have gotten an eyeful when she was here,” Jason mused further. “Maybe that’s why she called me. She didn’t want to come eye-to-eye with your loincloth-wearing wild side.”
Could that be? Damon wondered suddenly. Could Natasha really have gotten so fed up with him that she couldn’t stand to see him nearly naked? They’d been through a lot together. They were close. No one in the world understood him like she did.
He didn’t want to lose her. Natasha kept his life running smoothly. She calmed him and nurtured him and organized him.
Without her, he would be ... well, Damon couldn’t imagine it.
“ Everyone wants to come eye-to-eye with my wild side,” he told Jason confidently, hiding the fact that he’d been spooked by the very idea of going so far that he might alienate Natasha. “Today, I’m going to prove it!”
“No, today you’re conducting a workshop presentation on varietal chocolates from around the world,” Jason disagreed in his usual pragmatic, reality-bound, buzzkill kind of way. They’d come to Las Vegas for the annual chocolate-industry convention. Evidently, there were expectations—at least on Jason’s part—that they’d actually work while they were there, not just gamble and drink and get lucky. “There’s a limited amount of wildness you can display during a workshop, He-Man. Although the lady chef from B-Man Media who’s joining you to do the chocolate fondue demonstration is pretty cute. Maybe she likes loincloths.”
“Har, har.” Damon headed for the shower. It was easy to find his way; the bathroom was nonstop marble and gold fixtures. It was nearly as blinding as the sunshine outside. “And she will like loincloths ... if I’m wearing one.” Not that he planned to.
“Whatever. Just sober up and get dressed before everyone starts wondering if all the wild stories about you are true.”
“They are true.” Damon stripped. He wrenched on the shower’s hot water. It cascaded down right on cue, exactly the way things tended to happen in his world: perfectly, easily, and without too much effort on his part. “I don’t care who knows it.”
“Your dad cares who knows it.” Jason’s voice pursued him; fortunately, the man himself didn’t. “Your mom does, too. If you don’t watch it, dude, Jimmy and Debbie will decide they need more than a flashy face to head up Torrance Chocolates.”
Damon paused. Then he shrugged. “I bring a lot of publicity and relationship building to the company,” he argued while soaping himself up. “I’m valuable with the online stuff, too.”
Although to be fair, Damon realized belatedly, he’d delegated most of his day-to-day responsibilities to his staff. It had been years since he’d done more than represent Torrance Chocolates on TV, in negotiations, and—once—in a movie cameo.
“I know you’re committed to a life of decadence. But your dad’s looking to retire soon, and he needs someone who can fill his shoes at the company—management-wise and creatively. If I were you, I’d get busy showing the old man you can dish up a new product or an original truffle flavor or something. Stat.”
Stat? That sounded dire ... as if time were running out.
But if Damon really was supposed to create something in order to save his job and impress his parents, time might as well be running out. He wasn’t good at creativity. Or at real chocolatiering. He never had been. That’s how he’d known, right from the start, that those parts of the business weren’t for him. It was just like his marriage: despite his best efforts, he’d tried and he’d failed. So he’d (wisely) never tried again.
His natural talents just didn’t lean toward creating things. He’d always figured he was good enough at everything else to make up for that ... even if his dad hadn’t always agreed.
Remembering that, Damon frowned. Then he made himself rinse off, just as though he didn’t have a care in the world. “If you were me,” he
Could that be? Damon wondered suddenly. Could Natasha really have gotten so fed up with him that she couldn’t stand to see him nearly naked? They’d been through a lot together. They were close. No one in the world understood him like she did.
He didn’t want to lose her. Natasha kept his life running smoothly. She calmed him and nurtured him and organized him.
Without her, he would be ... well, Damon couldn’t imagine it.
“ Everyone wants to come eye-to-eye with my wild side,” he told Jason confidently, hiding the fact that he’d been spooked by the very idea of going so far that he might alienate Natasha. “Today, I’m going to prove it!”
“No, today you’re conducting a workshop presentation on varietal chocolates from around the world,” Jason disagreed in his usual pragmatic, reality-bound, buzzkill kind of way. They’d come to Las Vegas for the annual chocolate-industry convention. Evidently, there were expectations—at least on Jason’s part—that they’d actually work while they were there, not just gamble and drink and get lucky. “There’s a limited amount of wildness you can display during a workshop, He-Man. Although the lady chef from B-Man Media who’s joining you to do the chocolate fondue demonstration is pretty cute. Maybe she likes loincloths.”
“Har, har.” Damon headed for the shower. It was easy to find his way; the bathroom was nonstop marble and gold fixtures. It was nearly as blinding as the sunshine outside. “And she will like loincloths ... if I’m wearing one.” Not that he planned to.
“Whatever. Just sober up and get dressed before everyone starts wondering if all the wild stories about you are true.”
“They are true.” Damon stripped. He wrenched on the shower’s hot water. It cascaded down right on cue, exactly the way things tended to happen in his world: perfectly, easily, and without too much effort on his part. “I don’t care who knows it.”
“Your dad cares who knows it.” Jason’s voice pursued him; fortunately, the man himself didn’t. “Your mom does, too. If you don’t watch it, dude, Jimmy and Debbie will decide they need more than a flashy face to head up Torrance Chocolates.”
Damon paused. Then he shrugged. “I bring a lot of publicity and relationship building to the company,” he argued while soaping himself up. “I’m valuable with the online stuff, too.”
Although to be fair, Damon realized belatedly, he’d delegated most of his day-to-day responsibilities to his staff. It had been years since he’d done more than represent Torrance Chocolates on TV, in negotiations, and—once—in a movie cameo.
“I know you’re committed to a life of decadence. But your dad’s looking to retire soon, and he needs someone who can fill his shoes at the company—management-wise and creatively. If I were you, I’d get busy showing the old man you can dish up a new product or an original truffle flavor or something. Stat.”
Stat? That sounded dire ... as if time were running out.
But if Damon really was supposed to create something in order to save his job and impress his parents, time might as well be running out. He wasn’t good at creativity. Or at real chocolatiering. He never had been. That’s how he’d known, right from the start, that those parts of the business weren’t for him. It was just like his marriage: despite his best efforts, he’d tried and he’d failed. So he’d (wisely) never tried again.
His natural talents just didn’t lean toward creating things. He’d always figured he was good enough at everything else to make up for that ... even if his dad hadn’t always agreed.
Remembering that, Damon frowned. Then he made himself rinse off, just as though he didn’t have a care in the world. “If you were me,” he
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