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“Why?” I asked. “It was successful. You must have been good at what you were doing there.”
“I was,” he agreed. “But…” he grimaced. “This might sound bad.” I was currently on the best date ever, and inclined to be generous, and I told him so. He smiled before continuing. “I know I’m good at what I do–did. Programming. Raising money. Leading a company. Whatever. The thing is, I just don’t really care all that much about that stuff.”
“That stuffbeing..?” I prompted.
“Well,” he said, pouring himself and me second glasses of wine, “take my brother. Jack,” he continued, at my raised eyebrow. “My oldest brother. You know, of course, that our dad died when Jack was eighteen. Seventeen, actually, just before his birthday.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, accepting the glass.
“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not, but…”
“You get used to it.” I paused. “My dad died, too.” I managed to get the words out without crying. It had been years now, but I still had about a fifty-fifty chance of tearing up, by my calculations.
“Oh?”
“Cancer.” He nodded, not saying anything. What could he say? We both understood the loss, themissingthat undergirded everyday life, the riptide that threatened to pull you under at any moment. One second swimming happily, the next drowning in a wave of grief. “You were talking about Jack?”
“Yeah. Jack. Anyway, Jack inherited the family business. He runs Prince Rare Books, a book dealer my dad started. He loves that place, even though I find it boring as hell,” I laughed at the look on his face as he continued. “A bunch of dusty old books and a few even dustier old men who want to buy them. But it means a lot to him. Jack raised me and my brothers, pretty much, and between that and the business, he feels like he’s carrying on our father’s legacy. He has a purpose.”
“And you don’t?” I asked.
“No… Well,” his eyes left his food, and met mine. I couldn’t breathe as he continued. “I do now.”
He meant me. I tried to hold his gaze and keep my face from betraying the wild beating of my heart, but his piercing look and the wash of his juniper scent over me, made my cheeks heat. I could feel the heat building lower too, and was sure that the skimpy underwear I had worn was soaking. I wanted him. Badly. I was on suppressants, and I had rarely–okay, never–had such a powerful response to the idea of being with someone. What was this man doing to me?
Not thisman, though.
Thisalpha.
My stomach churned, not unpleasantly, at the thought. I wasn’t one ofthoseomegas, had never been alpha-crazy, had always imagined myself settling down with a sweet beta, if I imagined myself settling down at all. I never expected to find myself crushing on–fuck, I knew it was early, but it felt like more than a crush, the way he looked at me, the way my body reacted–any alpha, and certainly notCharliefuckingPrince. I took a sip of my champagne as a pretext for breaking our eye contact, and to give myself a moment to recollect myself.
Thankfully Charlie seemed to notice my discomfort–ortoo muchcomfort, or whatever–because he steered the conversation back into safer waters.
“What about you? What made you decide to be a journalist? Purpose? Or does it just pay the bills?”
“Iwishit paid the bills,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I have some student loans I’d like to never think about again.” I finished my glass of champagne–my second–and waved off Charlie’s offer of a refill. “One of my earliest memories is of my dad and I reading the local newspaper. TheClarion,if you remember it. I’m sitting on his lap, and he’s drinking coffee and helping me sound out the words. I think I could just about read the headline, because it’s printed in those big uppercase letters.”
“What did it say?”
“I don’t remember, actually.” I had never thought of that question. “But the smell of his coffee and the ink of the paper and the smell of our old house… I remember that.”
“That’s the important part, anyway.”
I agreed. “I knew I wanted to go into journalism as a kid. I would interview people around the neighborhood and stuff. But by the time I got my degree, theClarionhad shuttered. It was bought up by a big firm that laid off all the staff, then killed the newspaper off entirely.” I remembered the last day they printed a paper. I still had a copy, somewhere. “I should have moved. I thought about moving to D.C. or New York, somewhere with a national news scene, or even a bigger city like Atlanta, but…”
“You didn’t want to leave?”
“This is where I grew up.” I knew it wasn’t a logical choice. I had been a good student, I could have gotten an internship somewhere more prestigious than the CityStyle–not that that was saying much. But…
“This is where your dad lived.” I tried to smile, and nodded. “I get it,” he said, and for some reason, I believed him. “Part of the reason I sold out was that they wanted me to move.” He paused. “I haven’t toldanyonethat.”
“California?” He nodded. “All your brothers live here, though.”
“Exactly. They drive me fucking crazy–sorry, I really don’t swear that much,” he said, interrupting himself. “But I love my family.”
“You’re lucky,” I said, wanting to say more, but not sure how.
“That’s what everyone says,” he replied, his smile easy, his voice light. Something in his presence, though, hisscent, maybe, made me think it wasn’t so simple.
