“Why are you doing this?”
“Why am I doing what?”
Sebastian swept his hand out to indicate the table.
A smartassed answer wouldn’t get Henri off the hook this time. Best to stick to the truth. “Because I want to.” Here came the part where Sebastian jumped up and stormed back to the car, wanting no part of anything with Henri besides a working relationship. Maybe.
Sebastian surprised him. “Would it be selfish of me to throw out all arguments about right and wrong and enjoy a nice evening with you?”
Turning dinner into an actual date couldn’t be that easy, could it? “Not in the least.”
A waiter stepped through the door, bottle in hand. “Good evening, gentlemen.” He didn’t ask, he merely filled their wine glasses from the vintage Henri had ordered earlier and sat the remainder of the bottle in ice. He didn’t take their orders either.
A moment later two women joined him, one with a tray of assorted breads, the other with a bowl of mixed greens salad. One quietly filled their salad bowls while the other placed her burden on the table. When they retreated, Henri said, “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of ordering for us. I believe you like trout?”
“Love it.”
Good. It seemed easier to simply preorder and minimize talking with the staff. He’d made sure each dish steered clear of dairy, in keeping with Sebastian’s diet. Several times the man and women reappeared, bringing out their meal, clearing plates, refilling Seb’s wine glass—Henri merely toyed with his, sipping water instead. His doctor would be so proud. Each time the attendants made an appearance, Henri stopped talking until they departed, leaving no stray words to be swept up and reused. He’d learned his lesson long ago—if people wanted dirt, they’d dig it up. He wouldn’t supply the shovel.
“What will you do when you get back to LA?” Seb asked between bites.
“Lucas has some musicians lined up for me to talk to. I’ll be choosing a new band. I also have a few ideas of my own.” Inspiration struck. “Any suggestions?”
“Choose only those you trust. You don’t need a band, you need a team. Mutual respect is crucial.”
Henri’d had enough suspicions and mistrust with his last band. “Really?”
“Certainly. If I give my all during a performance and another player gives nothing, no one will say he or she ruined the show. They’ll say the show was awful, which reflects on everyone in the company.”
Oh, yeah. Definitely no two-bit guitar slingers who’d sell Henri out to a tabloid. Still, there were no guarantees whoever he hired would be trustworthy. The best he could hope for was a crew of competent musicians who would coalesce into a working organism rather than a manufactured band. “What about you? What will you do?”
A barely perceptible chill settled over the table. “My patron is vacationing in Europe with his family. He’ll visit me after he returns, checking up on his investment before I begin rehearsals.” A touch of bitterness tinged Seb’s words.
“If you don’t like him, why not get a new patron?”
Seb stared into his wineglass. “I can’t. He’s been generous with me. I should be grateful.”
“And you’re not?”
“Can we not talk about this? The things we want in life come with a cost.” Seb’s forced smile was as fake as Henri’s trumped up bio. “He’s a perfectionist, and demands perfection of me. Wanting perfection isn’t a bad thing, is it?”
Henri didn’t push. If Seb wanted to say more, he would. Henri changed the subject. “I didn’t know what you might want for dessert and ordered one of each—or rather, everything without dairy. They make vegan cheesecake here.” The door opened and the servers reappeared, the man pushing a laden cart and the women fussing over the table, removing dirty dishes and resetting the plates.
Over coffee, vegan cheesecake, and apple crumble, they watched the sun dip below the tree line. Seb surprised Henri by taking his hand. “I know what you’re doing, and I don’t need your pity, but thank you anyway for a lovely evening.”
What the fuck? “Pity?”
Seb smile lacked humor. “If you met me in LA, would you wine me, dine me, dance with me? Kiss me?”
Henri hesitated.
“Of course you wouldn’t. I’m the man of the moment, nothing more. In a week you’ll be back where you belong, and I’ll be here. Never again will our worlds meet.”
What? Henri snatched his hand back. “I thought we were friends. You’re gonna write me off when I leave here?”
“You mean… you mean you’d still talk to me after this?” Why did Sebastian appear so incredulous? Who had done a number on this man, to make him think he was “the man of the moment”?
Was Henri wanting to hang on to their blossoming relationship so hard to believe? He reclaimed Sebastian’s hand. “I’ve come to trust you. You give advice, solid advice, without trying to manipulate me. I’ve got a lot of serious decisions ahead. I’d love your input.”
