called to Jason cheerfully as he stepped out and grabbed a towel to wrap around himself, “you’d buy yourself a new Porsche, fill every room of your house with gold-plated calculators, then get personal with every pretty girl in sight.”
“Nope.” Jason rounded the corner. Upon seeing that the steam-filled bathroom wasn’t featuring a full-on shower-time peep show, he leaned in the doorway. He crossed his arms. “If I were you ,” he argued, “I’d take another look at Natasha. Then I’d beg her to forgive me for being such an ass, and I’d try my damnedest to make things right somehow.” He gave Damon a meaningful grin. “ Then I’d buy myself a new Porsche.”
“You know, you probably could afford a Porsche right now. It’s not as though we’re skinflints at Torrance Chocolates.”
“I know. But our portfolio took a hit in the economic downturn, and Amy’s been concerned about retirement. So—”
“Retirement?” Damon wiped condensation off the colossal, gilded-edge mirror. His reflection stared back, bleary-eyed and bleak. Damn. He really needed some sleep. “You’re thirty-six.”
“It’s never too soon to plan. Compound interest being what it is, the bulk of the dividends won’t be fully realized until—”
Damon groaned. “Cut the financial talk, Egghead.” He made a time-out T with his hands. “You’re making me reconsider my stance on coffee.”
“Good. You should reconsider your stance on a lot of things.”
Hell . “Who are you, Jiminy Cricket?” In the mirror, Damon met his friend’s gaze. “Did I drunk-dial you and ask for a lecture? Is annoying, know-it-all ass-hattery on sale today?”
“All I’m saying is, your workshop today is the perfect opportunity for you to show what you can do,” Jason told him, not the least bit daunted by his outburst. “Creatively, I mean. Your dad is here. Your mom is here. Every media outlet in the world is here. They’re all watching you—so don’t blow it.”
Don’t blow it . At that, Damon swallowed hard.
Why had Jason had to tell him that? That was like hearing his dad tell him to behave himself and focus. Damon knew he couldn’t do either of those things—at least not for long.
Being told he had to do something—anything—called up every rebellious instinct he’d ever had ... and then some.
All of a sudden, all Damon wanted to do was screw up on a massive scale. At least then the pressure would be off him.
Fighting against that urge, he picked up his razor. “What’s the lady chef’s name? I’ll start with her and work from there.”
Jason gave him a skeptical look. “I’m not sure it’s wise for you to begin with the female component of this mission.”
“It’s a mission now?” Damon swore. “Just tell me her name.”
“Her name is Tamala. She trained at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. She has a popular cooking show on B-Man Media. Her specialties include cocoa painting and nougat modeling, as well as sugar cages and other pulled, poured, and blown sugar work.”
Damon stopped in mid razor stroke. “Is it just me, or does all that sound incredibly erotic? I’ve got to meet this girl.”
“Can you focus? Ever ? Just for five minutes?”
“I am focusing.” Feeling harassed, Damon finished shaving. “I’m researching. I’m going to knock this workshop out of the park today. In fact, I might ask Wes to send over an exclusive camera crew from B-Man Media, just to document my triumph.”
Jason looked dubious. “That might be overkill.”
Damon only gave him an offhanded grin. “Too much is never enough. That’s my motto. That, and more, more, more !”
“Subtle.” Jason shook his head. “Just remember: I’ll be flying back home before your workshop starts, so if things go belly-up, I won’t be there to hold your hand.”
“Thanks, but you know you’re not my type.”
This time, Jason flipped him his middle finger. Then he laughed. “I mean it, dude. Good luck today. Need anything
“Nope.” Jason rounded the corner. Upon seeing that the steam-filled bathroom wasn’t featuring a full-on shower-time peep show, he leaned in the doorway. He crossed his arms. “If I were you ,” he argued, “I’d take another look at Natasha. Then I’d beg her to forgive me for being such an ass, and I’d try my damnedest to make things right somehow.” He gave Damon a meaningful grin. “ Then I’d buy myself a new Porsche.”
“You know, you probably could afford a Porsche right now. It’s not as though we’re skinflints at Torrance Chocolates.”
“I know. But our portfolio took a hit in the economic downturn, and Amy’s been concerned about retirement. So—”
“Retirement?” Damon wiped condensation off the colossal, gilded-edge mirror. His reflection stared back, bleary-eyed and bleak. Damn. He really needed some sleep. “You’re thirty-six.”
“It’s never too soon to plan. Compound interest being what it is, the bulk of the dividends won’t be fully realized until—”
Damon groaned. “Cut the financial talk, Egghead.” He made a time-out T with his hands. “You’re making me reconsider my stance on coffee.”
“Good. You should reconsider your stance on a lot of things.”
Hell . “Who are you, Jiminy Cricket?” In the mirror, Damon met his friend’s gaze. “Did I drunk-dial you and ask for a lecture? Is annoying, know-it-all ass-hattery on sale today?”
“All I’m saying is, your workshop today is the perfect opportunity for you to show what you can do,” Jason told him, not the least bit daunted by his outburst. “Creatively, I mean. Your dad is here. Your mom is here. Every media outlet in the world is here. They’re all watching you—so don’t blow it.”
Don’t blow it . At that, Damon swallowed hard.
Why had Jason had to tell him that? That was like hearing his dad tell him to behave himself and focus. Damon knew he couldn’t do either of those things—at least not for long.
Being told he had to do something—anything—called up every rebellious instinct he’d ever had ... and then some.
All of a sudden, all Damon wanted to do was screw up on a massive scale. At least then the pressure would be off him.
Fighting against that urge, he picked up his razor. “What’s the lady chef’s name? I’ll start with her and work from there.”
Jason gave him a skeptical look. “I’m not sure it’s wise for you to begin with the female component of this mission.”
“It’s a mission now?” Damon swore. “Just tell me her name.”
“Her name is Tamala. She trained at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. She has a popular cooking show on B-Man Media. Her specialties include cocoa painting and nougat modeling, as well as sugar cages and other pulled, poured, and blown sugar work.”
Damon stopped in mid razor stroke. “Is it just me, or does all that sound incredibly erotic? I’ve got to meet this girl.”
“Can you focus? Ever ? Just for five minutes?”
“I am focusing.” Feeling harassed, Damon finished shaving. “I’m researching. I’m going to knock this workshop out of the park today. In fact, I might ask Wes to send over an exclusive camera crew from B-Man Media, just to document my triumph.”
Jason looked dubious. “That might be overkill.”
Damon only gave him an offhanded grin. “Too much is never enough. That’s my motto. That, and more, more, more !”
“Subtle.” Jason shook his head. “Just remember: I’ll be flying back home before your workshop starts, so if things go belly-up, I won’t be there to hold your hand.”
“Thanks, but you know you’re not my type.”
This time, Jason flipped him his middle finger. Then he laughed. “I mean it, dude. Good luck today. Need anything
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