Connected (Connections, #1)(21)
Glancing at my suitcase and pointing to the glass wall he asks, “Are you sleeping here? Because there isn’t much privacy.”
I let out a soft laugh and he chuckles to himself.
Trying to decide if I should mention we have met before, I decide against it. I’m not sure he remembers me; actually I’m pretty sure he doesn’t, so why further embarrass myself?
Garnering all of my composure and remembering I’m here to do a job, I remove my jacket and stand up straight, extending my hand. “Hello, I am Dahlia London from Sound Music. I’m so sorry I’m late.”
River extends his hand to meet mine, and I think I see a little glimmer in his eyes but I’m not sure. “Dahlia, hmmm . . . a flower. Well it’s nice to finally meet you,” he remarks as his lopsided grin returns.
“Aerie has been texting me your location for the past hour,” he says glancing at his phone.
“You already know who I am, so we can skip that part of the introductions. Agreed?” he asks smirking, as he sits down and motions for me to do the same.
“Sounds great,” I say, sitting down and taking in this man in his entirety. Reflecting back to that night so long ago, which now seems like yesterday, I try to see through his words. His words make me start to question my first impression that he doesn’t remember me. So does he or doesn’t he? Is he playing with me? Well this time around, I’m not playing a game. This is a business meeting, so let’s get down to business. With that thought, I unzip my bag, take out my tablet, pen, and paper, and avoid looking into his eyes at all costs.
Glancing around the room, I notice the stark surroundings. The room houses simply a conference table, chairs, and a credenza. There is no white board, no easel, nothing to make notes on. Pulling a larger tablet and colored pencils from my bag, I place them in the center of the table. River looks inquisitively at the items. “For our final layout,” I say with a grin.
Leaning back in his chair and placing his hands behind his neck, River responds mischievously, “Whatever you say. As long as I’m not the one drawing, anything goes.”
“I won’t grade you on your inability to draw a simple diagram,” I retort, giving him a half-grin of my own.
I start the interview by asking River for a brief history of his band. I continue with questions that include the band members themselves, their likes and dislikes for clothing and locations, and their favorite memories from their first tour. This takes about thirty minutes and our conversation is flowing in a very businesslike manner.
Moving past the band’s history, I move on to ask him questions about the new album. Before answering, River gets up from his chair and strides across the room to the credenza, pouring us each a glass of ice water from a pitcher. The room is silent as I watch him walk, relaxed and confident. It is the sexiest thing I have ever seen, aside from him. As I’m staring at his backside, I notice his ass is somewhat flat as his jeans hang a little and think his ass is also the sexiest thing I have ever seen.
River circles the table and sits next to me. This little move surprises me and makes me lose my train of thought. My mind trails off the business track course it has been steering on so well. He turns his chair to face me, points to my shirt, and says, “Lola ranks in my top ten all-time favorite songs. It’s actually on my phone.” He takes his phone out of his pocket touches the screen a few times and shows me, in case I doubted him.
“That's cool, we obviously have similar taste in music,” I say in response while trying to catch a glimpse at what else is in his music library.
“Where did you get that t-shirt anyway? It looks like the actual shirt sold when the album One for the Road was released in 1980,” River asks as he stands up and pulls me up with him.
The goosebumps quickly return on both my arms and legs as he tugs the hem of my shirt and demands, “Turn around, let me see something.” He twirls his finger in a 180-degree arc in case I didn’t understand his words.
Looking directly into his powerful eyes, I give him a questioning look before turning around. Without even thinking I jump into his game headfirst. His scent, his closeness, the way my body reacts to his touch have paralyzed me and I welcome the chance to turn around and try to swim out of his green, crystal ball-like eyes. God he’s just so mesmerizing, and I need to pull myself together and get back on track.
His phone chimes from the table, but he ignores it. With my back to River he pulls the collar back on my shirt and reads the tag. “Holy shit, this is an original! Do you have any idea how long I have been searching for one of these?” Then he makes me laugh when he apologizes. “Sorry, my mother taught me better than to swear in front of women.”
Stifling full out laughter I say, “Don’t worry about it, I say shit just about every other sentence.” With that, he chuckles along with me.
The ease of conversation we so easily picked up that night in the bar so long ago comes back immediately. Well, for me anyway as I realize this is just River’s way with women. He’s flirtatious and charming and must have the same rapport with all the women he meets. Embracing this knowledge, I continue to converse with the savvy, almost famous rock star.
I relax and sit back in my chair and start telling River all about my father and his obsession with music and concert t-shirts. I make sure not to repeat what I’d told him that night so long ago, I’m not sure why. Talking now, I realize that our conversation that night so long ago was just one of many intimate conversations he has probably had in his lifetime. It’s his nature; it is who River Wilde is.