Unsuitable Men (6 page)

As the driver helped her exit, Shawn stepped forward and to waited for her. He was wearing a dark suit with a white shirt underneath and no tie. As always, he was clean-shaven and looked flawlessly masculine. Over the last couple of years, he’d stopped wearing street-wear altogether and adopted a more mature look. Ever since Riley’s mother, a university professor at her and Riley’s alma mater had arranged a speaking series for him on gender, rap and his experiences in the industry, he’d developed a new gravitas and thoughtfulness about him. People took him more seriously and as a result, he considered more carefully what his image was and how he wanted it projected. Baggy jeans and oversize shirts were no longer a part of his wardrobe. Some tabloids had taken to calling him “The Dapper Rapper”; a label that Riley said made him roll his eyes.

“How’re you doing?” he asked her now as they walked the carpet, flashbulbs going wild around them.

“Good. Thanks for the invite.”

“No problem. But I might leave a little early,” he warned her. “Riley’s alone at the condo tonight, so . . .”

Tracy said nothing. The condo was literally five minutes away, so there was no earthly reason for him to leave early. If Riley called to say her water broke, Shawn could make it there before a drop of moisture hit the damn floor. But Tracy knew that the truth was he just didn’t enjoy this kind of thing as much as he used to. Not unless his wife was with him.

As she waited for him to pose solo for pictures in front of the lounge’s logo, Tracy wondered whether it would be poor form for her to stay after he took off. She hadn’t starved herself into a size two and worked this hard on her appearance to duck out only after an hour.

Just as she was mulling that over, Shawn was joined on the step-and-repeat by Brendan. As the two main partners in this venture, photographers wanted several shots of them together. And then there was the parade of celebrities, national and New York-based who wanted to pose with them both. Brendan, unlike Shawn, was dressed more casually, in an ecru shirt with dark brown slacks. He smiled as he hugged a popular television actress against him and Tracy pursed her lips, uncomfortable with
how watching him embrace the woman made her feel. Fidgeting with her bracelet she looked around, hoping they would be done soon.

Finally, Shawn held out a hand to her and called her over. She hesitated for only a moment and went to join him and Brendan, smiling in the general direction of all the flashes, trying not to squint. Predictably, questions came shooting out of the crowd. No one except friends called Shawn by his name. They all knew him as K Smooth.

“K, who’s the
girl
?”
someone yelled.

“Where’s your wife, K?”

At that, Shawn’s smile visibly faltered and Brendan stepped in, wrapping an arm about Tracy’s waist.

“She’s with me,” he lied, doing so jokingly because of course everyone had seen Tracy walk the carpet with Shawn. Really, what he was saying without saying was that he had no intention of telling them something that Shawn pointedly had not.

“What’s her name?” someone else yelled as the flashbulbs exploded with renewed vigor, capturing the embrace.

“Wouldn’t
you
like to know?” Brendan called back. He laughed with them and the photographers ate it up, swayed by his charm, as most people were. In the meantime, Shawn had discreetly stepped away and was safely entering the club.

Brendan kept his arm about Tracy’s shoulder and led her away from the photographers and they walked in together. Inside, Tracy took a breath.

The lounge was beautiful. Elegantly designed in white and silver, it had just the right amount of “
bling
” to appeal to the target demographic of people in the entertainment business, without being off-putting to your average upscale patrons. Each seating area was tented by gauze-like nets that could be pulled back or closed for semi-privacy, and all the seating was upholstered in white leather, whether it was the benches with plush curved backs in the private sitting areas, or the barstools. The bar itself was all silver covered with tiny disco-ball mirrors.

Tracy turned to look at Brendan who was taking in her reaction.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“
Amazing
job,” she told him, nodding. “You guys hit it out of the park.”

“Well, if you like it, then I know it’s tasteful,” he said. “Shawn was worried it might be a little too over the top.”

Tracy studied his face, flattered at his compliment
on
her taste. “No, it’s not over the top at all,” she said. “Just
amazing
, Brendan. Really.”

“Let’s get you a drink,” he said, putting his hand on her back and leading her over to the bar. “In a moment there’ll be a crush of people in here.”

“Thank you, I’d love a drink.” Tracy looked around for a moment, wondering where Shawn had gotten off to.

“Probably in the back office calling Riley for the first of a hundred calls he’ll make tonight,” Brendan said, noticing her search.

“He won’t have to,” Tracy said following Brendan over to the bar. “He already told me he’s not staying long.”

Brendan shrugged. “No shock there. Sometimes I think he fired me just so I wouldn’t keep him from running home every five minutes.”

“Well, I think it’s sweet,” Tracy said leaning against the bar.

A bartender dressed in all-white, wearing silver lipstick and eye-shadow approached and smiled at Brendan.

“Mr. Cole? What can I get for you and your guest?”

“Give us a couple of the signature martinis,” Brendan said. “Thank you.” Then he turned back to Tracy. “I want you to tell me what you think about this drink.”

“Sure,” she said, flattered again that he cared what she thought.

“So back to Shawn and Riley. Yeah, I agree, it is cool that they’re that into each other. But a man’s got to make a living, right? Can’t sit around staring into your wife’s eyes all day.”

“Now you’re exaggerating,” Tracy said laughing. “He still spends at least one week a month on the road. And she
is
pregnant. So I’m thinking there’s a little hater-ism in your commentary.”

Brendan grabbed his chest, as though she’d shot him in the heart. “Hater-ism?
Me
?”

“
Yessir
. I can hear it. And I recognize it, because I have occasional bouts of the same affliction myself.”

Brendan grinned at her. “Do you? You
want
that? All that crazy-out-of-your-mind type love?”

Tracy nodded slowly.

Brendan looked at her, his smile disappearing for a moment. “I don’t know if I want that,” he said quietly. “I mean, I want a partner and someday a family, but that shit they have? It’s . . . disruptive.”

Tracy burst out into surprised laughter. “I’ve never heard true love described in
quite
that way.”

“You know what I mean,” Brendan said. “You were there. You remember all that? I know there was a time there when I thought my boy had straight-up lost his mind. I mean,
everything
was about Riley.”

“She helped him grow up though, Brendan,” Tracy said. “He’s the man he was supposed to be, now.”

At that, Brendan leaned in closer as though studying her. “Damn,” he said. “Am I mistaken or do you actually
admire
who Shawn is today?”

Tracy shrugged. “He’s a good man who’s all about his woman. How can you not admire that?”

Brendan nodded. “True story.”

The bartender returned with their drinks in frosted martini glasses and Brendan held up his glass. Tracy followed suit.

“Let’s toast to the opening of Lounge Two-Twelve,” she said.

“And to you finding a good man who’s all about his woman,” Brendan added.

Tracy forced a smile at that last addition but drank to it anyway.

The club was stuffed to maximum capacity, everyone was enjoying it, and the launch was an undeniable success. Brendan circulated through the crowd, shaking hands, accepting congratulations and pretending to himself he wasn’t looking for Tracy again. When Shawn slipped out just after
midnight, he’d made sure to let Brendan know he was leaving and asked him to tell Tracy and make sure she got home okay. So he’d gone in search of her and found her.

She was sitting in one of the alcoves with some dude who was leaning in close, ostensibly so she could hear him over the crowd and music. Brendan swallowed the flash of annoyance he felt and interrupted their conversation to deliver Shawn’s message. She looked up at him, her gaze as impassive as though he was a waiter coming to refresh her water glass, and took the news of Shawn’s departure with a nod and a shrug, smiling in assent when Brendan offered her a car home whenever she was ready. Then she looked at him with dismissal and returned her attention to her companion.

When she turned back to dude, there was something in her eyes, something he’d only seen before when they were in L.A. in that hotel room. He walked away shaking his head. She was planning to fuck that guy. He just knew it. He would bet everything he owned that she was going to wait a reasonable interval, probably come find him to say she didn’t need a car after all and then she was going to go fuck that guy. Not that it affected him either way, of course.

But damn. It was like
that
?

That was two and a half hours ago, and he hadn’t seen her since. Brendan had spent one of those hours in Meghan’s company, walking her through the club, showing her his office in the back and giving her the VIP treatment. She had a working weekend planned, so hadn’t been able to come earlier, nor to stick around, and Brendan was surprised how promptly after she left he became preoccupied once again with Tracy’s whereabouts. She looked good in that goddamn dress, and when she sat, you could see the length and shape of her caramel-toned legs. The dude she was sitting with hadn’t been able to keep his eyes on her face for more than five seconds before they would fall once again to her legs. And Brendan couldn’t say he blamed him. That damn dress was genius, really. It had a high collared neckline but plunged low at the arms, offering a tantalizing and fleeting peek at the sides and curve of her breasts. Enough of a peek to make you want to lean in closer, if you weren’t also distracted by how short the damn thing was.

Brendan shook his head and made his way towards the bar. What the hell was he doing, thinking about her breasts and legs anyway? Been there, done that. He’d seen them, and he knew they were spectacular. There was no reason to
obsess
about it. There were probably dozens of women here tonight who could give her a run for her money. Not that he had seen any of them.

And another thing, the dude she was sitting with? No way could ol’ boy hang the way he had that night. Five times minimum he had Tracy screaming her brains out. So if she wanted to go screw some
okie-doke
motherfucker in an off-the-rack suit, then that was her prerogative. Just as long as she was prepared to be mightily disappointed.

When none of the bartenders acknowledged him immediately Brendan raised his hands above his head—which made him impossible to miss—and clapped until the young woman who’d served him and Tracy earlier looked his way. When she came over with a smile, he leaned in so she could hear him loud and clear.

“When I step to the bar,” he said, “you better damn well stop what you’re doing and serve me first. You feel me?”

She pulled back and blinked in surprise at his tone and then nodded. “Yes sir, Mr. Cole.”

“Get me a scotch and soda.”

When she turned away to get it, Brendan shoved aside the fleeting embarrassment that he’d let his temper get the best of him like that. He never spoke to his staff that way; and he hated people who did. He would leave her a sizeable tip by way of apology, he decided. And what the hell was he so agitated about anyway? When she returned with his scotch and soda he slid
her a
fifty and she glanced at it in surprise before pocketing it and smiled briefly before returning to her other customers.

At just past two-thirty a.m., it was probably optimistic of him to expect that things would be winding down, but he was beginning to wish for a shower and his bed. That was how it started; soon enough he would be like Shawn, yearning only to get home, rub his wife’s pregnant belly and fall asleep in her embrace. But he had only just turned thirty-three and it seemed a little early in his estimation to throw in the towel on his free-wheeling lifestyle. There were still too many women yet to meet and bed.

That was the problem he was having now with Meghan. She never pushed or pressured, but he could tell she was looking for a commitment. Not an engagement, necessarily, but at least some indication that he
could
head in that direction, and the truth was, he just wasn’t sure. She wanted him to be a proper “boyfriend” who pledged monogamy and if all things went well, the ring, the wedding and the whole nine. She was just past thirty herself and told him that while she’d come close a couple of times, she’d never wanted to marry anyone she dated.