Page 50 of Riot Reunion
“I’m—I’m sorry, I—”
I step forward. Best to iron this out right away. Michael obviously doesn’t want random women traipsing all over his fake restaurant. “Hi. Are you, uh…are you looking for someone? Lost? I’m not sure if the phones are connected yet. If you need to make a call, you can use one of our cell phones, though…”
The woman focuses on me, smiling softly. “Oh no, I—I’m not lost. At least…I don’t think I am. Is this ‘Alba?’”
“Sure is,” Dash says.
“Oh. Great. Um…” The woman casts another nervous glance around, taking in the décor; she wrinkles her nose a little. “I know the owner. Tonight’s opening night, right?”
“It is. Did you have a reservation?”
The woman blushes. “Oh god, no, I don’t!” She presses her palm to her brow, closing her eyes as she gently shakes her head. “How stupid of me. I should—I should have thought about that. I—uh—” The poor woman is utterly frazzled. “And I just came in, too. Pushed ahead of everyone else like I own the damn place. Sorry, I—I just figured that Michael wouldn’t mind, and—”
Michael, is it? Huh. Whoisthis gorgeous, very tense woman, who’s come here specifically looking for my uptight guardian? A new girlfriend? Say it ain’t so. There’s no freaking way…
Dash turns on his ten-megawatt smile, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Don’t worry about cutting the line. Tonight isn’t gonna be very busy by all accounts. In fact, you might be ouronlytable of the evening.”
Uncertainly, the woman looks back over her shoulder at the door she just came through, pointing her thumb in the direction of the darkened street beyond. “Really? Because…there’s a line wrapping around the building.”
Dash lets out a bark of laughter. “For real?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Take a look for yourself.”
Dash does exactly that. He opens the door and leans out into the frigid night, the light from the restaurant’s brand-new sign making the back of his blond head burn brilliant white for a second. He takes another step, leaning out farther, hand on the door, holding it open. When he turns around and lets the door fall closed behind him, he’s wearing a menacing grin.
“Only Michael could plan for a restaurant to fail, only to have it be a roaring success,” he says.
“How many people are out there?” I ask.
Dash throws his head back and laughs. “I don’t know. Too fucking many to count.”
It’s at this precise moment that Michael reemerges from the kitchen. His dark royal blue suit and his crisp white shirt makes the light mahogany of his skin pop. His vividly blue eyes catch on the woman who just let herself into the building, and whoa! He doesn’t stop walking, but he fuckingfalters?
“Pippa,” he says coolly, regaining himself. He’s as unflustered as ever by the time he reaches the three of us. “You came. Can I take your coat?”
17
DASH
“Are you nervous?You shouldn’t be nervous. This is gonna be great. I heard you this morning, and your piece was amazing. We passed a bathroom back by the entrance if you feel like you’re gonna puke.”
I take hold of Carrie’s hand, finding her palm clammy; if anyone’s nervous, it’sher, not me. She wears turquoise cord pants today, with a navy-blue shirt that’s embellished with a cute little star pattern—a somber outfit in comparison to what she’d wear any other Sunday. I am wearing a white tuxedo with a black bowtie, for fuck’s sake. Turning up to a very scary criminal’s restaurant opening in civvies is one thing. Turning up to an austere, highly respected audition wearing anything less than black tie would be professional suicide. “Maybe that third cup of coffee was a mistake,” I say, gently squeezing Carrie’s hand. She nods anxiously, chewing on her bottom lip.
“I think you might be right. God. I’m sorry you were out so late last night. You didn’t say a word, but I know you wanted an early night.”
“It’s okay. Shh.” I stop walking, keeping a firm grasp on her so that she has to stop with me. “Carrie, just breathe. I got plenty of sleep. I didn’t drink. I’m not hungover. I’ve run through the piece. Everything’s great. I’m gonna go in there, and I’m gonna play, and when it’s over, we’re going to the fucking pub and I’m having a beer or five. I’ve got this. No drama.”
Does she look comforted by my reassurances?Kiiindof? She’s at least thirty percent calmer as she stands on her tiptoes and kisses me quickly. “Sorry. I’m being crazy. This is just a big deal. I’d hate to think I’d had any hand in fucking up your chances. If you don’t get it, then—”
“I keep saying it. Everything will be fine if I don’t get it. This conservatory is a bonus. Icing on the cake.”
“You’re being very calm.’
“What can I say? I’m a very calm person.”
