Killer Summer, Lynda Curnyn [books suggested by bill gates .txt] 📗

The only person who seemed to remember that I was not only alive and well but the guest of honor at this fucking party was Les. Every time Francesca paused in her fawning over him, he turned that creepy stare on me.

“So, Sage,” he said now, at what was probably his sixth attempt at starting a conversation. “I brought the new Nick Cave CD to listen to. I got an advance copy, and I figured since you’re as big a fan as I am—”

“Not now, Les,” I cut him off, staring at Donnie with menace as he launched into yet another Maggie story.

By the end of the meal, even Tom was starting to look bleary-eyed. I didn’t blame him. The whole fucking evening was starting to feel morbid.

Which was why I was desperately glad when, shortly after dessert, Donnie and Amanda announced they were leaving.

“Got to get an early start tomorrow if we hope to land a big striper,” Donnie said, winking at Tom.

“That’s right,” Tom said, getting up and beginning to carry the plates to the sink.

I took the opportunity to step onto the back deck with Vince, after giving Zoe a good kick under the table and suggesting that the least she could do was help Tom with the dishes. She got up and picked up a plate, though not without giving me a bewildered look. But that was nothing compared to the wounded expression on Les’s face when I practically told him to fuck off when he tried to follow me and Vince outside. Well, not really. But I did practically close the sliding door on his leg, telling him that Vince and I needed to talk business. And I think he himself may have said something similar to Francesca before he ran off to God-knows-where, leaving Tom’s daughter to sulk on the living room couch, her arms folded across her chest. Nick sat at the other end of the same couch, giving the appearance of watching TV, but I could see him stealing glances at Francesca.

Serves him right, I thought, settling myself comfortably across from Vince at the patio table, turning my gaze from the door as I resolved to ignore my so-called friends. Not so hard to do, I thought, studying Vince’s profile as he stared out at the ocean.

Feeling my gaze on him, he turned to me and smiled. “You know, when I look out at the ocean on a night like this, it almost reminds me of the Amalfi Coast.“

I smiled back. “Do you miss Italy?”

He shook his head. “It’s a beautiful country. But I’m glad to be home.” He reached for the glass of wine he had brought out with him. “Ever been?” he asked, his dark gaze falling on me once more.

“Not yet,” I said, meeting his eyes.

“Oh, you should go. Every young woman needs to see Italy. It’s magnificent. Good food. Good people.”

“Good romance,” I said, my smile widening.

He nodded his head, as if he thought there might be some truth to that but wasn’t willing to verify it.

“Maybe I’ll get Tom to send me,” I continued.

“That would make sense,” he said, “seeing as you are now sales manager for the company’s first leather division.” He lifted his glass. “To you,” he said.

I picked up my glass, savoring this toast even more in light of the way the evening had gone. Or maybe it was in light of the man making it, I thought, clinking my glass with his and studying his beautiful mouth as I raised my glass to my lips.

I got the feeling Vince might have been savoring the moment, too, when I saw the way he looked at me as he drank. Even more so when he said, “Maybe I’ll travel with you. Give you a personalized tour.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” I said, an image filling my mind of me and Vince on a beach in Italy. God, what I would give to be alone with this man right now.

Then he went on to talk a bit about the tanneries, and I saw a light come into those dark eyes I had not seen until now. I recognized it for what it was. Ambition.

Now that was a turn-on. I never realized how much until I saw the way it animated Vince’s handsome features and sent his big hands into the air as he talked about the various skins he’d lined up for the fall collection, which were just going into production.

Maybe I still felt a need to prove myself. Or maybe I was hoping he would admire my own ambition, but I offered my opinions. After all, I hadn’t gotten this promotion for nothing. I wanted to be sure everyone knew that after all the blood and sweat I’d put into the start-up of Edge, I had learned a little something about skin, too.

“I wouldn’t put the 5012 model in the lamb,” I said, when he suggested that we might upgrade the leather on one of our more youthful styles. “In fact, I probably wouldn’t put it on the 5025 or the 5032, either,” I said, naming two other styles. “Those styles are too rugged. They’re spawned by hip-hop culture, you know? You don’t want your leather so soft it can’t take a tumble on the street.” Then I smiled. “Or a bullet. Not that we’re designing for gang fights or anything, but you get the idea. It’s how this demographic likes to think of itself.”

He smiled somewhat mysteriously, and I wondered if maybe my ambition might have turned him off completely. Because despite that flash of teeth, his eyes seemed annoyed. “I guess you would know better what the younger set wants than I would.”

I laughed now, softening the blow, and, I hoped, closing the age gap he’d just opened up between us. “Hey, I’m about a decade older than that crowd, Vince.”

His eyebrows raised. “How old are you, Sage?”

For the first time in my life, I wanted to lie. And lie up.