Lulu hands us two large bags plus a tray of drinks. I do my best not to look at Declan’s table, but I can see him from the corner of my eye as we pass. He doesn’t look my way, not once. Isn’t that what I wanted? And why do I feel a little empty or icky about it?
***
I’m the last one in the conference room, eating a cold French fry, staring into space. Late-afternoon light slants through the floor-to-ceiling windows, catching dust motes dancing in the air. Somehow, the room feels quieter than it should, given our location.
We are at the studio in town where Walker James is laying down tracks with a new female artist. Cal’s sitting downstairs in the control room along with the sound engineer and Nash.
The second-floor conference room sits in what was once a law office above the bank, its bones still intact beneath the studio polish. Original hardwood floors run lengthwise beneath a long rectangular table, their dark finish worn dull in the center from decades of foot traffic. Glass doors line one wall, framed in black metal with narrow mullions that divide the panes into clean rectangles.
Alex pops her head through the door. “Everything okay?” She nudges the door wider with her hip, the hinges creaking softly in the quiet room.
Alexandra Tate is the best boss on the planet. She is a true girl’s girl and has become a great friend. Her long brown hair is styled in waves, her blue-green eyes direct but kind. I wouldn’t have moved here to work for her if I didn’t have the utmost respect for her. But the one thing we don’t do is talk about guys. I did something I regret. I saw someone today I never expected to see again, and it has really thrown me.
Alex points to the rubbery remnants of my lunch, the fries limp and cold, burger grease congealed on the paper. “Are you finished?”
I nod, feeling ridiculous at not even noticing everyone’s been through eating for a while. She gathers up the trash and throws it away for me, sitting down next to me in the fabric conference chair. Behind her, exposed brick climbs from floor to ceiling in its original form, weathered and aged. A narrow ledge runs along the wall, where framed gold records hang.
“Okay. So what happened?”
I tuck my hands under my thighs, unsure what to do with them, half-expecting Nash or Cal to pause outside the door, catching every word.
“During my girls’ weekend in Austin, there was a guy.”
Alex smiles knowingly.
“He was hot. Gorgeous. We danced at a club. But that was it. Besides an amazing kiss. I just... He asked for my number, but I told him no. ‘Cause why bother? I was out of town. Well, he walked into Hank & Lulu’s while I was there getting lunch. He recognized me right away and came over.” I blush from head to toe.
Alex smiles. “That good?”
I shake my head. “That bad. I panicked and said Cal was my boyfriend.”
Alex throws her hand to her mouth and blinks at me, eyes wide. Her chair squeaks as she leans back, eyes darting to the glass wall as if Cal might hear us. “You did what?”
“Yeah, I wasn’t really thinking it through. He shook Cal’s hand and left.”
Alex adores Cal and has tried to get him to come work for her here. I know he’s thinking about it. But even if it’s a no, they have a great relationship. But she knows how Cal is. He wears monogrammed dress shirts that are pressed, and his pants are dress pants, always. Casual to Cal is a pair of khaki pants and a short-sleeved polo.
The only time I’ve seen Cal in shorts is when he ran the New York City Marathon when we were in town for a conference. He doesn’t have a boyfriend as far as I know. But there have been several artists over the years who’ve been interested in Cal. He’s a good-looking guy. Any man would be lucky to have him.
“Do you think the guy believed you?”
“I don’t know. I feel so bad doing that to poor Cal. He just sat there and stuttered.” I wince, my shoulders creeping up toward my ears. “But he pulled it off for me. And now I can’t stop thinking about the encounter.”
“Do you have any information about the guy?”
“His first name is Declan.”
Alex picks up her phone.
“What are you doing?” I track the movement as if the phone’s a live grenade.
“I’m texting Nash. He grew up here. He’ll probably know.”
“Don’t—.“ Alex’s phone lights up between us, the glow reflected faintly in the glass wall. “Thanks you, friend. Now everybody in our office is going to know what a crazy person I am.”
She grins, her Louboutin heeled-shoe kicking at my own. “He won’t even know it’s for you.”
“Well, it’s not going to be for you, married lady.”
