Page 16 of Single Malt
And I certainly wasn’t hoping that she’d look at me and want me.
She’d told me to meet her at the Cantor Arts Center, which was easy enough to find. The problem was that she hadn’t said where in the building, so as I walked inside, I stopped and looked around, hoping she’d be waiting for me. When I didn’t see her, I took out my phone to check the time.
And maybe to also check to see if she’d called or texted.
I didn’t see anything from her, but I did see that it was exactly one o’clock, which was when she’d told me to be here. A part of me wondered if she was intentionally keeping me waiting, just to prove that she could. Not in some petty, mean way, but more like establishing that we were going by business roles, not personal ones.
Heels clicked on the floor, and I turned, knowing it was her before I even saw her approaching figure. “Brody.”
At least she was sticking with my first name. I didn’t want to go back to Miss Mercier and Mr. McCrae, even if I wasn’t interested in anything personal with her. Which I wasn’t. If we were going to work together, I wanted us to be at ease with each other, especially if Dr. Josephs signed a contract with me.
I could feel a smile curving my lips, and it took all my willpower not to give her a lazy once over, linger on parts as I remembered what it had been like to touch her, taste her. Instead, I kept my head and my eyes up, refusing to look anywhere but her face.
Not that it was a hardship to look there. She wasn’t simply physically beautiful, though. She had intelligence and a sharp wit, the sort anyone could see in those clear blue eyes. She didn’t miss much, and I had a feeling that she understood even more than she let on, preferring to let people judge her by her appearance. And they would. Asshole men who thought she was just a hot body that would be a great lay. Bitchy women who’d assume that she’d only gotten where she was by fucking people in power.
I wouldn’t claim to know her well, but in the short time we’d spent together, I had figured out that she was the type of woman who worked hard and refused to let anyone treat her as unworthy or undeserving.
In fact, I had the feeling that she’d rip the balls off anyone who even tried.
“Freedom.” I held out my hand automatically, just like I would have during any business meeting, regardless of how many times I’d met the person. The zing of electricity that went through me when she took my hand was something else. Something I’d never felt with anyone in my life.
I didn’t know if it was my imagination that we held onto each other’s hands a little longer than was appropriate for a professional handshake, but it felt that way. As if she had been thinking the same thing, we both let go at the same time.
“This way.”
She started to walk, and I followed, about a half-step behind for a couple feet until I found her rhythm. She refused to meet pace, but that didn’t surprise or bother me. I couldn’t deny that I wanted to get to know her, figure out why I couldn’t get her out of my head, and if that meant letting her take the lead, I was fine with that, especially under these circumstances. The last thing I needed was to initiate something that backfired on me and lost me not only this event but anything else in Stanford too. I needed to be cautious.
“This is the space we’ll be working with,” she said as we entered the room.
I tried not to wince when I saw that hideous pink wall, but she must have caught at least some of my expression because she laughed.
“Yes, I’m aware of how ugly it is.”
“I’m glad to hear that because I’d be worried if you didn’t.” I went a bit closer, my arm brushing against hers in a movement that could have been accidental. “Please tell me it’s going to be a different color by the time of the exhibit.”
She cleared her throat and stepped back, her smile going back to polite and professional. “I’m meeting with the contractor on Monday to discuss what he did.” She shook her head, looking torn between amusement and annoyance. “Apparently, the right hand didn’t know that the left hand had horrible taste in colors.”
I turned in a slow circle, taking in everything else. “It’s a good space otherwise.”
“It is,” she said. “Now, Shannon’s whiskey isn’t the only beverage that will be available at the event. We’ll have champagne and wine as well as a few non-alcoholic options available.”
“Are you going to have a bartender or a wait staff?” I followed her subject shift to the actual event.
“That’s one of the things I haven’t yet decided,” she said. “Which do you feel works best for your product?”
A little surprised by her question, I had to take a minute to think. “I suppose it would depend on how you want the drinks served. Wine and champagne aren’t served with ice, while whiskey and many non-alcoholic options are often requested with either a little or a lot of it.”
She nodded. “I was thinking along those same lines.”
Something else occurred to me. “Will this event be invitation only?”
“Dr. Ipres wants to have an invitation-only reception for ninety minutes and then open it to general students and faculty who need their ID to get in.” She tucked some wayward hair behind her ear. “We’ll also allow one guest per person.”
I looked over at the front doors. “So, you’ll have security at the entrance, then? Or someone checking IDs and invitations?”
“Campus security will be providing people for the doors and to walk the floor.” She tapped her chin with a finger, drawing attention to a perfect manicure that more than one of my sisters would’ve envied. “We’ll need someone to check IDs to make sure we don’t have any underage drinking.”
“If what I’ve heard about college from my siblings is true, that will be a job all on its own.” I wanted to smack myself as soon as the words came out of my mouth. I wasn’t ashamed that I hadn’t gone to college, but there was a difference between not being ashamed of it and making a joke of how my only information on the college experience came from my siblings.