Completely,” he said, glancing at David. “Consider Liv at your disposal.”
David frowned as his jaw ticked, but the hint of his impending scowl quickly vanished as he turned to me and set his hands on his hips. “You ready?”
I indicated the door. “After you, Mr. Dylan.”
“No.” He shook his head and chuckled, swinging the door open with ease. “Afteryou.”
In the hallway, once alone, my shoulders depressed. David’s charisma expanded in large spaces yet in small ones, his towering frame and easy smile offered more comfort than intimidation. In the same ways his bluntness and prying wracked my nerves, his presence somehow calmed them.
“That guy tellsanyoneyou’re at their disposal again,” David said, “I’ll throw him through the wall.”
I tilted my head up, searching his face for teasing but there was none. “What?”
“I said, I’ll put your boss through a wall if I hear him speak to you that way again.” After a deep breath, he smiled. “How are you?”
Overheated, that was what. A flush worked its way up my chest as David’s intent settled in. Had I ever heard someone stand up for me that way? For anyone?
Flustered—and, if I was honest,flattered—I glanced at the ground to hide my smile. I had to stay strong. This wasbusiness. “I’m fine, thanks,” I said, crossing my arms when he looked at my elbow.
“How’s the arm?”
“Healing.”
He tapped his foot and peered down at me while the numbers above the elevator ticked up.
When I realized he was waiting for me to reciprocate, I rolled my eyes playfully. “And how areyou?”
“Better,” he said with a beatific smile that took a hammer straight to my resolve.
Downstairs, David led me to a classic black Porsche 911 so shiny and spotless, it must’ve taken a deal with the devil to keep it that way. Especially in this city.
“This is your car?” I asked when he opened the passenger door.
“Get in.”
I crouched, slid onto the smooth leather seat, and ran a hand along the dash. “It’s beautiful,” I said as he got behind the wheel. “Andit’s a Turbo.”
“You a car girl?”
“My dad always had a different sports car when I was growing up. Currently, he has a ’68 Shelby I’m trying to take off his hands.”
