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At a buzz, she looked for her phone, but he'd already shifted onto one hip and reached behind him to withdraw his own.
"Hold on, my butt's vibrating." He glanced at the message and grimaced. "Well, shit. Gotta get back to another job." He slid off the stage to face her. "I did go up on the roof before I came in. I can do you a decent patch job that will buy you another year until you get the theater up and earning some income. After that, Madison'll want to do the full replacement it needed five years ago."
He lifted his gaze to the ceiling. "You've had leaks in here during the recent rains, haven't you?"
"Yes. And two or three in the back rooms."
He nodded, unsurprised. "You'll want that patch job before we have any hard summer showers. I can do it next week, as long as weather cooperates. Sound good?"
He fished out a card and handed it over, his fingers brushing hers. His hands were callused, knuckles chapped and nails painfully short, cuticles predictably ragged. A working man's hands, the skin brown as oak bark. She found herself wanting to hold onto one of them, turn it over and explore his fingers, the lines on his palms. He smelled like male sweat and cinnamon gum, since he'd taken out a piece and was chewing it. He offered her a piece, which she took for later.
"The patch job will cost about a thousand," he added. "Logan's done some work for me, so I can cut Madison a discount and drop that amount off the full price when it's time to do the replacement. I'm going to tell her all that, but I figure she'll be asking you what you think."
Madison would be pleased to get the break. A stage and auditorium had already been part of the building, a big selling point when Madison was considering her options. The private school had built it for student performances. But it had no backstage, so a wall had to be removed and the classrooms behind the auditorium renovated to become the backstage area. Other rooms had been converted into a dressing area and storage. The auditorium had stepped seating in a crescent around the stage, and they expanded that, knocking out additional walls so it could now seat a highly optimistic four hundred. Until the theater provided itself with ticket sales, further major expenses were out of the question.
Des had packed up the remaining sandwiches as he spoke, though he left one block of wax paper holding the remaining square of the chicken salad sandwich and two squares of PB&J, as well as three carrot sticks. "You kept looking at the PB&J," he said with a wink, "so I figured you might want those two for dessert."
The PB&J was what she'd really wanted to eat, but had thought she might look childish for liking it.
"Finish the chicken salad and carrots before dessert," he said, as if reading her mind. "Be a good girl."
She stuck her
tongue out at him and he tsked. Shouldering his pack, he offered his hand. "It'll be a pleasure working with you, Miss Ramirez."
"Julie is fine."
"Yes, she is. In every way." His exaggerated ogle had her stifling a laugh, unsuccessfully.
"You're a terrible flirt."
"Actually, I'm very good at it. Your eyes are dancing, you're smiling and you look less tired and stressed now." His smile morphed into something else. "Seriously, don't hesitate to give me a call about the rigging. I'm sure Logan will have recommended good people for your cast members, but there are a lot of good guys out there who dabble in rope, and don't get enough training before taking it to more advanced levels. It's important to me that people do what I do safely."
Now his expression was as uncompromising as a police officer, which gave her all sorts of distracting fantasies. He was a fascinating mix. She'd taken his hand, and he was still holding it in a firm grip. As she met his penetrating look, she let the warmth that his hand spread through her take her a step away from sanity. "I've researched some of it online," she said with forced casualness, "but I don't have a real grasp of what it's like. From the inside, so to speak. Would you be willing to show me what you do? Using me as a subject, I mean?"
She was astounded she'd said such a thing. Maybe it was being immersed in this environment that had propelled her to a tentative readiness to dip her toe into a submissive experience. Or maybe it was Des. He was the first Dom she'd met, in person or online, who'd made her feel she could take that step.
Yes, she'd met him only a few moments ago, so it should be ludicrous, but she didn't feel that way toward the other performers, with whom she'd been working for several weeks now. It wasn't that they gave her the creeps. Far from it. They'd been recommended by Logan and Madison, and, as Des had said, their choices emitted nothing but good vibes. A couple weren't as experienced as the others, but they still had the right stuff for what they needed in this production.
Beginning and end of story, she felt like she could trust Des. His personality complemented hers, and she could double check things with Logan and back out if she was wrong. But she was already fairly certain Des was a pro at what he did. She was used to being around performers, and knew the real deal when she met them. He exuded a quiet confidence in his abilities. The overabundance of honest charm also didn't hurt.
Since he wasn't going to be in the production, there was no real conflict of interest. It also didn't have to be personal. A lot of people did the Dom/sub stuff as friends or BDSM club arrangements, sans the minefields that came with a relationship. That was a big thumbs-up for her. Exploring it from that safe paradigm would make it all the more fun for her. Right?
As he'd pointed out, such explorations would increase her understanding for the productions. Despite her defensiveness, he was correct. Keeping it professionally motivated would allow her to explore her personal interests in a safe way.
Though admittedly, his reaction to her request made those professional walls seem a little thin. His hand held hers with more than a hint of the strength he'd warned her about. It was evidence of a man's interest and desire, and she was far from immune to it.
When he stepped closer, his abdomen brushed her kneecaps where she sat on the stage. She had to fight a ridiculously powerful compulsion to spread her knees and invite him closer. He gave her another of those sweeping glances that made her aware of every curve she had.
"Use you as my subject to teach you about rigging?" He repeated her question. "I'd say that's a meeting I won't miss."
She covered her unsettled response with a sniff. "You really are a flirt."
"No, I'm not." He braced his free hand on the stage, the heel of his palm brushing the outside of her thigh. Betty's lush body, her helpless tied state, the pleasure in her eyes and parted lips, were distracting for more empathetic reasons now.
Though his jaw and mouth were relaxed, friendly and non-intimidating, that impression vanished when she met his eyes. "I just know what I like when I see it," he said. "I already like you. Not only because you're willing to let me tie you up, though I admit that just vaulted you from Miss America to Miss Universe."
She snorted. "They're far under my weight class."
