intrigued because I’m the singer of the moment?
“Maybe I’ll tell you someday,” I say.
“I make you a little nervous, don’t I?” he says softly.
More like wary, but it’s not just because of Matthew’s previous bad reviews, or even because of Jonas and his Grammy ambush. I’m wary because, on the one hand, I’m having a fantastic time so far with Matthew and he’s actually quite funny, on top of all the other assets he brings to the table. But on the other hand, I wonder if it’s an act, if it’s part of his effort to land a story, part of his sales pitch. I want to trust my instincts to like him, but my instincts have been wrong before. Besides, Matthew has an agenda, and I should focus on whether I want to be on it, not whether I’d enjoy running a hand through that hair. Because of course, I’d enjoy touching him. That’s a no-brainer. The harder decision is the business one.
I wave a hand in the air, trying to act casual. “No, no. Of course not.”
“Please don’t worry. I looked up a few articles before I left the office. I wanted to be prepared,” he says in a soothing voice that shows he has a sweet side, a caring side. And there he goes again, racking up more points in his favor.
“It’s nothing,” I say, flustered now.
“Well, I’ll have you know I completely admire your discipline in being a vegetarian,” he says in a highly serious tone. “I would love to be one myself and think it’s quite the right decision, moralistically and health-wise. But I’m actually forbidden from being one.”
“What do you mean?”
He leans across the table to whisper, and the nearness makes my skin tingle. “When I left England for the States four years ago, I had to sign a letter that I would uphold the image of Britain’s fine dining standards.”
I laugh loudly, loving how he can shift from genuine concern to teasing in a heartbeat. “And what are those standards?”
“We’re only allowed to eat lamb, sausages, and fish and chips in front of you Yanks.”
“By order of the Queen, I’m sure.”
“Speaking of, we should probably look at the menu,” he says, looking away when I say Queen .
I can’t resist. “Do you know the Queen?”
He keeps staring at his menu, but a faint blush creeps to his cheeks. “No. Of course not. Why would I?”
Wow, I’ve caught him off guard now, and I kind of like this feeling. Of control. So I go fishing for more. “I would imagine she’d be particularly concerned about how you represented her country when out of it.”
His lips quirk up. “I’m quite sure she doesn’t care what I do.”
“Hmmm. Right. I’m sure she doesn’t care a bit about certain peers .” I tease out the last word, doing everything I can to elicit a reaction.
He looks up at me, trying to deny the smile on his face. “Surely, I am nothing.”
I nod in an exaggerated fashion, narrowing my eyes, as I repeat back one word. “Surely.”
The waiter appears. “Can I get you started out with something?”
Matthew gestures to me. “The lady can go first.”
Lady . Of course he’d call me a lady, being a baron and all.
I opt for the beet salad and fingerling potatoes. He chooses the braised short ribs.
“No lamb on the menu. The Queen will be so sad when I tell her.”
“Tell me about this article you have in mind,” I say after we finish eating.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “ Beat magazine loves the idea of this dark horse who came out of nowhere, the little engine that could.”
I hold up a hand, a mischievous glint in my eye. “Just Beat ? What about you, Matthew?”
“Well, of course I love the idea, too. It so happens that my editors love it as well. The whole Internet buzz and marketing that Jeremy masterminded was genius. Now, the big question is—how can you top it? What do you do for an encore, a follow-up?”
I groan inside, flashing back on my three blah songs. I’m going to need to find a club and beat some
“Maybe I’ll tell you someday,” I say.
“I make you a little nervous, don’t I?” he says softly.
More like wary, but it’s not just because of Matthew’s previous bad reviews, or even because of Jonas and his Grammy ambush. I’m wary because, on the one hand, I’m having a fantastic time so far with Matthew and he’s actually quite funny, on top of all the other assets he brings to the table. But on the other hand, I wonder if it’s an act, if it’s part of his effort to land a story, part of his sales pitch. I want to trust my instincts to like him, but my instincts have been wrong before. Besides, Matthew has an agenda, and I should focus on whether I want to be on it, not whether I’d enjoy running a hand through that hair. Because of course, I’d enjoy touching him. That’s a no-brainer. The harder decision is the business one.
I wave a hand in the air, trying to act casual. “No, no. Of course not.”
“Please don’t worry. I looked up a few articles before I left the office. I wanted to be prepared,” he says in a soothing voice that shows he has a sweet side, a caring side. And there he goes again, racking up more points in his favor.
“It’s nothing,” I say, flustered now.
“Well, I’ll have you know I completely admire your discipline in being a vegetarian,” he says in a highly serious tone. “I would love to be one myself and think it’s quite the right decision, moralistically and health-wise. But I’m actually forbidden from being one.”
“What do you mean?”
He leans across the table to whisper, and the nearness makes my skin tingle. “When I left England for the States four years ago, I had to sign a letter that I would uphold the image of Britain’s fine dining standards.”
I laugh loudly, loving how he can shift from genuine concern to teasing in a heartbeat. “And what are those standards?”
“We’re only allowed to eat lamb, sausages, and fish and chips in front of you Yanks.”
“By order of the Queen, I’m sure.”
“Speaking of, we should probably look at the menu,” he says, looking away when I say Queen .
I can’t resist. “Do you know the Queen?”
He keeps staring at his menu, but a faint blush creeps to his cheeks. “No. Of course not. Why would I?”
Wow, I’ve caught him off guard now, and I kind of like this feeling. Of control. So I go fishing for more. “I would imagine she’d be particularly concerned about how you represented her country when out of it.”
His lips quirk up. “I’m quite sure she doesn’t care what I do.”
“Hmmm. Right. I’m sure she doesn’t care a bit about certain peers .” I tease out the last word, doing everything I can to elicit a reaction.
He looks up at me, trying to deny the smile on his face. “Surely, I am nothing.”
I nod in an exaggerated fashion, narrowing my eyes, as I repeat back one word. “Surely.”
The waiter appears. “Can I get you started out with something?”
Matthew gestures to me. “The lady can go first.”
Lady . Of course he’d call me a lady, being a baron and all.
I opt for the beet salad and fingerling potatoes. He chooses the braised short ribs.
“No lamb on the menu. The Queen will be so sad when I tell her.”
“Tell me about this article you have in mind,” I say after we finish eating.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “ Beat magazine loves the idea of this dark horse who came out of nowhere, the little engine that could.”
I hold up a hand, a mischievous glint in my eye. “Just Beat ? What about you, Matthew?”
“Well, of course I love the idea, too. It so happens that my editors love it as well. The whole Internet buzz and marketing that Jeremy masterminded was genius. Now, the big question is—how can you top it? What do you do for an encore, a follow-up?”
I groan inside, flashing back on my three blah songs. I’m going to need to find a club and beat some
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