I shook my head.
“Solène owns an art gallery in Culver City.”
“Oh… Nice.” He did that thing Hollywood people did whenthey learned I wasn’t in the industry: he tuned out. “Well, okay, I won’t keep you.
“Hayes, good luck tonight, buddy. We’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll have two squealing teenagers with me. But I guess you’re used to that, huh? Just girls… everywhere… Enjoy it.” He winked. “Solène, nice meeting you. If you two haven’t ordered yet, get the halibut. It melts in your mouth.”
“So, Max Steinberg…” I said once he was out of earshot.
“Max Steinberg,” Hayes chuckled. “I’m sorry, that was rude. That ‘girls’ comment was completely unnecessary… I don’t know what he was thinking.”
“I don’t know that hewas,” I said. “I find in this town men don’t evenseewomen over a certain age. And if they do, they register them as either ‘mom’ or ‘business.’ I’m guessing he thought I worked for you. Which should show you just how inappropriate this is.”
Hayes’s mouth was agape. “I don’t even know what to say to that… I’m sorry.”
“Yes, well, good thing this is just lunch.” I smiled. “Right?”
He didn’t say anything then. Just sat there looking at me with an inscrutable expression etched into his features. I had the impulse to reach out and stroke the side of his youthful face, but already I was mixing my messages.
“What are you thinking, Hayes?”
“I’m still processing.”
“It’s okay. It’s not too late to turn back.”
Just then the waiter arrived with our plates.
The second we were left alone Hayes turned to face me. “Look, I’m not going to ask you how old you are because it’s impolite, but I want you to know there’s very little you could say that’s going to deter me. And I really don’t give a damn what people like Max think. If I did, I wouldn’t have asked you here. So no, in case you’re wondering, I’m not turning back.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay,” I repeated.
“Good. Cheers.”
“Thirty-nine. And a half.”
Hayes lowered his glass of Pellegrino, revealing a huge smile. “Okay. I can work with that.”
Dear God, what was I getting myself into?
“So,” he began, not two minutes into his grilled jidori chicken, “how did your ‘very French’ parents end up in Boston?”
I smiled. He’d remembered. “Academia. My father’s an art history professor at Harvard.”
“No pressure there.”
“None,” I laughed. “My mother was a curator.”
“So it’s the family business, art?”
“Sort of, yes. And you? Is this your family business? Was your dad a Beatle?”
“A Rolling Stone, actually…” Hayes laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “No, nothing could be further off the mark. Ian Campbell is a very highly respected QC, Queen’s Counsel. I’m descended from a long line of highly respected people. On both sides. And then somehow something went wrong.”
“Something in the water in Notting Hill?”
