The Man Behind the Mask

“It’s working.” She felt more underdressed than ever. As if she’d shown up in jeans at a black-tie gala.

Her discomfort got worse as the dinner wore on. In spite of what Simon thought, small talk was not easy. Conversation centered around food and restaurants at favorite vacation spots. Her exotic dining experiences were limited to special dinner dates. Mostly, dining out meant heading to the bar near her apartment. Therefore, she mostly listened and while she did, realized exactly how few special dates she’d actually been on since moving to New York. She wished she could blame the drought on being too busy, but the truth was that none of the men she met were nearly as interesting as the man she worked for.

Simon didn’t lie when he assured her his headache wouldn’t hold him back. Not only did he match the Bartletts experience for experience, but he also controlled the flow of conversation like a conductor. She watched, impressed as he continually returned the conversation back to the Bartletts and their interests.

“Is this your first trip to Boston, Delilah?”

Jim’s question caught her off guard. “Yes, it is.”

“Pity you’re here such a short time. You won’t get to see very much.”

“I’m seeing the brewery. What else is there?”

“You have a point there,” Jim said with a chuckle.

“How about you, Simon?” Josh asked. “I’m sure you’ve been the city a number of times.”

Simon reached for his wineglass. “Actually, I haven’t been back in a long time.”

Suddenly something Delilah read in his corporate biography popped into her head. “Didn’t you go to school in Boston?”

If she didn’t know better, she’d swear her question caused his hand to stutter. “Yes, I did.” His voice sounded odd, as well. “Bates North.”

“I knew you looked familiar!”

Giving the table a firm slap, Josh sat back in his chair. “Talk about a small world. I think I might have been a few years ahead of you. You rowed, right?”

“Rowing?” Delilah asked. “I thought you were on the swim team?”

“I switched to swimming my sophomore year.”

“Oh.” From the way Simon’s jaw muscle twitched as he raised his glass, she wondered if she’d said something wrong. Surely bringing up school wasn’t a mistake though. After all, he was the one who suggested she find common ground to discuss.

Meanwhile Josh turned in her direction. “I played soccer myself. I wasn’t exactly the rowing type, if you get my drift.” He patted his stomach. “I had a couple friends on the team though. Rowed fours and eights.”

“Fours and eights?”

“The number of rowers per boat,” he explained.

“I seem to remember some scandal involving the sports teams a few years ago?” Jim said.

“Scandal?” Out of the corner of her eye, Delilah saw Simon reaching for his drink again, his lips drawn in a tight line.

Josh nodded. “Some of the teams went overboard when it came to hazing the freshmen.”

“What do you mean overboard?”

“The school didn’t share all the details, but I seem to remember something about students being asked to—”

There was a loud clatter as Simon’s glass spilled onto his plate.

CHAPTER TWO

“SIMON! WHAT HAPPENED? Are you all right?” The words rushed out of Delilah’s mouth in one giant sentence. At the same time Simon pushed away from the table. The glass lay on its side on top of his risotto, what was left of the contents pooling onto his plate.

She reached out to touch his arm only to have him wave her off along with the waitress hurrying toward their table. “No harm done.”

“Except to your food,” Josh said.

“Serves me right for being such a klutz. Besides, the spill will keep me from overindulging.”

“Wish a little spill would keep me from overindulging. I’d just treat it like wine sauce.”

“Which is why the two of us are built like beer kegs, and he’s not,” Jim joked.

All three men chuckled and conversation shifted to new topics. Delilah did her best to join in, but she couldn’t focus. Her brain was too busy replaying what happened. Not so much the spill, but Simon’s expression. She wasn’t sure if the others noticed, but he’d turned white as a sheet. Like he’d seen a ghost. Even now, while he was acting unruffled by the whole event, his complexion remained ashen. She wanted to ask him if he was ill, but didn’t want to make a bigger deal out of the moment now that it had passed.

Still, her concern lingered. After four years of watching Simon interact with clients, she knew the difference between a full-on Cartwright charm offensive and simply going through the motions. Simon might be charming the Bartletts, but she could tell that the special Simon spark had disappeared.

It was his eyes. Normally they reminded her of the prairie sky on a summer’s day, bluer than blue. But now the color had dulled, as though a cloud had blown in.

Fortunately, the mishap occurred near the end the meal, and an hour later, the quartet was back on the sidewalk where they began, saying goodbye and making arrangements for the next day’s brewery tour. A hearty, two-handed shake accompanied Jim Bartlett’s farewell too, she noted, meaning they either didn’t notice the subtle change in Simon’s demeanor or that it didn’t matter. In fact, watching the enthusiastic exchange, she wondered if perhaps she’d let her imagination blow the whole incident out of control. No sooner did the Bartletts head up the sidewalk however, than the smile faded from Simon’s face killing her theory. Wordlessly, he opened the door to their town car and waited.

She slid into the backseat, taking pains to move as far to the opposite door as possible. Although he never said anything aloud, based on how he hated being approached unaware, she assumed he preferred a lot of personal space as well, and since he never bothered to correct her behavior...well, she kept up the practice.

A flash of movement caught her eye. Yet again, he was rubbing his neck. After biting her tongue all dinner, she had to ask. “How’s your head?”

“Hurts.”

That answered that question. “Would you like those aspirin now?”

“What I could use is a drink.”

“Really?”

He turned toward her, his expression hidden by shadows. “You sound surprised.”

“I am. Last time I checked, alcohol wasn’t the best cure for a headache.”

“No, but it sure as hell cures other things.”

Like what? Whatever it was that spooked him in the restaurant? She wished she had the nerve to ask. Even more so the nerve to erase the gap between them and let him know she was there for him. In the dimness, everything seemed more acute. The sound of his breath exhaling long and slow, the rustle of fabric as he sought to find a comfortable position. Tension radiated from his body. She longed to reach across the seat to rest her hand on his arm to soothe him.

She could only imagine how well that gesture would go over. So instead, she did nothing.

* * *

When they reached their harborside hotel, Delilah assumed they would check in and go their separate ways. It surprised her then when Simon grabbed her wrist to stop her from heading to the elevator.