Chapter Eight
“Where is everyone?”
Lauren turned from the stove, watching Cameron saunter into the kitchen. His striped chambray woven sport shirt must be an attempt to make the charcoal dress pants work for casual Friday. Cameron’s dressed down was dressed up for most Seattle professionals.
“The only car here is yours. And what is with all the poinsettias?” He cocked his hip against the counter, crossing his legs at the ankles.
“’Tis the season, Cam.” Placing the lid on the pan, she brushed her hands against her apron and looked down at the white tank top and jeans she wore. Thirty minutes until the guests arrived, and she still had to change.
“I don’t decorate for the holidays.” His gaze cut around the room, and his nose wrinkled as he sniffed the air. “I’m confused. We have a dinner tonight, but no one is here and I only see one pan. It’s a big pan, but still.”
“Did you know you don’t even have plates?” Lauren swung open an empty cupboard for effect. “I’m not suggesting we register for a china pattern, but serving guests on your own plates is a start.”
He stepped closer, backing her against the counter. “You can have whatever you want in the kitchen.”
A vision of taking exactly what they both wanted flashed through her mind, but they didn’t have time to do it right. “Then I want plates, and an espresso machine.”
Cameron laughed a shook his head, taking a step back. “You never answered me. Where is everyone?”
“Mark Winkleman’s retirement party. Dinner for one hundred. I took one for the team and opted to run this one myself. Unless you want me to switch with Diego. The guests are into alternative fuels, maybe they’ll support your alternative lifestyle, too.”
“Very funny.” His lip curled in disgust as she walked toward the fridge. “Can you handle the dinner all by yourself, and still be at the dinner?”
Lauren slid between him and the door to the fridge, crossing her arms beneath her breasts and lifting them slightly. His gaze dipped and she felt she’d regained some power. “I’ve got it all under control. I don’t want you peeking and deciding what you will and won’t eat beforehand. I want you to taste everything. That is my favor fee.”
“And what favor am I repaying you for, Lauren?” The sound of her name on his lips made her want to shudder, but she suppressed it. She wanted him to see her as an equal, a partner, a friend, not some swooning woman he could discard like his usual one-night-stands. She wanted him for the duration of the agreement.
Hell, she wanted him for longer than that. A shiver danced up her spine at the realization. She looked into his bright blue eyes and knew. She loved him already.
Preposterous. Unheeded. Definitely stupid. But therein lay the truth. It made the way she’d been acting crystal clear, and yet complicated the situation in an entirely new way.
She’d been flirting with the potent attraction since the fist time she laid eyes on him. Maybe her body knew all along and that’s why the chemistry was so exhilarating. Her head knew things wouldn’t work out well, but her heart tugged her in the direction of what it wanted. Cameron. An arrogant, inevitable, and completely unavailable man.
“Lauren? Are you feeling okay? You’re white as a sheet.” The concern in his voice and the warmth of his finger against her cheek pulled her from her muddled thoughts.
Her nerves jumped like water in hot oil, splattering everywhere. The same adrenaline response that had her running out the door the first time her kissed her. She stepped around him, reaching for a towel and began to wipe down the spotless countertop.
“I’m fine. I just remembered something I need to do is all.” Calming herself with a slow breath she turned back to him and offered what she hoped to be a convincing smile. “Why don’t you go upstairs and change?”
“What about you?” His gaze drizzled over her body, pausing at all the parts throbbing for him.
“I’ll set out the appetizers. That way if anyone arrives while I’m upstairs changing, you’ll have something to feed them.”
“Upstairs?” Did his voice crack?
“I put my dress in one of the guest suites upstairs. Nice gym, by the way.”
His brow furrowed. “Did you go through the rooms?”
“I haven’t had time yet. In one room I saw your shoes so I moved on, the next gym equipment and a punching bag, but door number three had an empty closet.” She studied his face, but realized he never showed any emotion he didn’t intend for you to see. If she could get him to a poker tournament in Vegas, they’d both be rich. But then, he already had that going for him. “Relax, I don’t snoop.”
With a nod and a shrug he somehow managed to look confident, Cameron turned and marched out of the kitchen. Lauren’s shoulders slumped as she exhaled and leaned against the counter.
She wanted to fall in love. Had always dreamed it would come on in a rush. But she’d also dreamed the man she fell for would be equally smitten with her. How naïve. Her heart had gone and jumped after a man who didn’t have the time or inclination to catch it.
Running now would be the safest option. But running would mean never knowing what it was like to be with him. Even if he was pretending, she could live it for real. If this feeling only came around once in a lifetime, didn’t she owe it the opportunity to grow?
He could never know her true feelings. He’d surely cut the game short in the name of sparing her. But she wouldn’t be spared anything if she lost him sooner rather than later. And if they followed through with the plan, she’d be with him for as long as he wanted, in any way he wanted her to be.
Her heart flinched at the reality of her choice. She knew he wouldn’t change, wouldn’t even want him to really. The importance of his career made him poor relationship material, while making him admirable in her eyes. She knew how hard building a reputation could be. It made her just as unsuitable a choice for him.
She saw no point in living in the past, or worrying too much about the future since no one was promised a tomorrow. What mattered was the present. And presently, she intended to pack a lifetime of memories into the short time she held the attention of the man she loved.
…
Lauren knew how to tease a man insane. Everything about her tonight seemed to be trying to seduce him, even the promise of getting whatever he wanted in return for tasting her food. Since the flow of air through the dining room felt like her caress on his skin, no doubt the salad, a strange concoction of weeds, seeds, avocado, and oranges, was charged with the same sexual energy.
She couldn’t expect him to eat and talk at the same time. He pushed the salad around with his fork, hoping to make it look like he’d eaten as he tried to keep the conversation at the table flowing. But he felt the weight of her narrowed gaze, though he avoided it since he saw the challenge she set in front of him. Avoided her and the golden wrap dress she’d donned. It tied with a sash, making him wonder if he untied it, would the whole thing would fall away?
To keep sane, he focused on work. Far easier to understand the motivations of the attorney, professor, former CEO, and the two men trying to convince them all no better investment existed than using recycled restaurant grease to fuel automobiles.
“We’re turning an environmental burden into a conservation benefit.” Even in a suit, Henry Moss looked like a college senior who’d rolled out of bed and jumped into the only thing clean left.
“But this is currently a niche market. I can’t power my car with cooking oil.” He speared what looked like an orange and hoped Moss would delve into the sales pitch long enough for him to take a few bites. Avocado first. It would melt in his mouth.
“With the slightest adjustments, it can. Making those adjustments available to everyone is what we provide.” Moss’s partner, John Pratt barely looked more presentable with his shaggy hair and fuzzy goatee.
“But what kind of traction can you show?” Dean Walters laid his fork across a clean plate and leaned back in his chair. The man had acted as smug as befit a former CEO of the largest vehicle manufacturer in the country.
“For our size, we have generated significant revenue.” Moss said, leaning forward. “Our profits will be exponential. The more people who take on the responsibility of alternative fuels, the higher the demand, and the easier they are to access.”
“It’s admirable gentlemen.” Professor Volk laid his napkin next to his empty plate. “We all wish consumers would be environmentally accountable for their choices. But Americans go for cheap and easy. The gas station on the corner is simply more convenient than the one alternative fueling station in the metro area. There are many fuel alternatives—ethanol, natural gas, propane, hydrogen, fuel cell, electricity, methanol, and the list goes on. You have a double challenge, getting people to choose biodiesel, and choose your method.”
To keep from answering the question himself, Cameron shoved an orange section into his mouth. Except it had to be the most acidic, bitter orange he’d ever tasted. Swallowing it down he realized it wasn’t an orange, but a grapefruit. Leave it to Lauren to find the one fruit he detested to make him look like a finicky eater.
Pratt cleared his throat. “What we are offering is ease and economy, a way to convert a consumer’s existing car into a more efficient model. It’s an investment that pays them back in just over a year for the average person, sometimes as quickly as six months for commuters and sales people who rack up the mileage.”
Lauren stood, collecting the plates. Everyone else was as enthralled by the debate as he should be, if he weren’t so distracted by Lauren. He had two options to get his focus back at dinners. Either end the arrangement now, or sleep with her to take the edge off. Really, he had no choice at all.
…
“Don’t do that!” Lauren struggled to catch her breath. Her heart beat hard against the hand she’d pressed to her chest. She stared at the floor, not willing to risk a heart attack by staring at Cameron’s luscious all-black ensemble.
“Help you with the plates?” Cameron quirked an eyebrow and set the plates he carried on the counter. He had no idea how much his presence unnerved her, nor could she let him know how startling it was to think about someone and turn around to find they were right next to you.
“I have everything under control. Go talk French fry oil with the rest of them.” Lauren quickly donned an apron, scraped the plates, and set them in the sink to soak. She didn’t want to get anything on her gossamer silk dress, so she kept the apron on as she arranged the plates for the dessert service.
With a leering grin he stepped closer. “I’m distracted.”
“We’re not doing anything here, now. It’s one thing to fool around at a dinner party for friends, quite another for business colleagues.”
“Then let’s get dessert over with, because I can’t think.”
“That’s because you’re hungry.” She tried to hide her annoyance by unpacking dessert from the cloth bags on the countertop. “I’ll be done in two minutes.”
“What is all that?” Cameron’s lip curled and she knew he wouldn’t be eating dessert either.
“This is me, trying to help you. Just like dinner.” She pulled out a cutting board and grabbed a knife. Spinning around, she took two serving platters from the back counter and set it beside the cutting board.
“This looks scary. That thing has spikes.”
Clutching the knife in her hand, Lauren turned to face him. His eyes widened and he stepped back. “Let me tell you something about how these dinners work, Cameron Price. It’s my job to put people at ease, so they say what they feel, not what they think you want to hear. Tonight’s meal was completely vegan, from the salad to the paella, to make your guests comfortable.”
“I didn’t know they were vegan.”
“Of course you didn’t. You just read their proposal and wanted to hear more.”
“Not really. I’ve researched this. They’re a solid investment, even if they present themselves too casually.”
“They’re casual because they are comfortable. With you. Because they recognize the accommodation you made, appreciate that attention to detail. Even though you had three bites of rice and a grapefruit wedge all evening. And then made a face, even though you claim to like all fruits.”
She turned around, slicing limes into wedges and arranging them on the edge of the platter. He could blow her whole dessert plan if he made a face.
“Okay, so I don’t like grapefruit.” He held up his hands. “And I liked the paella, but I was too busy trying to frame the tree-huggers as the smart business men that they are. They have no sales skills, and that’s a liability to their product.”
Not sure how to respond, or even where her animosity came from, Lauren focused on arranging one of every kind of fruit on a platter. The weight of his stare, and his patience as he stood next to her watching, calmed her ire.
Lifting the platter from the counter she turned and handed it to him. “Take this to the table, please.”
“What’s this?” His nose wrinkled as he took in the platter of exotic fruits. All meant to prove a point, the point being discussed all night. “What do I say when they ask about this stuff? A green pinecone thing, a rotten lime, decomposing banana, half dried plum, an orange spiky thing. You don’t really expect us to eat this, do you?”
“I could never be with a man who wouldn’t try something once.” Picking up a peeler, Lauren went to work on preparing the fruit. Her fingers worked, peeling and chopping, slicing and scooping. She worked so fast she had to pay attention, couldn’t let her mind wander to why she needed Cameron to try the fruit, to know he changed his mind once in a while.
On her tray she arranged tiny bowls, shot glasses, and chunks of pulp. With the fruits prepared for serving, she stripped off the apron and returned to the dining room. The nine people who’d been so animated during dinner stared silently at the platter in the center of the table.
“I see I have your attention.” Lauren grinned and set her platter down. “I’ve been following along, listening to the main dilemma of biodeisel. Which seems to be to get people to try it. The you-can’t-have-just-one potato chip effect.”
“What do potato chips have to do with kiwano and cherimoya?” Professor Volk asked, his eyes twinkling. Lauren’s smile widened, relieved she had a cohort in this experiment.
“There are hundreds of fruits in the typical grocery store, yet we usually grab apples, oranges, bananas, and the occasional pear, because they are easy. Sometimes, the rewards of looking beyond the surface, of having one amazing experience, can change our entire outlook.”
“Like our engine converter.” Henry Moss sat up straight for the first time all night.
“That depends on if everyone here is willing to keep an open mind.” Lauren leaned forward, clutching the golf ball sized purple fruit in her hand and shaking it to hear the juice sloshing around inside. “This is a passion fruit. Who would like a little more passion in their lives?” Lifting a plate with shot glasses of passion fruit juice from the tray, Lauren took one and passed it around the table.
Cameron swallowed hard before drinking his, but didn’t make a face. Taking the small victory, she continued.
She explained about papaya, mango, and carambola or star fruit quickly, learning most everyone had at least seen them before. She lifted the fruit Cameron referred to as a green pinecone and took a deep breath. How would she react if he hated her favorite fruit?
“This is a cherimoya, or custard apple. You can slice them in half, scoop out the seeds, and eat them with a spoon.” She passed the wedges around the table, intent on Cameron’s reaction. He took one tiny bite, as he had done with everything else. Though his face registered nothing, his fork went back to his plate and he ate the whole piece.
…
Another night, saved by Lauren. Cameron shook his head and climbed the stairs to his bedroom, wishing she hadn’t left with the rest of the guests. As they’d tried the exotic fruits, they’d brainstormed ideas to introduce the product to consumers. With the backing of a former automobile CEO, the company would have the connection it needed to flourish. One investment down in his renewable energy fund.
Only about ten more to go. The thrill of creating a fund he knew would explode shot through him. His reputation would be legendary. The technology fund he’d helped create with Anders fared well in the chaotic economy because of risks he’d taken. Learning beside Anders had kept him on the cutting edge of venture capital investing, kept his finger on the pulse of the economy. But this fund was his alone. A managing partner answered only to the investors, and then, just barely.
With a grin he stepped inside his bedroom and pulled his sweater over his head. His pants and socks joined it in the hamper. Stepping across the dark room he sat on the bed and stared out the window.
The clear night sky twinkled with stars. Outside, maple trees danced in the slight breeze. A smile lifted his lips. His bedroom in New York looked at a concrete wall. The privacy of it had been a selling point. Seattle had a few perks. Huge house, fast car, landscaped yard, view of the mountains, and Lauren Brody.
He liked the way she talked, walked, thought. And she was willing to have a business engagement instead of an emotional entanglement. He’d never met anyone so attuned to his interests. In every way but food. She seemed to take it personally whenever he didn’t eat something she made.
Thinking of food reminded him he’d barely had more than fruit all evening. He headed out of the bedroom and downstairs to the kitchen, wondering what he’d find in the fridge.
Halfway down the stairs he paused. The lights of the dining room shone through the alcove. He’d turned them off, but he hadn’t set the alarm. His eyes widened, his breath grew shallow as he inched toward the room in silence.
Soft humming sped up his already racing heart. Lauren came back. He ran a hand across his bare chest and glanced down at his black boxer briefs.
Step by step he inched closer to the room, wondering where she’d gone, why she’d returned. Standing to the side of the curved entry to the dining room he realized how addicts felt. He knew she could destroy him, and everything he’d worked for. Reduce him to nothing and ruin his reputation. And yet with a promise of pleasure so great, he couldn’t resist.
She’d changed from the golden dress and now wore tiny terry cloth white shorts and a plum lace-trimmed tank. Every time he saw her she wore a different color, and intrigued him in a new way. He still couldn’t get a handle on her motivations or her beguiling proposal to move from a business agreement to an intimate arrangement, but with every second in her presence, he cared less about why and more about how to make it happen.
She arranged the poinsettias down the center of the table, alternating the red, white, splotchy pink, and purple plants. Before tonight he only thought they came in red. She made him want to know all the secrets she knew. From exotic fruit to plants to how she affected him so.
He knew he needed to make a noise or clear his throat, do something to alert her to his presence so she wouldn’t be startled. But he couldn’t bring himself to break the moment, he simply wanted to look at her. Her casual clothes, tousled hair, and perfectly sculpted features. Like she belonged here.
“Are you going to stand there all night?” She glanced over her shoulder, a hint of amusement flitted in her gaze. Placing the last plant at the head of the table she turned, the awareness simmering between them heated to a boil. The suggestion of sex hung in the air like an unspoken thought.
“I made you a sandwich.”
Or not. Cameron blinked, doing away with his lustful thoughts as he saw more of the room than Lauren. At one end of the table sat a sandwich, chocolate candy bar, and a bottle of beer. His eyes widened as he stepped to his prize.
“We need to do a tasting so tonight doesn’t happen again.”
Cameron chewed quickly, washing the bite down with a swig of beer. “Tonight was great. And so is this beer.” He turned the bottle around in his hand, looking at the label.
“You didn’t eat a thing tonight!” She squared her shoulders and put her hands on the curve of her hips, baring a thin strip of creamy skin below her navel.
He took another swallow of beer to help him focus on talking and not the skin beneath her clothes. “I ate pinecone.”
“Cherimoya.”
“Tastes like a creamy pear.” It tasted like she smelled in his dream. “Good stuff.”
“Cam, you said you liked all fruit.” She twirled the hem of her tank top with her finger, exposing more smooth belly. “I served a dozen tonight you hated.”
He held up a hand. “In my defense, no one likes grapefruit. And I tried everything else.” He returned to his sandwich. After a week of her turkey sandwiches, he doubted he’d ever be satisfied by a deli again.
“I like grapefruit.”
“You like everything,” he mumbled around his sandwich.
“I had to do something. It was a conversational circle jerk, all the experts trying to outdo the others.”
He nearly gagged on his sandwich. “Did you just—”
“Describe dinner as masturbation? You bed. Bet. Freudian slip.” Her cheeks pinked and she began to giggle. Her laugh had an inherently sexual quality. Even with as forward as she’d been, she maintained a fresh wholesomeness that captivated him.
He laughed with her, finishing his beer. “Psychology aside, you made your point with the dessert. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Her soft breathy voice caressed his skin, though she kept the table between them.
“But I’ll warn you, these dinners are always boring. I’ve pretty much made up my mind on what companies I’m investing in. These are mainly to make sure what they’ve presented on paper and in meetings works in the real world, hence the experts in the field and in business. And I can’t take the time to eat much because I have to keep things moving.” Cameron stood, taking his plate into the kitchen. When he returned, the dining room stood empty. “Lauren?”
“Down here,” she called out. Cameron turned, looking down into the sunken room containing his refuge. She arranged more poinsettias atop the white grand piano, all red this time.
He rocked on his heels, unsure if he wanted to join his two indulgences. It had been years since he’d played for anyone. His apartment in New York had an old upright where he decompressed every day after work. Having such an amazing instrument at his disposal was his favorite thing about the house. The only reason why he hadn’t opted for an apartment in the city.
“This is the most pretentious thing in the entire house. Every time I’m here, this room irritates me. It’s wasted space to have an entire room dedicated to a piano everyone gets to stare at.” She turned to face him, her bottom lip between her teeth. “Sorry. I know you didn’t decorate. Every time I step in here I see a million better choices.”
“I don’t.”
“If you want, I could mock up a few. This room irks me.” She sighed and turned around, pushing the plants to one end of the piano.
Cameron slid his hand against the wall, turning off the light, the room now dimly lit by the light filtering in from the dining room. Lauren turned at the action, a sinful smile spreading across her face.
Sliding onto the bench he dared not look at her. Something came over him when he played, the walls he lived behind disappeared and everything went into the music. His fingers stretched over the keys, itching to release the tension of the night.
He stopped thinking and just played. The lively Dvorak piece chose him, the music singing through his fingers. Visualizing the song in his mind, he concentrated on the chord progressions and scales. The notes turned to colors behind his eyes until his muscles relaxed and he could feel the first time he’d played the piece. Alone at his grandmother’s, trying to plunk through the sheet music to surprise her. He breathed deep, the smile taking over as he finished and looked up at Lauren.