The restaurant that Steven had chosen was classy, but had a homey atmosphere. The décor was distinctly African and the lighting was low, offering them a sense of privacy.
The details of the interviews weren’t something she could talk about with him now. She had to talk to her staff writers and she wanted to see if Freddie could line up an interview with Malcolm before she made any decisions.
“Thank you for letting us go ahead with our shoot. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how much it cost us to just wait around.”
“You’re very welcome,” Steven said. He’d ordered a bottle of white African wine to go with their dinner and lifted a glass to toast after the sommelier had brought it to them and Steven had approved it.
“To winning combinations,” he said.
She nodded and tipped the bell of her glass toward him. Their glasses clinked together and she looked into his eyes as she took her first sip. He watched her the entire time, which she thought was interesting. He seemed like someone who was shallow and only concerned about his own needs, but he was definitely paying attention to her. He watched every expression on her face and she felt as if he wanted to make sure she enjoyed herself tonight. That was out of character for the man she’d met five years ago.
A bouquet of flavor erupted on her tongue as she swirled the sip of wine though her mouth. It was crisp and dry and had the subtle flavor of fruit to it. Not grapes but maybe apple, she thought.
When she returned her glass to the table, she smiled at him. “I like this wine. Thank you for recommending it.”
“Well, it has a bite, so I thought it might suit you.”
She had to laugh at the way he said it. She knew she came across as a man-eater when she was in business mode. But tonight she wanted to enjoy the opportunity to just get to know Steven.
“You mentioned earlier that your father was sick,” she said.
“I don’t like to talk about Malcolm,” he said.
She made a mental note that he referred to his father as Malcolm. Were they close? Somehow she didn’t think that question was appropriate. As an American in London, she’d learned quickly that some of the conversational topics she’d always thought acceptable weren’t here.
“My dad had a health scare about six years ago…and it really shook me. I’d always thought of him as invincible and it was humbling to realize he wasn’t.”
“Yes, it can be hard,” Steven said. “My mother is healthy as can be but she spends a lot of time in a sterile environment, so that’s to be expected.”
“What does she do?” Ainsley asked. She had done her research on Lynn but wanted to hear about her from Steven.
A frown crossed his face so quickly that if she hadn’t been watching him she would have missed it. “My mother is a physicist. She’s won a few awards. Right now she’s working in Switzerland.”
“I guess you don’t see her often,” Ainsley said.
The waiter brought their dinners and they continued to discuss their families. It didn’t take long for her to notice that Steven always deflected the questions she asked about his family. Not that it mattered—her writers would get to him.
“What brought you to London?” he asked as they were sipping a darkly brewed after-dinner coffee.
She wondered if he’d remember her if she mentioned the interview she’d done with him. It was that article that had ultimately cost her her job. She’d been so nervous when she’d met Steven at his office that she’d spilled her coffee all over his desk. He’d been cordial to her at the time but when she left she overheard him on the phone with Joel, her boss. Heard him say that she’d been more concerned about her coffee and sweet snack than about interviewing him. When she got back to her office, it hadn’t surprised her that her boss fired her.
She’d written the article anyway and sent it out freelance to a couple of magazines, finally getting it picked up by one of the Business Journal’s competitors. It had appeared in WIRED magazine; they had been looking for articles on “young guns”—men under thirty who were changing and shaping the way businesses were being managed. That article put her on the map, so to speak, and gave her a chance to start fresh.
She was a little miffed Steven hadn’t recognized her name but remembered that back then she’d been A. J. Patterson—something she’d thought made her seem more professional.
“My job. I used to work as a freelance writer in the States. But it’s hard to pay the bills with freelance gigs only, so I transitioned to an editor position at Fashion Quarterly in the States. While I was there, a piece I wrote on young Hollywood wowed my bosses and they offered me a full-time position as an editor. Once I started editing—which is very different than writing—I found that I loved it.”