Paris Is Always a Good Idea - Jenn McKinlay Page 0,76
me the cheese plate and the bottle of wine. Then with the grace of a cat, he leaped from his balcony to mine with two glasses in his hands.
“I’ll just go get my laptop,” he said, putting the glasses on the table. He disappeared into my apartment, coming back out with his computer. He put the laptop in his chair and picked up the glasses. I put the cheese plate on the table and took the glass he held out to me. Suddenly, wine seemed like a fine idea.
I poured myself a glass and handed him the bottle. Jason topped off his own and picked up his laptop so he could sit down. We resumed the same seats we’d had earlier, but the sun was warmer and it felt good on my face.
“Cheers,” he said and held up his glass.
“Cheers.” Reluctantly, I touched my glass to his and took a sip. The wine was crisp, light, and fruity, a perfect complement to the cheese board, which contained a melty Brie, a soft Morbier, and a semifirm Laguiole.
Jason put his glass down and fired up his laptop. To my surprise, he didn’t pester me anymore about my plans for the evening. Instead, he opened up my proposal and then started to go over the campaign I’d worked on for months page by page. His questions were smart and insightful, and I was impressed that he’d actually read the document. I’d thought he’d skim it at best.
After an hour and a half, he closed his computer. “All right, I think I’m about ready for anything Severin might throw at us at the dinner. We can go over it some more tomorrow if need be.”
“Do you think he’s going to grill us?” I asked. I was prepared for that but had assumed it was more of a getting-to-know-you meeting than a business one.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Raised on a failing Idaho potato farm, he really is a self-made guy. According to all of the stories about him, I have to conclude that Severin is an . . . unusual man.”
“That was polite.” I snorted. “I mean, I’ve never met him personally, but I’ve heard the tales about the crazy stuff he’s interested in and his erratic behavior.”
“I heard he has a car submarine,” he said.
“Really? I read that he owns an original manuscript of Leonardo da Vinci’s.”
“He also bought a small Hawaiian island.”
“Which has an outdoor golden toilet at its highest point,” I added.
Jason choked on his wine. A few drops dribbled down his shirtfront, and he wiped them away and said, “You made that up.”
I raised my right hand as if making a vow. “That’s what I heard.”
He shook his head. “Can you imagine having that much money? How much cancer research you could do? How many people you could help? The treatments you could fund? Hell, you could probably cure it.”
I studied him. He had caught me off guard. I’d never really thought about why Jason worked for the ACC. I’d assumed he’d just fallen into it after the success of his viral chicken-wing fundraising shenanigans.
“What?” he asked. “Did I miss a spot?” He glanced down, smoothing the front of his shirt with his hand as he did so.
“No,” I said. “I just didn’t appreciate how committed you are to raising money for the ACC. It’s impressive.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Martin, are you paying me a compliment?”
“No, definitely not,” I said. “I was merely making an observation.”
We stared at each other for a moment. The sounds of Paris drifted up over the balcony rail. The hum of motor scooters, the occasional laugh from the café below, the wail of emergency vehicle sirens, a car horn honking, and the rise and fall of voices in conversation on the street below. It all seemed to fade away as we looked at each other.
His eyes were blue today, reflecting the T-shirt he wore. It looked soft and well worn, and it draped over his muscle-hardened shoulders and arms, making me appreciate him as a man in a way I hadn’t before. Knightley was fit. Huh.
He was the first to break eye contact. “Well, I’d better let you get ready for your big date?” He raised one eyebrow, looking for confirmation.
To my utter mortification, I blushed. Why? Why would I do such a thing? It was galling. So what if I was nervous about tonight with Jean Claude? There was no reason to be embarrassed. It was a night out with an old friend,