Charisse shared the address with the driver, who punched in the information. Before long, they were heading through the busy streets, darting between the other vehicles and the pedestrians heading to the local bars.
Brent couldn’t remember the last time that he hung out with friends after work. Even his employees usually left him at the office. What was there to celebrate? Work kept any dark, brooding thoughts out of his head. He’d never felt dissatisfied.
Somehow, in Charisse’s company, he felt as if warm sunshine continually beamed down on him. Watching the evening crowd walking in their huddles, enjoying each other’s company, did make him realize what he’d missed, or rather what he’d avoided.
“You like New York?” He turned from the window toward Charisse.
“All my life I’ve lived in New York—first upstate and now here. It’s home. I’m glad that my plans came to fruition right in my backyard. There’s no place like it, you know.”
The evening lights refracted off the angle of her face, enhancing her fine bone structure with rich blue, crisp white and bloodred neon hues. Her eyes radiated an appreciation of the sights. He could tell the city had a firm hold on her heart.
“I know what you mean. Boston has its own big city vibe. It’s constantly on the go.”
“Yeah. It can be a bit busy.” She shrugged. “I like the energy. It’s like a shot of adrenaline.”
“Yep, but I do like escaping and getting back to Boston.”
“Boston isn’t a slouch, either. Pretty fast-paced, too.”
He chuckled. “You’ve got to come my way and check out the city.”
“Maybe.”
He didn’t push it. It wasn’t as if he could pretend that he had a meeting or any other business-related reason to get her there.
She looked past him through his window. “Looks like I’m in the old familiar neighborhood.”
Brent turned to take it all in. He wondered if her neighborhood was a good match to her personality. From outside, the brownstone homes with white trimmings were the same. Only a visit on the inside could tell him more. But after what he’d done earlier, he could forget ever getting an invite to her home.
“Brent, thank you for getting me home safely and in comfort. This has been quite the week.”
“I hope in a good way.”
“Definitely.” She scooted out of the car when the driver held open the door. “See you in a couple of weeks?”
Brent nodded.
Fourteen days before he would see her again. Hearing only her voice on their business calls would be torture.
“Good night,” she said. A smile tried to emerge but was swallowed by the indecision that crossed her face. “Have a safe flight.”
Brent couldn’t stay in the car. Impulsively, he got out to escort her to her door.
“You don’t have to walk me to the door.”
“True.” He didn’t turn around but continued up the short path to the front door.
There, Charisse turned to him. His thoughts were incoherent, and everything he wanted to convey stayed in. Maybe it should.
She leaned into him and kissed his cheek.
He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, trying to remain a gentleman. If only she knew how she’d further branded him with her soft lips.
Then she unlocked her door and stepped in. She leaned her head against the door, waiting.
Brent didn’t want to ask to be invited in. If only he could be so cavalier. He’d never been that sort of man. No way that he’d start now, despite his body’s awakening to this woman’s touch.
All it would take was for him to wave off his driver and forget the meetings he had in Boston. He could cross the doorway with one foot in front of the other and close the door, shutting out any intrusive thoughts. And then he could let the remainder of the night unfold, without rules getting in the way.
Instead, he rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand. Time to go.
He did have the driver wait as Charisse turned on the lights in the house. Satisfied that she was fine, he settled back for the ride to the airport. Alone.
He considered texting her something short and sweet. But what to say? Why can’t I get our kiss out of my mind?
Brent grinned.
He left his phone in his pocket. Instead, he savored the memories until he could be back in New York City.
Chapter 7
Boston was home and all that was familiar and dependable to Brent. Yet he felt restless and a bit cranky. Sleep had eluded him by the time he’d got in from New York. His entire weekend had dragged, even as he caught up with his work. By eight o’clock on Monday morning, he refused to stay in bed any longer.
Instead of heading straight to the office, he went to the gym. Maybe working out the nameless cause of his frustration would put him on an even keel. Brent threw his gym bag into the bottom of his locker and hung up his suit. Time to get his muscles bulked up and toned and this restless energy evaporated.
Rochester, one of his buddies from college, doubled as his personal trainer. However, the sight of his impeccably fit friend waiting, with a too-wide grin, made him want to rethink the start of his day. The nickname Rocky suited his rock-hard physique. The man looked as if he’d eaten a thousand protein bars for breakfast. Brent slowed his approach as he wondered what body part was about to be taxed to the point of failure.
“Where have you been for the past few days?” Rocky greeted Brent with a mock jab to his pec.
“In the Big Apple. I’ll probably be going there a bit more over the next few weeks.” Brent glanced at the usual crowd of workout enthusiasts already pumping weights, jogging like their lives depended on it on the treadmills or pumping their legs on the elliptical machines.
“Sounds like the business is kicking. Knew you’d have another success in your pocket.”
“I’m not celebrating hard.”
“We’ll see, ’cause it looks like you’ve been packing away those carbs in the city. You can celebrate yourself right onto this, champ.” Rocky rested his hand on the elliptical machine. His grin showed off his shiny white veneers.
His short journey on the professional bodybuilding circuit had earned him enough fame and money to open the fitness center.
“You’ve got to make up for missing valuable workout days. I can already tell that you didn’t hit any gyms. I’ve known you long enough to know that you’d work yourself to exhaustion.”
Brent pushed against the machine’s resistance. Working out had never been about vanity. His body didn’t add weight the way his friends complained about their situations. As part of getting his life back in sync, his counselor had suggested a routine of healthy, physical labor. Rocky took up the charge to help. His friend also had a sensitive side that talked about reconnecting with family and friends.
“I’m impressed. You’re not winded. New York must have agreed with you.”
“Understatement.” Brent breathed heavily as the program kicked into hill mode. His thighs were on the verge of exploding.
“More traveling involved?”
Brent nodded. Sweat trickled down his face—only five more minutes before his warm up ended.
“Did I tell you that I have a niece who sings?”
Brent shook his head. He knew what was coming next.
“I have her CD in the car. She thinks that this is what she wants to do. Her parents, especially my brother, are dead against it because they don’t want her wasting her time.” Rocky tossed Brent a towel. “I’m only the uncle, but this girl is good in school. She’s in a bunch of after-school stuff. And she can sing her heart out. This isn’t about her trying to skip her education or anything like what my brother and his wife think.”
“Call m
y secretary. Get your niece on my schedule. No promises, though.”
Many friends and even strangers approached him with the hope that he would open the door for them. He’d learned at the beginning not to automatically say no, in case there was indeed a gem of talent. But he’d also learned to tell the truth if he couldn’t or wouldn’t help them. It didn’t always go over well, but he refused to take advantage of people’s dreams.
“What happened in New York City? Any celebrity gossip? Any leading ladies need a good-looking male escort?”
Brent shook his head. Speaking proved to be difficult. His thighs burned and felt like rubber. His lungs could only give him enough air to breathe—nothing else. He counted down the ten second cooldown before he could limp off the machine.
Rocky clapped his massive hands. “Now you’re all warmed up. Let’s head to the weights. Upper body, today.”
“Would you leave me alone if I told you that I met a woman?” Brent asked.
“Whoa!”
Brent rested his hands on his knees, hunched over to buy more rest time, as Rocky tried to recover from his shock. Rocky had promised to turn him into a babe-magnet, but frankly he didn’t want a bunch of women harassing him. Now his friend considered his project a major success.
“Fill in the details.”
Brent filled in the basics about Charisse and their meeting.
“You went from no prospects to mixing business with pleasure.”
“There’s no mixture. I don’t plan to stir up anything. My attention and commitment need to stay focused.”
Rocky’s only response was to hand him heavy weights.
Within the hour, Brent had warmed up, pumped and burned his muscles and was now stretching away the aches as much as possible.
“Okay, enough. You’re trying to kill me.”
“It’s better than knocking sense into you. I wish I could have a few words with Charisse.”
Brent grinned. “Instead of messing with my personal life, I have another project to keep you busy. Interested in working out four young guys who may be more talk than action? The time frame is now, for two weeks.” Maybe the same advice that worked on him could work on the guys.
“Sure. Every client counts.”
“Great. These guys are coming to the group with both good and bad habits. They have to learn to be a team and put all the petty B.S. aside. One way to learn discipline is through hard work. You get my drift.”
“You pick the day that we can start rocking and rolling.” Rocky cracked his neck. The evil grin appeared.
“I’ll give you a call later today with the details.”
He fist bumped Rocky before heading to the shower.
Brent entered the main office, still trying to adjust his tie. He’d squeezed an hour and a half into his schedule for the gym. The workout had helped to erase his crankiness. From the sound of the phones ringing and his hustling staff, he would have to hit the ground running.
“You’re late, Brent,” Vicki, his personal assistant, said.
“Just by a few minutes.”
She wasn’t amused.
“Actually, it’s more like thirty minutes. You obviously forgot your appointment with the Powerhouse label when you headed off to play at the gym.”
“Oh. I remember now.” Brent stepped into a nearby cubicle. “Is he mad?” He craned his neck to see down the hall into his own office.
“He’s in there drinking tons of coffee.”
“Thanks, Vicki.”
“For heaven’s sake, your tie is a mess.” She grabbed his tie. “You don’t usually forget meetings. What’s going on?”
Brent tried to walk away when she was done, but her death grip hadn’t loosened. “Now you’re making me late.”
When Vicki had her mind to it, he couldn’t make her budge. His choice for an assistant was someone who had the maturity and wisdom to think ahead of him, keep him on track and work above and beyond expectations. Vicki came with all of those abilities and a few that emerged in times of need. She had her 1950s-style hairdo and impeccable dress sense in skirt suits, black pumps and her glasses, which always slid to the end of her nose. He’d offered her shares in the business because she was worthy of a partnership.
“Go. Work your magic. Then I’ll be in there for a debriefing.”
He saluted her and headed for his office. The long hallway felt like the walk of shame. His staff stopped their tasks to watch him go into the office. He promptly adjusted the blinds to keep out prying eyes.
“Mr. Caldwell, I wasn’t expecting you.” Right label, but wrong person. “I thought I’d be meeting with Glenn Holder.” Should he be worried that his meeting with the executive manager of the Powerhouse record label had been switched to the CEO?
“I took the appointment. Pulled rank,” said Caldwell with a certain arrogance. “And Francine wanted me to intercede on her behalf.”
Brent almost coughed. More than the back of his throat itched. His body instantly chilled.
“We’ll get to Francine soon enough.” Caldwell pointed a thick finger at him. “Although you kept me waiting, I won’t hold it against you. Haven’t been to Boston in a while.”
“I’m listening.”
“First quarter numbers coming in. The downward trend doesn’t look good. Some acts will be cut. So far I’ve managed to keep yours off the list.”
Brent didn’t like what he was hearing one bit. Powerhouse was known as a small but successful, label that focused on building young artists. He had three artists already signed to the label, including All For One.
While Caldwell had delivered his news with a certain level of enjoyment, Brent had focused on keeping calm. What was being said aloud was only part of the message. Caldwell had taken on the role of messenger for another reason.
“The single by All For One has to be released by the beginning of summer to take advantage of kids being out of school. We need tours, appearances. You need buzz.”
“Are they in jeopardy of being dropped?”
“No. But the business can have a cruel edge to any performer’s career.” Caldwell leaned forward. His face was inviting, but his eyes remained cold. “We go way back, so I won’t B.S. you. If they were on the list, convince me that these guys deserve an extension.”
Brent hated the brutality of the entertainment industry—not that the legal arena didn’t have its own savage approach to success. He’d learned to navigate those shark-infested waters, too. This was new territory, but he wasn’t about to sweat under Caldwell’s scrutiny.
“I’ve got a public relations firm that will zero in on what they need. I’m working on their image. You can trust that the guys will have the necessary media blitz leading up to the debut.”
“We’ll want them to come to the office and record an acoustic version for the label’s website. That’s a tradition.”
Now that tone was more like it, Brent thought. “Sounds fantastic. I’ll get the date for that,” he replied.
Brent wasn’t about to sigh with relief. However, Caldwell mentioning something as long-term as recording and posting an acoustic performance boded well.
“Now, on the matter of Francine… My daughter is enamored with you. I don’t normally get involved with her love life. But this is the first time that she’s asked for my help.” Caldwell laughed. “I feel like a matchmaker.”
Brent couldn’t nod or shake his head. Even his breathing seemed to be waiting on the bombshell.
“I’m inviting you to my house in the Hamptons with my family and a few friends. It’s my wife’s birthday.”
“I’d be honored, but I feel a bit awkward attending your wife’s birthday. We haven’t ever met.”
Caldwell shrugged. “You’re not coming because of
my wife. You’re coming because of Francine.”
“Again, thank you, but I can’t.”
“Really?”
Brent didn’t consider diplomacy to be one of his strengths. How strongly could he protest without losing too much? “I’ll try my best.” His tone was flat, devoid of any sincerity.
“Good. Now my little girl can stop being a pain about this matter.” Caldwell stood and adjusted his suit.
“When is the party?” Brent kept his fingers crossed.
“In two weeks. You do this for me, and I’ll be sure to put the guys on the lineup for the Times Square event.”
Brent held back further protest. There had to be a way out of this mess but still get what he wanted for the group. But Caldwell’s standing with his chest puffed out in the middle of his office wasn’t helping him to concentrate on any plan.
They wrapped up the meeting with a minor discussion about the band and Brent’s switch in careers. Finally Vicki, who always managed to intrude on his meetings if they went too long, came to his office door. He allowed her to escort Caldwell out of the office.
He was looking out of the window when Vicki returned to his office and closed the door.
“From Caldwell’s happy ramblings, I’d say that the meeting was successful. From your demeanor, I think the jury is still deliberating.”
“Something like that.” Brent didn’t want to present his assistant with his predicament. Too much information would have to be revealed about Charisse. One thing he did know for sure—Francine was going to be a wedge in his business affairs and personal life.
“What do you want me to work on?” Vicki had her pen and pad ready for his directions. Whatever conclusion she may have arrived at stayed hidden behind her business facade.
“Were you able to get All For One on a flight to New York?”
“Yes. They’ll fly out two weeks from now on Thursday evening. You didn’t say how long you wanted them out there. I have the time tentatively set for through the weekend.”
“That’ll work for now. We’ll probably have to relocate them for a short bit to New York.”
If I Had You Page 8