After a few minutes of stunned immobility, I move in front of the sinks to wash my hands. It’s near impossible to ignore the fact that they’re trembling. As I dry them off, I look up at the mirror. My cheeks are flushed and my lips are red from Mitch’s vicious, forceful kiss.
Unable to help myself, I smile and run a finger over my abused mouth.
Straight, sexy, FBI man isn’t so straight after all.
Things just got interesting.
***
“Gavin, a word please?”
Oh shit. Talbot Putnam, president of our label, is waiting for me as I return from the bathroom. Rachel Whatley, head of public relations, and Ross are both trailing along. None of them appear to be happy.
“Sure, Talbot. Let me get a drink first.” I need a drink, yes, but my intention is to grab Hawke for back up. I have a feeling I’m about to be ambushed.
“No need.” Talbot holds up a hand and a server appears out of thin air. “What is it you want?” he asks.
“Ummmm, Jack and Coke, I guess.”
The server vanishes to fetch my drink.
“Lets sit, shall we? I have a table over there.” Talbot turns and leaves without waiting for confirmation that we’ll follow. It’s assumed, rightly so, that we will.
Rachel shoots me a concerned look, which I ignore. I know what this is about. She doesn’t have to say a word.
We arrive at the table at the same time as my drink. Talbot unbuttons the jacket of his five thousand dollar custom Tom Ford suit and slides gracefully into a chair.
The three of us take our own seats. Uncomfortable, I gulp my drink, glancing around the room to catch a glimpse of Mitch. He’s nowhere to be found.
He wouldn’t leave, would he? He can’t. He’s been hired to catch my stalker. But after the incident in the bathroom—
“Gavin, you mind telling us what the hell happened today?”
Talbot’s deep voice snaps me from my thoughts. “Happened?” I repeat, feigning ignorance.
Talbot’s perfect Roman features crumple up in distaste. “Don’t play stupid, Gavin. It doesn’t become you. I know you’re smarter than that.” I shift in my seat and throw back another big slug of my drink as I take a quick look around the club. Still no sign of Mitch.
“I’m not playing stupid, Talbot. I guess I don’t think I did anything to warrant the third degree. Why don’t you just say what you want to say?”
I glance over at Ross. He’s pleading with his eyes for me to stay calm. He and I have had this same discussion dozens of times over the last ten years—whether or not I should come out. Ross has told me he will stand firmly behind any decision I make. Rachel as well, although she has mentioned it could cost us some fans.
Talbot? Well, I have no idea what his opinion is on the matter. I’ve never cared enough about his feelings to ask.
“Gavin, what the hell were you thinking? Bringing a male date to a launch party for the band’s album.” Talbot scowls and folds his hands, resting them on the table.
His cufflinks are tiny vinyl records, which I would find humorous under any other circumstances. Not today. Not if he’s going to give me shit about my personal life. Not after what happened in the bathroom with Mitch. My very first public date was not only a lie, but it exploded in my face about five minutes ago.
“I’m sorry, Talbot. I was under the impression that dates were allowed. Dax brought Kate, Adam brought Ellie, and Hawke brought his flavor of the month. I didn’t realize the courtesy didn’t extend to me.” I narrow my eyes and glare at the executive.
He sits back, assessing my words.
“He’s right, Talbot. He can bring a date of his choosing,” Rachel pipes in.
Thank god for Rachel Whatley. She gives me a ghost of a smile, letting me know she’s on my side.
“That’s not the point and you know it. You should have given us a heads up. The media is now laser-focused on your personal life, not on the album, which is the entire point of this party—to sell music. This isn’t the Gavin Walker show,” he growls.
“Yes, I agree. It’s not the Gavin Walker show. It’s my personal life,” I snap. “I have no comment for any of them in regards to my date tonight or any other date I may or may not have in the future.”