One Night With Gael

Seriously, he was like a Roman statue she’d once seen at the Museum of Natural History when she’d visited with her mother. Their trip had occurred on one of the rare times when her mother had been sober and coherent enough to make the visit. They’d stared at the statue for what had felt like an eternity, absorbing its unspeakable beauty. Her mother had sighed wistfully before her eyes had filled with tears.

Goldie had known what those tears were about. What they were always about. Wishes unfulfilled. A past thrown away because she’d made the wrong choices. The biggest one of which had been letting Goldie’s father get away. A lump had risen to Goldie’s throat as she’d watched her mother stare hard at the statue, wishing it was flesh and blood.

It had been a fruitless wish, of course.

Except Gael Aguilar was a living, breathing version of that statue.

A version who turned his head and stared straight at her in the next moment, blasting her with long-lashed light hazel eyes. Goldie attempted to look away, but for some stupid reason she couldn’t drag her gaze from him.

‘This proposition of yours...what’s it got to do with your occupation?’

The scrape in her palm was filthy and stinging badly. Enough that it made unclenching her hand difficult. She dropped her other hand from her ripped sweater long enough to pull the business card from her pocket. It read ‘CEO, Atlas Group’. She’d made it her business to research every TV and movie production company in New York, Hollywood and Canada, just so she wouldn’t miss any opportunities that might whisper past the hallowed halls of Othello. She’d never heard of Gael Aguilar’s company.

‘It’s a new arm of my company.’

‘So you were trolling the halls looking for guinea pigs?’ she asked.

For some reason that amused him. Both sides of his sensual mouth lifted. Even that small action lightened his face in a way that made her breath catch. Made her wonder what it would be like to be the recipient of a full, genuine smile.

‘We really need to get off the subject of animal references. I’m a man. You’re a woman. Let’s refer to ourselves as such, sí?’ he drawled with a raised brow.

Something in his gaze made her self-conscious. She cursed silently when heat rushed up to redden her face. Because of her chosen career she’d needed to train herself not to blush at the drop of a hat, and yet she was doing just that, simply at the droll, slightly mocking look in his eyes.

‘My question still stands,’ she sniped, to cover her uneasiness.

‘And it will be answered in the fullness of time. I need your undivided attention for that discussion.’

‘What makes you think you don’t have that now?’

‘You mean in between trying to hang on to your modesty and the swelling of your hand?’ he enquired, his tone almost gentle.

For some reason that made something tighten in her midriff. Before she could form a disagreeable response he was leaning forward. He snagged a bottle of water from the well-stocked bar at his side of the car. Snapping the plastic top free, he wet a handful of tissues and turned to her.

‘May I?’ he requested, again in that gentle voice she didn’t want to associate with him. Men like him weren’t gentle. Men like him were predators, only intent on taking, taking, taking and leaving behind callously discarded husks.

Goldie wanted to refuse on principle, in solidarity with her poor mother and with the bitterness that sometimes spilled into her just from being close to it. She didn’t doubt that her mother’s bitterness had stained her in some way, made her wary of certain types of men. Men like the casting director from today’s audition, for instance.

She silently shook her head, veering away from the subject even while admitting she was old enough to know some of the blame for her mother’s current circumstances came from Gloria Beckett herself. It took two to tango, after all.

Tango.

Okay, she wasn’t going to allow an image of her tangoing with this man to cloud her already dizzying thoughts. Determinedly she clenched her gut against any more fanciful thoughts and held out her right hand.

Gael Aguilar cupped her hand in his. Goldie forced herself to ignore the alarming tingling where they touched and watch clinically as he cleaned her wound as best as the meagre supplies allowed. He worked quickly and efficiently, his manner gentle but firm. When he was finished, he disposed of the tissues and eyed her with a steady look.

‘Better?’

She tested the flexibility in her hand and gave a short nod. ‘Yes, thank you.’

‘You see, we’re not above civility after all, Miss Beckett.’

Despite the amusement in his voice there was a thin veil of something else in there...something she couldn’t pinpoint. Or perhaps she wasn’t willing to pinpoint it?

She’d puzzled over this man for far longer than common sense dictated was wise. ‘Are we there yet?’ she asked instead, then cringed at the juvenile question.

His amusement increased.

Certain he was about to make another joke at her expense she hurried to add, ‘I don’t have all night.’ She glanced at her watch, her heart lurching when she realised the time. ‘In fact, I don’t think I can do this thing tonight after all. I need to be somewhere else.’

Her mother needed only the smallest excuse to regress into depression and fall off the wagon. Goldie had assured her she’d be home by ten. Any later and her mother would fret. Fretting would inevitably lead to her seeking solace at the bottom of a bottle. Goldie could only pray that her mother had fallen asleep watching TV tonight.

‘You need to be somewhere else? And you didn’t think to mention that before you got into my car?’ His amusement had vanished. Light hazel eyes narrowed incisively on her. ‘Is this some sort of game?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Are you wasting my time, Miss Beckett?’

Irritation rushed up her spine. ‘With respect, you insisted on this meeting. Granted, I’m curious to find out just what this proposition is, but I hadn’t realised how late it was—’

‘And suddenly you need to be somewhere else? You have someone waiting for you, perhaps? Boyfriend?’ His gaze dropped to the hand curled into her lap. ‘Husband?’

The word held a sneer that stiffened her back, and again she caught that look in his eyes. As if he held her far below his normal regard.

Puzzlement and that growing irritation made her frown. ‘That really isn’t your business, is it, Mr Aguilar? Are you in the habit of interrogating your potential business colleagues like this? It is business you intend to discuss with me, isn’t it? If not, then I suggest you let me out right now—because I wouldn’t want to waste more of your time!’

His jaw flexed for a second before his expression turned neutral. Eyes that had been mocking and mildly amused became opaque. ‘It is a business proposition. If you need to be elsewhere, then so be it. But will you be able to live with yourself if you don’t find out whether this is an opportunity you want to miss or not?’

There was a taunt in those words. There was also a look in his eyes as if he wasn’t sure whether he wanted her to say yes or no.

‘Does that line usually work for you?’

A sculpted eyebrow went up. ‘What line?’

‘The “do things my way or you’ll kick yourself for ever” scam?’

He gave a half-sigh, half an irritated huff. ‘I grow tired of this vacillating. You have one minute to say yes or no. Starting right now.’

He had the temerity to stare pointedly at his watch.

Dear God, she really had fallen down a rabbit hole! She thought she’d hit bottom with the sleazy proposition from that casting director this afternoon. It still made her skin crawl. But had she merely fallen into another dimension? One where the person making a proposition wasn’t even certain whether he wanted his offer accepted or not, but went ahead and dared her to consider it anyway?

About to shake her head to clear it, she saw his eyes sharpen.

‘Make up your mind, Miss Beckett. We’re here.’

Goldie looked out of her window. Sure enough, they’d pulled up in front of one of those flashy-looking high-rises that dotted the Manhattan skyline. This one came complete with liveried doorman, shiny awning, and a uniformed concierge behind an imposing reception desk.

She redirected her attention to the man whose posture held more than a whiff of impatience and arrogance. ‘Twenty minutes. That’s all I have.’