Seduction by Song Page 7

  I don’t get the chance to speak, though, because a familiar voice is cracking out behind me, saying, “The hell are you talking about, Harris?”

  Romeo is there all of a suddenly as I spin around to face him, as much as I can without letting go for the speaker we’re still carrying. Romeo’s got this grin on his face, total confidence in the face of this producer that had been so intimidating just seconds ago. When I turn back to look at him, the producer seems to have shrunk in size, shifting back a step like he’s actually scared of Romeo.

  I wouldn’t ever admit that I felt awed of Romeo in this moment, but that’s exactly what I was feeling all of a sudden. If Romeo could stand up to a guy like this and even make him cower at the sight of him, maybe he did deserve to be as confident as he was.

  “Mr. Ortiz,” the man, Harris, says. “My apologies. If you wanted to take disciplinary actions yourself—.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Romeo says, waving him off. “Though I will be taking disciplinary actions against you if I ever catch you tormenting the crew again. Do you understand me?”

  “Perfectly,” Harris says quickly, backing away as fast as he can.

  Romeo looks back to us after a second, confident smile still in place. It turns softer, though, like he isn’t trying to be mean or difficult about it. “Need a hand with that, then?”

  “No, sir!” the stagehand says, smiling wide. “Thank you for that. I really—.”

  “You never have to thank me for that,” Romeo says, patting him on the back before turning to look at me. “Erin. You came.”

  “And I’m glad I did,” I say before I can stop myself. Figuring that the compliment was halfway out there already, I force myself to smile, trying not to feel too self-conscious, and continue, “So you’ve got a soft side, huh.”

  “Is that your way of telling me I need to lose some weight?” he teases.

  I can’t help laughing, just a bit, as I shake my head. “Let me just get this to where it belongs—.”

  “Oh, no! It’s fine,” the stagehand says quickly, taking the speaker into his own arms and away from mine. “I didn’t realize you were Miss Gouchet. I don’t want to take up any more of your time. Mr. Ortiz probably wants to talk to you.”

  I blink after him as he scuttles off, smiling over his shoulder at us before disappearing. I turn to Romeo after a second, for once relaxed in his presence.

  “So are your entrances usually this exciting?” I ask as he gestures for us to move away from the crew as they move about, getting the last preparations finished now that Romeo had arrived.

  He laughs, shaking his head as he leads us over to one of the buildings nearby where his team had apparently repurposed a hall of classrooms into a series of dressing rooms. “This? This is mundane. Come—this way.”

  I follow without complaint for once and take a look around the room he leads me into. It’s just a regular classroom with the desks all pushed out of the way to make room for some trunks and stage costumes, but the clutter makes it feel rather cramped and claustrophobic in there.

  Romeo turns to me after a moment, a red box in his hands. “I thought you might be coming. This is for you—the entrance I really prepared.”

  I stare at it for a moment before reaching out hesitantly to take it. It’s a bit too large to be jewelry, but the box is smooth and tied together with a beautiful ribbon that’s a shade or two darker. “What is it?” I ask as I thumb the ribbon carefully.

  “You’ll have to open it and see,” he says, grinning as he settles back against one of the desks to watch me.

  I turn the box around in my hands a few more times before tugging the ribbon open and lifting the lid. Just over a dozen gourmet chocolates sit inside, each a different design and each looking just as luscious as the next.

  “Wow,” I can’t help but say. “See, now this is how you spoil a girl. Extravagant, but not too extravagant.”

  Romeo laughs. “Well, I’m glad you agree.”

  I shake my head to get myself to come to my senses, shutting the lid again quickly and holding the box back out to him. “Too bad I’m not your girl, Romeo. I thought I made it clear the last time we met.”

  “You’re a girl,” he says. “Whom I would like to give chocolates to. Problem?”

  I frown and open my mouth to tell him that yes, it obviously is a problem, but I stop before the words come. After all, what was the problem? Friends could give chocolates to friends, couldn’t they? I sigh internally, knowing that I was only making excuses—to keep the chocolates, to spend more time with Romeo, to do all these things that I knew would be a bad idea.

  And even knowing that, I still can’t seem to stop from making those excuses as I pull the box of chocolates back to myself.

  “Well, thank you, then,” I say, fidgeting a bit as I shift back towards the door we came in through. “Is that all? I should be getting back out there since I’m here for a job and all. You know, on business?”

  It comes out sounding much flirtier than I intend for it to, and Romeo seems to pick up on that, too, because he grins and tilts his head towards me suggestively. “Not an advocate of mixing business and pleasure, then?”

  I roll my eyes, as exasperatedly as I can. “Definitely not.”

  “Then you wouldn’t object to my inviting you out to a business dinner,” he says without missing a beat, that devilish grin still on his face. “After business?”

  I wrack my brain for a reason to say no to that, because I’m almost a hundred percent certain that business doesn’t mean actual business when it comes to Romeo. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to give him a chance, though. After all, it wasn’t as though he would keep me there if it proved to be anything more than business, and I guess I did kind of want to get to know him.

  He had shown me a glimpse of the man underneath his rock star exterior, and I couldn’t help wanting to know more.

  “Fine,” I say, trying to keep my voice even and my smile off of my face. “Business dinner. Just business.”

  “Of course,” Romeo says. “What kind of man do you take me for?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  By the time shooting ends for the day, I’m laughing so hard that my sides feel like they’re about to split open. After the angry producer from earlier left, muttering under his breath about a mani-pedi or something (God, what a diva), the crew loosened up noticeably and joked around with the college kids, myself included, who had gathered to participate in a crowd scene that they were working on today. They even joke with Romeo, seeming comfortable with him even though they clearly respected him as an authority figure.

  I find myself smiling at Romeo as I wait in the wings while he mouths his lines on stage, the song they’re shooting for playing over and over again until they get everything just right. He catches my eye at one point, I think, but I turn away too quickly to see if he really catches me looking.

  What are you doing, self?

  I sigh and shake my head as I start to help with the clean-up. The crew know me by name now, even those that didn’t work closely with Romeo and weren’t told I would be coming, and they all invite me back for the rest of the shoot in the coming days.

  “You’re a doll to have around these parts,” one of them says.

  I feel myself blush and smile again, unable to keep from enjoying myself.

  It wasn’t that I changed my mind about Romeo—not really, anyway. Maybe, just maybe, he deserved a chance. There must be something redeeming about him if all these people followed him so loyally and looked at him with so much fondness in their eyes, something more than his looks and fame. Maybe I could dig down deep enough to find that, if I tried.

  But did I want to try?

  I sigh again and take a break from the work to grab one of the bottled waters that the campus coffee shop provided for us. It could be worth it, or it could end in disaster. I didn’t know if I wanted to take a chance on him, and if I wanted to take it now.

  “Enjoying yourself, I see,” R
omeo says, suddenly appearing behind me like he had just materialized out of thin air. I don’t think I’d ever get used to the way he moves around so silently, but I still can’t help smiling the slightest bit after the shock wears off.

  “Well, you know,” I say, gesturing at his crew. “They’re good people.”

  His eyes twinkle with something like mirth as he leans against the table I’m seated at, looking at me over the rim of his sunglasses. “They’re not the only ones.”

  “Talking about yourself again?” I ask teasingly.

  “I meant you, actually,” he says.

  I blink up at him, caught off guard by the sudden compliment. I feel my cheeks heat up again as I allow myself a smile, an honest smile. Maybe this was worth a chance—just maybe. It was at least worth a dinner.

  A business dinner, I remind myself.

  “Did you need something?” I ask, but not angrily as I might have mere days ago.

  He shakes his head, but holds a hand out to me. “We’re just about done, and I promised you dinner.”

  His words leave no room for debate and I don’t think I could have found it in me to argue even if he did allow me to. I take his hand instead of saying anything at all, letting him hold onto mine for the second it takes to pull me up before snatching my hand back carefully.

  “Lead on, then,” I say, keeping my tone casual.

  Romeo looks amused at my refusal to hold his hand as we walk, apparently finding my insistence that this is going to be strictly business endearing or something. I expect myself to be annoyed by that, but I still follow him out to the parking lot for some reason, only slowing to pull my phone out and text April to let her know where I’ll be for the night.

  I look up as we reach the parking lot that I recognize as the one reserved for staff and groundskeepers, expecting to see the hilarious sight of a long limousine parked in between the crappy Toyotas and Hondas that the staff usually drives to school. Instead, Romeo leads us to a bright yellow Lamborghini that looks like it’s just rolled off the runway of a show featuring cars from the future or something.

  I feel my jaw drop a little as the doors swing up, just like those cars I had only ever seen in the movies and in red carpet photographs from the hugest celebrity events.

  “It’s even better on the inside,” Romeo says, whispering the words right into my ear as his breath ghosts across my cheek.

  I shiver, the words made all the more suggestive by the low, seductive tone he speaks them in. Bracing myself against his charms, I walk forward to put some space between us and to get into the passenger seat.

  “Pandora?” I ask, finding that I have to really strain to keep my voice steady as I buckle myself in.

  Romeo nods as he gets in as well, putting something soft on the radio as he pulls out of the parking lot.

  We drive for about ten minutes before I start to recognize the streets that we pass. I can’t quite figure out why this path is familiar until I see the towering Hilton pop up on the horizon, the exact hotel Romeo had brought me to for our last—well, date, I suppose.

  I frown, more confused than annoyed when I turn to him. “I thought this was going to be a business dinner.”

  “It is,” he says as he pulls into the parking garage reserved for guests. “I said my mother taught me to cook. You didn’t think I wouldn’t back that up, did you?”

  I straighten with surprise, thinking back to that conversation we’d had over dinner. “Oh—of course. So, you’re going to cook?”

  “That’s what I said,” he says, flashing me a grin as he kills the engine. “Shall we?”

  I nod and wait patiently, allowing him to open my door for me just this once. We take the elevator up to the penthouse level (of course he’d be staying in the penthouse) and step into a gorgeous suite that looks—not dirty, per se, but just very lived-in.

  “You’ll excuse the mess,” Romeo says as he straightens a stack of magazines on his way inside. “I don’t have a home on the East Coast, so I mostly stay in hotels. I like having them feel like home, you know?”

  I nod, because I understand that sentiment completely. In my gap year between my undergraduate studies and my admission into a master’s program, I had basically couch surfed from friend to friend. And even though all their homes felt like homes, they only ever felt like their homes until I put up some little personal effects—a photograph of me and my dad, a stuffed animal from my childhood, or something similarly sentimental.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I say, straightening a cushion as I take a seat on the couch Romeo gestures to. “Is there anything I can help with?”

  Romeo nods as he moves to the kitchen to grab something. He returns a second later with an empty glass and a bottle of wine, both of which he sets down next to the TV remote on the coffee table in front of me.

  “You can help by drinking that and finding something you’d like to watch,” he says. “You’re officially banned from the kitchen until I’m finished.”

  He waggles his eyebrows to suggest that he’s going to be working some sort of magic in there, and I can’t help but laugh.

  True to his word, he doesn’t let me help one bit. Every time I get up, he points me back to the couch and makes me relax. I watch half an episode of some reality show that I don’t recognize (they all look the same these days) and finish a glass of wine before pouring myself another.

  “Close your eyes,” Romeo calls from the kitchen.

  I do so without question. “Something smells great.”

  “That’s probably you,” he says easily.

  I laugh again and keep my eyes closed until I hear him approaching to settle his hands on my forearms, pulling me up off of the couch.

  “Come,” he says, leading me to the dining section of the suite.

  I gasp at the spread. Each dish is a colorful swirl of food that looks and smells amazing. If I were in a position of power at a restaurant, I would totally serve all of these things. I must say this out loud, too, because Romeo just laughs and pulls a seat out for me.

  “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind if I ever want to become a chef,” he says as he sinks into the seat across the table from me, only after bringing the wine over and pouring himself a glass as well.

  I lift my glass to meet him halfway. “What are we toasting?”

  “To this one night,” he says, just like he had the first time we did this.

  I stare at him for a moment, my cheeks flushing with warmth once more. I clink the side of my glass against his and say, quietly, “And many more.”

  He laughs, the sound low and warm in his throat. “To many more.”

  We dig in, quiet but for the sound of our forks and knives clinking against our plates for a while as I taste everything he’s prepared. Everything is delicious, of course, and Romeo smiles like he’s genuinely pleased when I tell him so.

  “My mother would have been pleased to hear it,” he says, sounding almost wistful at the mention of his mother. It doesn’t last for long, though, as he relaxes into his confident posture again and leans back in his seat. “You seem well versed in the culinary arts. I’m sure you’ve had much more exotic foods?”

  “Well, exotic doesn’t necessarily translate to good,” I say, allowing myself a smile as well, hidden behind the napkin I dab at my lips with. “Though, I do have to say—and don’t tell my dad—some of the best things I’ve ever tried were when I was backpacking through Europe, eating from little family shops every day.”

  He laughs, sounding almost surprised, and I blink, definitely surprised by it. The fond memories had just rolled off of my tongue as though I were talking to an old friend, not this guy that I could barely tolerate only a few days ago. Where had this familiarity come from, and why did it feel so comfortable to just laugh and talk with him?

  I smile after a second, shaking the doubts out of my head. If I was enjoying myself, what was the harm in that? I wasn’t going to lose my sense of self just because I had a little bit of fun—right
?

  “Europe, huh,” Romeo is saying when I tune in again. “I went for a summer myself a few years ago. It was an experience.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I ask, quirking the corner of my mouth up and I pull my glass of wine to myself. “I bet you were all about the best suites in the best hotels and gourmet meals all day. That’s one way of living, I guess.”

  “It’s not my way of living,” he says with a shrug, like the suggestion doesn’t offend him, but is simply untrue. “I was on my own back then, after my mom—before I found my recording company. I stayed in hostels, mostly. I wouldn’t have made it through there for a while if the kind little Mrs. Hornsby didn’t take me in.”

  I feel my jaw drop at the sound of that name, because I stayed with a lovely old widow by the name of Mrs. Hornsby when I was overseas.

  “What?” he asks with an amused grin. “Is it so unbelievable that I’d rough it for a while?”

  I stare at him for a moment longer before bursting out laughing, shaking my head and pressing my napkin to my mouth again to keep from pulling a silly face.

  “No, no, it’s just—.” I pause to take a deep breath and compose myself before continuing. “I think I’ve actually met Mrs. Hornsby. I’ve met a Mrs. Hornsby, anyway, when I was over there. What’re the chances, huh?”

  “Sounds like fate to me,” he says without a single hint of doubt.

  I blink, stunned into silence for a moment. I sip my wine quietly, contemplatively, and try to ignore the warm flush that the idea brings to my cheeks. There was no such thing as fate, not in my mind. It was a funny coincidence, that’s all. Still, the thought of fate playing into this…

  Well, maybe it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant thought.

  “There was this chocolate truffle cake I had in Belgium,” I say, trying to change the subject without sounding too awkward about it. “It was the single most amazing thing I’ve ever tasted, I think.”

  Romeo pulls a face. “Chocolate truffle cake? Sounds like a mess. There’s only one way to do good chocolate cake, and that’s as chocolate cake. Sometimes the simpler things in life are better.”