And the surface was pleasing to the eye, sure, but what was hopelessly drawing me in was that undertow. Just like standing in coastal waters when a wave was about to break, that deeper current underneath that threatened to sweep you off your balance was more formidable than the flashy whitewater bathing your shoulders. That undertow could drag you under and not let you up until it was too late.
April was like that—what was deeper was more alluring. And I had to remind myself of it over and over again, because otherwise, as with any powerful undertow, I was in danger of being sucked under and drowned by it—by her.
Chapter 19
April
From the edge of the room, I watched Jordan as he engaged with people, particularly the ladies, not spending too much time in any one place. I also happened to notice an overt exchange of cards, which he tucked into the pocket of his charcoal gray suit jacket. I took another few minutes to admire him again. When I’d come out of my butler’s pantry and saw him pouring some water for himself, he’d looked so gorgeous in that perfectly tailored suit that he’d taken my breath away.
And that scruff…that delicious scruff was driving me insane. He was now on his third day of whisker growth, and he looked so yummy I wanted to eat him. I wasn’t the only one. Practically every other woman in this room had followed him with hungry gazes, and it made me want to bitch-slap each and every one of them.
I was so involved in watching him, I kept forgetting to take the time to mingle myself. Who, after all, would be there to speak to me? I was making small talk with another assistant when a woman stepped forward, attempting to get my attention.
“Excuse me,” she said. I turned to her. She was pretty, if a little ragged looking, as if she looked older than she actually was, even though I had no idea how old she really was. I judged maybe a few years older than me. She had pale blond hair with a fairly dark tan that obviously wasn’t natural, especially for someone who lived in a place like British Columbia—and according to her badge, Vancouver was listed as her hometown.
“Hey there. I’m April Weiss, Jordan Fawkes’s assistant. May I help you?”
“Cynthia Nolan, TED assistant media coordinator. I have a couple of journalists here who would like to schedule an interview with Mr. Fawkes.”
“Certainly. I can take care of that. Would you like me to introduce them now? Then we can coordinate a time later.”
Her eyes widened and she darted a glance in Jordan’s direction. “Uh…”
The woman beside her, with a badge noting that she was a journalist from USA Home Weekly, perked up. “That would be wonderful, thanks.”
With a wave of my hand, I escorted the small group toward where Jordan was now conversing with another guy in a business suit, a TED badge hanging from his lanyard. He was an assistant speaking director for the conference.
“Mr. Fawkes, I have some people here who’d like to meet briefly with you tomorrow. I thought I’d make introductions and then schedule some interview time for them after your talk?”
Jordan nodded and I began, drawing his attention to the assistant media coordinator. “This is Cynthia—”
“Cyndi?” Jordan said, his eyes widening. At that same moment, I noticed that Cynthia was wearing a short-sleeved dress. Around the top of her arm, just peeking out from one of the sleeves, was a band tattoo that looked very familiar—a stylized wave pattern in three different shades of blue. I’d seen an identical version of it around Jordan’s left arm. This one was on Cynthia’s right.
By the way these two had locked gazes, it was obvious they knew each other. Cynthia went white underneath her tan, but she smiled, her lips curving tremulously.
“Hey, Jordan. So good to see you.”
Jordan visibly swallowed. It took a minute for him to recover from his surprise, and by the look of him, it wasn’t the good kind of surprise. So I intervened. “These are the journalists from USA Home Weekly who would like to meet with you tomorrow. Will that work?”
Jordan was still staring at the blonde. “Uh, yeah. That sounds great.” His eyes finally drifted toward mine and they had a desperate edge to them. A server with a drink tray passed near us and Jordan waved him over, immediately grabbing a glass of wine and downing it in one gulp.
“Uh—how’s your mom?” Jordan asked her.
Cynthia, who looked as uncomfortable as he did, nodded and said, “She’s doing all right, considering. And your parents? I saw them last year…last time I was down.”
I turned to the journalists, motioning them back toward the edge of the room where we’d stood before, extracting my phone from my purse. “What time would you like to speak with Mr. Fawkes? He’s free from three o’clock on.”