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JACKSON
This was fine. I could handle this.
People sat down for lunch with the ex who ghosted them all the time, right? Even men like me, who had either fired or fucked half the dancers in Las Vegas over my years as a producer. There was no reason for a touch of apprehension to filter into my awareness as I stepped into the quiet, sophisticated restaurant I’d chosen for this pivotal meeting.
“Mr. Bennett, right this way.” Did I catch the appraising look from the tall, willowy young woman who led the way to a table in the back corner of the restaurant? Of course I did, though it didn’t make much of an impression. Women often reacted that way to my name. After a while, it became as normal as the sight of my reflection. When beautiful women like this one found out whose presence they were in, they tended to either come on to me or swear they’d been fans of my shows for years.
It was similar to the energy I witnessed on my trips to Los Angeles when scouting new talent. Everybody was always looking ahead to the next job, meaning there was no such thing as resting on their laurels. They found out they were taking care of a man whose family had produced Las Vegas spectacles for decades, and they found a way to ingratiate themselves.
Just like this girl was trying to do, lingering at the table after I sat. She brushed long, chestnut hair over her shoulders, smiling brilliantly. “I’ll be sure to bring water for the table. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
The way she was looking at me, I could think of a thing or two, but I wouldn’t exactly be doing myself any favors if I asked her to get under the table and show me what she could do with those pouty lips that so easily curved into a smile. So eager to please.
Of all times for a familiar, brittle voice to ring out in my head. “You seem to think our performers double as your personal entertainment, but I’m going to tell you here and now to put a stop to that. Find somewhere else to stick your wandering dick, son.”
My mother. Always a wordsmith.
I couldn’t be too hard on her, all things considered. Nobody had expected Dad to kick the bucket when he had, meaning she had no choice but to take the reins and manage the production company that had put together some of Las Vegas Strip’s hottest shows since my grandfather’s time. It took a great deal of learning on the fly, not to mention a lot of hardening against what could be a very cruel, unforgiving business. So I overlooked her tendency to talk to me as if she were just one of the boys. She had been putting men in their place for years.
Since I didn’t feel like having my hands slapped like the bad little boy I was, it was for the best to put on a professional smile. “I am waiting for someone to join me… Winter Monroe. Please, can you show her to the table when she arrives?”
“Of course.” It didn’t seem like the girl recognized Winter’s name, but she would in time if I had anything to do with it. Winter’s production had set the Riviera on fire, at least metaphorically, with an unprecedented string of sold-out performances. It was inevitable I’d find out about it. This word traveled. No way would I pass up the opportunity to bring the show here under my family’s name. We needed something exciting and fresh after years of the same old thing. Sure, people ate it up with a spoon, but I wasn’t interested in appealing to the masses, who would then head over to the nearest buffet and gorge themselves after the show.
Did that make me a snob?
Did I give a shit?
Snobbery was the last thing on my mind as I ran a hand over my head while glancing at my reflection in the window to make sure every blond strand was in place. I had to prepare myself to face the proverbial one who got away, not that we had ever made it official, considering she was my principal dancer when we were together. Maybe if I had manned up and approached the idea of a relationship, she wouldn’t have disappeared like she had, packing up and heading overseas, leaving me to wonder what the hell had happened. What went wrong? There were no answers.
When I first learned of her show, I had no idea she’d choreographed and co-produced it. I only knew after watching a few clips online that I needed it, and my instincts were never off. Revelation would mark the ushering in of a new era for Bennett Entertainment, the start of something bigger and better than Dad or anyone who’d come before me had ever dreamed of.
That meant I’d jumped at the opportunity to purchase the rights once I heard the show’s producers wanted to expand to the States, Las Vegas being the obvious choice.
Then I learned of her insistence on being part of the American production. Miss Monroe insists on maintaining creative control over her choreography—one of the only stipulations of the deal. I wasn’t about to refuse, even if it meant facing her again.
Not that I could complain. I hadn’t exactly spent four years pining over her, saving myself in case she came back. Grudges were a waste of time and not only got in the way of work but fun too. Nobody wanted to blow the guy who couldn’t stop crying over the one who got away.
If anything, we might be able to enjoy ourselves a little. We could pick up where we left off. There were times I couldn’t help but remember how good it was, the way we worked so well together both on and off stage. The creative chemistry that made us so good together in a theater translated to physical chemistry that exploded when we were alone. The briefest memory left me twitching under the table.
I could definitely go for a diversion after years of dealing with temperamental dancers and emotional scenic designers.
A smile played over my lips as fantasies sprang to life. A smile I still wore when a familiar strawberry blonde stepped into the restaurant, removing her sunglasses before taking in the room with a single glance. One thing hadn’t changed over the years—the woman could still turn heads wherever she went.
My breath caught in my throat as I took her in from a distance while she didn’t know I was watching. She was just as I remembered—tall, lithe, moved with the sort of grace and complete control of a dancer, and disciplined, devoted to her art. It showed in every move she made, right down to the casual flip of her shoulder-length hair. I could almost feel it between my fingers now, like silk, and the memory threatened to make my dick stir again like I needed a hard-on to start things off.
I sat up straighter, lifting a hand to catch her attention. Was I imagining the jolt of recognition that ran through her? The way she lifted her slightly pointed chin, the flash of emotion in her sapphire eyes before she took one step, then another in my direction. The cream-colored pantsuit she wore was chic, something my mother would have loved. Europe had done her good, polished and refined her. She had left the States a wide-eyed girl with dreams of stardom and had returned looking like a woman of the world.
A woman who sat across from me, accepting my handshake with a firm grip but little else to reveal our past involvement. “Winter, this is a real pleasure,” I began, smiling from across the table while pretending there was nothing special about touching her again. The tingle in my arm must have been in my imagination since she didn’t react. “Let me say how impressed I am with the work you’ve done. I’m thrilled to have a chance to work together now.”
She sized me up with her frank, unflinching stare, her full mouth barely twitching. Fuck, I had practiced that short speech, wanting to start us off on the right foot. She couldn’t be bothered to meet me halfway.
“I’m here because I know the kind of work you can do,” she explained in her rich, throaty voice. I remembered it having a slight lilt, a lightness, and a touch of energy I no longer heard. All business. “But let me explain something here and now. I’m not the girl you used to know, and I’ve developed a reputation for being sort of a hard-ass when it comes to bringing my vision to life. If you don’t think you can handle that, let me know now because plenty of producers in this town would love the opportunity to put my show on stage.”
Okay, then.
And there I was, thinking we had sorted all that out while drawing up the contract. For some reason, she was determined to think the worst. Shifting in my chair, I folded my hands on the table, something in me rousing at the challenge she posed. “Do you always start a new project with these doubts and accusations?” I asked.
