My eyes stray to Mac again, but his expression is closed. Is he thinking about his father? All I know is I need to forget I ever read anything about Mac’s family. Everything in me says he’d be furious to know I went snooping into his business, especially given his refusal to answer questions about his past or personal life when he agreed to the interview contract.
And speaking of the interview… “You want me to include the program in the article.” It’s not a question.
Mac nods, but his expression doesn’t clear.
I laugh despite his face. “Then you’re gonna have to own up to your part in it, I hate to tell you.”
I recognize what I’m pretty sure is a glower at this point.
“We can’t very well say, ‘Hey, y’all, check out this kick-ass blacksmith and, by the way, here are some kids working on cars.’”
He narrows his eyes and lets out a breath that I interpret to be a silent, “Shut up, smartass.”
But Javier interrupts before he can get a word out. “Oh, there are several other trades too. Carpentry, plumbing, electrical work. The kids go on to qualify for some excellent apprenticeships.”
I smile at Javier’s enthusiasm and turn back around to take in the shop again. A couple of the boys are laughing at something one of them said while the percussion of pneumatic tools reverberates off the walls.
It sounds like a phenomenal project, one surely deserving of a front-page article in any publication. But that doesn’t mean it’s going to happen. Never mind the fact that I have zero say in the content of WHL, but this isn’t the kind of subject that gets a feature article. Like it or not, it’s just not… sexy enough.
Good God, I hate myself not just for thinking that but for knowing the truth of it in the first place.
“Mac.” I turn to look up at him again and his burning golden-brown eyes are sweeping my face. My stomach turns to mush and I almost forget where I was going with this.
“I think you should switch the article’s focus to this.” He flicks his eyes to the side to indicate the shop.
Oh, Mac.
You big giant softie of a metropolitan-trampling mutant gorilla.
All I can do is take a breath and send him my best smile while Javier leads us to an old Chevy and proceeds to take us through how the group plans to refurbish and sell the hunk of junk.
Could I get Naveed to mention the program in the article? I’m sure I could. But I don’t think Mac understands what that might mean. He’d be opening himself up to questions about his family just to win a small mention tucked away in a brief paragraph near the end of the feature on him. He’ll still be front and center—he and his amazing pieces of work. It’s a done deal, and there’s nothing I could do about it… even if I wanted to.
So I listen to Javier and delay the inevitable. It’s the least I can do to give these men and boys their moment for as long as I can.
Sixteen
“If you have to ask, chances are you already know the answer.”
– Cookie Rutledge
“You ever heard the saying ‘Keeping your business tight’?”
I play with the knot on my shirt and eye Mac from my seat beside him.
“A variation of it, sure.”
“I’m not surprised. It seems to be your mantra.”
The corner of his mouth turns down as the subway car rattles and screeches on the tracks. We’re lucky we got seats as the crowd has gotten thicker on our journey back to my neighborhood.
“You ever heard the saying ‘live and learn’?”
His expression tells me not to delve any further, but I can’t help the slight harrumphing sound from escaping my throat.
We left the garage after the tour from Javier and a chat with a couple of the boys. They were gregarious and playful, belying the implications of the backgrounds Javier indicated as the basis for the program. Most of these kids have either been in trouble with the law or come from families where one or more parent is behind bars. It’s such a stark contrast to the way I grew up that I have trouble wrapping my brain around it. I mean, I know I was sheltered, but I hate to think I’m so far out of touch.
Mac remained silent through most of our visit, not that it was surprising, but I can’t help wondering if it’s due more to the mention of his daddy than his general modus operandi.
“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to at least acknowledge that you are, in fact, human.”
Mac turns his body to fully face me, sending a jolt of electricity down my spine. I hadn’t meant to activate some alpha switch or something. But if I thought his move would be followed by some profound confession or declaration, I was wrong.
When I finally get the nerve to peek at him, he’s just studying me again. Good lord, how can I possibly be that interesting?
Just when I think I’m gonna combust from the pressure of his stare, he switches tacks.
“You miss home?”
Dammit! How does he do that?
I know right away he already knows the answer, but I decide to try keeping my cards close to the vest for once.
“Now, what makes you think that?”
He doesn’t play. “You’re mindful of your time with your sister. You curl into yourself when you get caught in a crowd. You look like you’re in pain when you put on that shark act even though you suck at it and I can tell you hate it. And your smile is fuckin’ beautiful when you’re thinking about anything that reminds you of life before this cesspool of a city.”
I swallow hard and try not to let my face show how thoroughly he just gutted me.
“I…” Come on, Poppy. Don’t let him think he can just sum you up and fit you in a little box. Bastard. “I’ll have you know I love my job—and my new apartment. And I’m making friends left and right. Don’t act like you know me, Angus McKinley, just because we’ve spent a few hours together. I happen to talk a lot when I’m nervous and even I don’t know what I’m saying half the time.”
I grit my teeth.
“And if you hate this cesspool so much, why the hell are you living here?” Sanctimonious jerk.
His jaw locks. Yeah, how about that, Mac?!
“You’re not the only one who can make assumptions, I’m just too polite to tell you what I think about you.”
“Don’t hold back on my account.”
The subway car jerks and I barely keep myself from being thrown in Mac’s lap.
“Ha! I’m not falling for that. Despite what you think about little old backwater Poppy, I wasn’t born yesterday, you big oaf.”
This makes his lips twitch and his jaw release.
“I’m not tryin’ to be funny here, Mac. I’m good and pissed.” Because maybe he hit the nail on the head a little too closely? Possible, but it was still an arrogant move.
“I can see that. You done?”
My mouth pops open in a gasp and I spring up from my seat.
Before I can take even one step, Mac has my elbow in his grip and he’s pulling me back down.
“Get your hand off of me!”
My gaze darts around the passenger car looking to see which good Samaritan I’ll have to thank later for extracting me from this unfortunate situation. But nobody is even looking our way. I turn my shoulders to get a full view but nope. Everyone is minding their own frickin’ business.
I look back at Mac’s hand around my arm and then up at his face. I must admit, his grip is so light it wouldn’t take anything for me to get my arm back. But it’s the principle of the thing.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter, just as the subway slows in a screech of brakes for our stop. People rise from their seats and shuffle toward the doors. Mac stands and pulls me up with him, but I finally shake my arm free.
“Please, people, don’t worry about me!” I raise my voice, but the only person to acknowledge me is a middle-aged woman with a hair net and a paperback tucked under her arm. All she does is shrug and then check Mac out from head to toe.
Oh, for Pete’s sake.
Mac steps in behind me, practically molding his front to my back and I can feel a rumbling vibration that sure as hell isn’t coming from the train. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Mac is laughing at me. But before I can think too much of it, another crush of passengers pushes in from both sides and the air immediately becomes thick. How in the hell can so many people fit on one train car?
A young guy in front of me stumbles and starts falling back toward me, but Mac’s hands catch him and bring him upright again before he can touch me. I’m breathing a bit too hard now. What in the hell is taking so long for these doors to open? I exhale and I’m trying to slow my breathing when I feel the warmth of Mac’s breath in my ear.
“We’ll be out in fifteen seconds, honey.”
I close my eyes and lean back into his hard chest, letting him take over. Before I know it, he’s shifting me forward, arms locked around me and hands holding both of mine across my stomach. I open my eyes in time to not trip over the threshold of the train car and practically sing when we’re released from the throng and I can finally breath again, even if it’s the smelly sub-level air of the Lexington Street station.
It doesn’t even occur to me until after Mac drops me off and Iris is grilling me about my morning that he called me “honey.”
* * *
Me: I saw you called. What’s up?
My phone rings and I bite my lip when I see it’s Mac.
“Mac, I’m walking to a meeting.” I sidestep two executives from legal, smiling and sending a wave to the one I’ve met.
“Wanted to make sure you were coming to the photo thing.”
I roll my eyes but only because I secretly think it’s cute. Yeah, I said cute.
“Yes, I’m coming. We’ll be there at three. You could have just texted, you know.” I stop at the elevators and press the down button.
“I don’t text.”
Why does this not surprise me?
“Everybody texts.” I feel a need to point out the obvious. “My grandmother texts. The only person I know who doesn’t text is my Uncle Hugh and that’s just because he thinks cell phones are government tools to spy on us.” I glance around quickly to make sure nobody heard that last one. Can’t be too careful.
He obviously doesn’t feel this deserves a response because I get none.
“Anyway, I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”
“Later.”
That’s all he says before he hangs up.
Our last date or non-date or whatever you want to call it is still knocking around in my head every spare minute I have. Suffice it to say, any ill feelings I had flew out the window after Mac ushered me out that subway car and walked me home with his arm around me. Good lord, the memory of his strong body around mine will probably be enough to keep me warm through the entire New York winter to come. I’ll save a boatload on my heating bill.
He didn’t kiss me, though, when he left me at my door. I’m unsure if it was due to my temper on the train, my almost passing out from the crowd, or Iris’s smug smile as she flung the apartment door open when she heard our footsteps. I kind of wanted to kill her.
There’s a lot to unpack from that date with Mac, the least of which is the fact that he still hasn’t told me one personal thing about himself, while I seem to have revealed enough about me to allow him to make a ridiculously infuriating and accurate observation about my innermost thoughts.
I don’t like the idea of being so vulnerable to someone who can’t reciprocate. Which is why it’s better if Mac and I just don’t pursue whatever this is between us. I mean, if he still wants to jump in bed with me, I’m sure I can wrap my brain around that somehow, but having all my personal business out there between us means it would be more than just a roll in the hay—for me, at least.
And there’s still the issue of Elle, although I know I’m only using that as an excuse. It’s safe to say at this point that there’s no way Mac and Elle are dating. And I’m pretty sure they’re not sleeping together either. I can’t see her putting up with a guy who’s so closed off, not to mention Mac hasn’t kept her name out of conversation—which any player knows is the number one rule of manwhoring.
But she’ll surely be at the shoot today where I can spend my time overanalyzing every interaction she and Mac have. I’m not gonna lie to myself and say I’m going for professional reasons. I mean, yes, as the creative director, I want the shoot to be amazing, but the photographer has a wonderful eye and she’s acquainted herself with Mac’s work and is excited to do the shoot.
I’m strictly there for spying and the eye candy.
Really freaking smart, I know.
My meeting drags on since it’s one of those dotting the i’s ones that nobody in their right mind enjoys, and I manage to get a few more things done before catching up with Naveed to grab a cab to Mac’s studio. Mirren, the photographer, is meeting us there, having gone over an hour earlier to set up with her crew.
“Look at you all dressed in red,” Naveed says as his eyes sweep my outfit. Yes, I went for a power color today and it’s no mistake. If I’m going to be in a room with Mac and Elle freakin’ Valentine, I need all the advantages I can get. Not that I’m trying to impress anybody or anything.
“And look at you, a vision in charcoal,” I volley back to a sharp-looking Naveed in another of his designer suits. “Tell me to shove off if I’m being too nosy, but how in the heck do you afford to dress like you do, Naveed?”
He pretends to be offended, but he’s clearly not. “I eat a lot of broccoli, sweets, and not the kind from Gomi, sadly.”
I’m not sure if I believe him, but I let it go and he hails a taxi. We pile in and are off to 10th Street, traffic swirling around us.
“Did you get the links I sent you on the youth program?” I ask.
I’d debated giving Naveed the information on the charity out of my fears for Mac. And yes, I understand the irony of me wanting to protect his privacy while at the same time resenting it when it comes to our personal relationship/non-relationship. But there it is.
What finally decided it for me was the memory of Robinson, my Romeo, saying he credited the program with him not being in jail with one of his best friends. I knew this was important to more people than just Mac. And, besides, he asked me to.
“I did. And thank God. Between you and me, doll, I had my work cut out for me on this one before I got ahold of that charity gig. Does the man even speak?”
Defensiveness on Mac’s behalf stiffens my spine before I force myself to calm the hell down. “When he needs to.”
Naveed grins at me. “I know it’s not professional, but I never really claimed to be one.” He turns in his seat like he’s about to drop a secret on me. “I honestly don’t know how I’m going to send this copy in for approval without adding at least four paragraphs about the man’s pectorals. I’m dying to know what he does to get those.”
I almost blurt out that Mac has a thing for ropes but I catch myself at the last second. Dummy.
The taxi drops us off and Jonathan greets us at the door when we knock. He’s in a short-sleeved button down the color of dirt and is wearing the same sour expression as he steps aside to let us in.
“Down there,” is all he says, pointing to the retail studio I have yet to see.
The hall is silent except for the clack of my heels and Naveed’s dress shoes on the floor until we get to the door and Naveed swings it open. The first voice I hear is Elle’s and I look down at my tight red dress, thanking Bergdorf’s for having a sale.
When we step in, I notice three things immediately.
Elle is running this show.
Mirren despises Elle with the power of a thousand suns.
And Mac is so over this already that I reckon he regrets ever setting eyes on me in the first place.
“Don’t you think the light is better over here?” Elle waves her hand through the air, her silky white blouse fluttering at the movement.
Mirren visibly grinds her teeth and I send Naveed
panic eyes.
“On it,” he replies from the corner of his mouth before plastering on a smile so big we all might go blind from the sparkle.
“Ms. Valentine, what a pleasure to see you again!”
Elle is momentarily distracted from her mission, but it’s long enough for Mirren to redirect her staff to her desired set-up.
I pull my lips between my teeth so I don’t smile.
My eyes survey the room, stopping on the artfully placed chairs, tables, and smaller decorative pieces in the room. I recognize most of them from the website, but they’re even more impressive in person. It’s no wonder he can afford this place.
Mac hasn’t noticed me yet, but I think it’s because he’s attempting to block out the entire world around him as he scratches a pencil on the pad of paper in front of him. He sits on a stool pulled up to a small worktable and is wearing his usual jeans, but this time it’s with a dress shirt, the first few buttons undone to reveal a dark blue t-shirt underneath.
I release my lips only to run my tongue over the bottom one. I can’t help but stare. It’s obvious he—or someone here—has taken some care with his hair since it doesn’t have its usual appearance of just having survived a hurricane, and while his face isn’t clean-shaven, it’s been trimmed so the scruff looks quite intentional.
“Whooo Mama,” I breathe out.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable waiting in Ms. Valentine’s office?”
I jump at the voice, cursing myself for not noticing Jonathan’s approach.
“Oh. No.” I attempt a smile and check my accent. “I’m quite fine where I am.”
He pauses a beat and I raise a brow, hoping I come off as intimidating.
“Mr. McKinley doesn’t like… people.” He meets me in a stare-down.
Part of me wants to laugh. The other part of me is pissed.
“Well, then it’s a good thing he personally invited me.” I can’t help it. This guy is too much.
He finally blinks, then shifts his eyes first to Elle, then to Mac, then back to me before turning and leaving the room without another word.
Game Changer Page 14