Page 9 of All of You

“Why not?”

“Exhibit A.” She flashed me a look I knew too well—the See, I told you so look, and I had no idea why she was giving it to me.

“What am I supposed to be seeing?”

“You. You’re pushy. Stubborn. I guarantee a man who talks about traditional values isn’t going to appreciate you bossing him around. I’ve heard things. I know things. You trust me, right?”

She looked me full in the eyes now, and I could see her concern.

“Of course.”

“Then believe me. Some men, evidently like Ben here, do like being pushed around, but Johnson won’t. He wants meek. I’ll see you after.”

I turned to Ben, releasing his arm. “I’m sorry. She knows we’re not?—”

“I’m not worried.”

His easy smile helped me relax immediately, and it calmed my frustration a bit to see he hadn’t been embarrassed by Nikki’s comment.

“And if you need to boss me around a bit, that’s all right. I take orders pretty well.”

A shocked little laugh escaped my lips. “Oh. Good to know, Lieutenant.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Ben

No one could small talk like Whit. She was, as my mama would say, a whizz.

She could get people talking and keep them talking like no one’s business. Almost as deftly as Major Reese Flint’s girlfriend Erin Kelly could, though Erin, also my friend, was less practiced and more artless. Whit displayed artistry when it came to the conversational acrobatics it took to avoid saying anything personal.

“Whit, tell us about your young man here,” an older gentleman, Mr. Walden, said as he gestured to me.

“Ben and I recently became acquainted, and I’m so glad he agreed to come with me as a good friend. We talked about how valuable early exposure to music is, especially in a school setting. What made you become involved with Music City Charter?”

Or another time, when a middle-aged woman named Rita had the balls to ask her about Jamie Morris.

“I heard you and Jamie Morris had a rough breakup, but you’re still rumored to be willing to sing together if the song you two did for that movie gets nominated for the Oscars this year. Will you do it?”

Rita practically crawled over the table to hear the answer, one hand on her husband’s arm, leaning around him to see Whit’s face.

“Oh, thank you for asking. I loved working on the project, and I’ll be shocked if MacKean doesn’t get nominated. That scene where he’s lying in the field?”

At that, everyone started exclaiming about Jack MacKean’s brilliance in the scene—it really was astounding, and the spotlight shifted again.

She did that all night. It was amazing, and yet ultimately frustrating. She gave nothing away—certainly not about herself, not about why I was there with her instead of someone she actually knew and liked. Nothing.

When she excused herself to go get ready for the performance, the table’s talk turned to her.

“Gosh, she’s lovelier in person than on stage, even,” Rita remarked.

“True. She is. And very well-spoken,” another woman, Janelle, if I was keeping track correctly, added.

“Did you not expect her to be able to talk?” Janelle’s husband scoffed.

“Well, you never know what you’re going to get with these people! Just because they’re beautiful and talented doesn’t mean they know their way around a conversation. Plus no one knows her history—where’s she even from?” Janelle asked.

“I thought I’d heard Tennessee. She lives in Nashville,” Mr. Walden’s wife said, folding her napkin neatly in her lap.

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