Master of Fortune / Marrying the Lone Star Maverick. Katherine Garbera
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her and wouldn’t have hired her f there was anything untoward in her past.
“Very well. Tonight you are going to meet Steph Cordo. Part of your role will be to act as an assistant to my stable of artists until they hire their own people,” Henry said.
“Right. I’ve done that type of work before. I can handle that.”
“I know you can handle it, Astrid. You’re very adept at doing what needs to be done,” he said.
She flushed. “My sister says it’s a gift.”
“Really? Why?”
“Um … I was always a bit of a suck up when we were younger. But being nice does open doors,” she said with a wry little grin.
“Indeed.”
Henry noticed he was still holding her hand. He stroked his thumb over her knuckles and watched her face. She flushed again and then pulled her hand back. She licked her lips, which were wide and full. Her mouth moved and he knew she was saying something, but for the life of him he couldn’t concentrate on her words.
All he could do was watch them move. Stare at her white teeth and very pink lips and wonder how her mouth would feel under his.
“Henry?”
“Hmm?”
“The waiter asked if we wanted dessert,” she said.
“Sorry, mate. I’m good. Would you like something, Astrid?”
She shook her head.
He asked for the check and Astrid excused herself to go to the ladies’ room. It was odd that the old man had decided to get in touch with him now, but Henry thought that the job at Everest was going to be a fun challenge.
He’d long since stopped thinking of Malcolm as any type of relation. The man had sent gifts at birthdays and Christmases over the years, but Henry didn’t really know him. He’d always been a sort of Dr. Who character that came in and out of his life with no real notice.
But Henry felt the need to know more about him now. Malcolm held the key to any future success his team would have because of the will. His BlackBerry rang and he glanced at the screen. Henry had a firm policy of not talking on his cell phone when he was out with another person.
Alonzo, one of the men he paid for tips on new bands, sent a text message that he had a group that Henry should check out playing later in the evening at a club a few blocks from where they were. Henry noted it.
He wasn’t one for letting any leads slip by him. Maybe that was why he hadn’t had a problem transitioning from rugby player to entrepreneur back when he’d first retired.
He glanced up as Astrid was walking toward him and simply watched her. She moved like many women did when they knew a man was watching. Her hips swayed languidly with each step and her arms moved by her sides.
“You’re staring at me, boss man.”
“You’re a very pretty girl, Astrid.”
She tipped her head to the side. “Thanks, I think.”
“You think?”
“Is it a genuine compliment, or are you just buttering me up for some nasty assignment?” she asked.
He shook his head as he stood. He put his hand on the small of her back and directed her out of the restaurant. He knew she didn’t need his hand on her to figure out which way to go, but he wanted to touch her. There was something … almost irresistible about her.
“It was genuine. If I ask you to do a task you find distasteful it won’t be hidden in between something pleasant.”
She paused and glanced back at him. He stopped, and their faces were very close together. “Promise?”
“I promise,” he said. Before he could say anything else, a flashbulb blinded him. He turned to face the cameraman, but the person was retreating.
They met Roger McMillan, a friend of Henry’s, at the first club they entered. The place was crowded, as was to be expected, but they were immediately ushered to a VIP area cordoned off by velvet ropes.
Roger shook her hand and said something to her, but she couldn’t hear him over the music. She nodded and would have excused herself but Henry grabbed her hand and led them to a table in the back.
It was a little quieter and Roger introduced himself again.
“Astrid Taylor,” she said.
“She’s my assistant. You will be calling her every morning by ten with any new groups you’ve identified.”
“Got it. There’s not much going on here tonight. But the deejay has a tip for us on a hot new group. Once he takes a break, he’s going to come and meet us.”
“Sounds good,” Henry said.
“I’m going to make the rounds, see if there are any artists here tonight that you should meet,” Roger said.
He excused himself and left the table. Astrid realized that Henry wasn’t going to ease into his new job but had already hit the ground running. Unlike Daniel, he knew how to delegate. Henry wasn’t all about himself.
“Why are you watching me like that?” he asked.
“You aren’t going to follow Roger or send me after him?”
“Why should I? He knows what’s expected of him and he’s never let me down.”
She shook her head. “That kind of attitude is different.”
Henry nodded. “Everything I need to know about life I learned on a rugby pitch.”
“Truly?”
“Indeed. The first thing I learned is that if you don’t trust your teammates then you don’t trust yourself. You can’t be everywhere. So you must surround yourself with like-minded people.”
“So many people in this business are … elbows out. You know, always trying to shove themselves to the front of the line. When I worked for Daniel and Mo Rollins there was always a list of calls to be made just to make sure that people were doing what they were supposed to do.”
Henry leaned in closer. “Is that one of the reasons why you left?”
“No. It isn’t,” Astrid said.
Henry put his arm around her shoulder and drew her back against the banquette. “I can’t be successful until I know every member of my team—their strengths and their weaknesses.”
“I don’t have any weaknesses from my past that you need to worry about, Henry. I’m telling you everything you need to know about me.”
Henry stroked one finger down the side of her face and she shivered. She wanted to rebuild her life and she couldn’t do that if she was lusting after him.
“Let me be the judge of that,” he said.
It took just those few words to convince her that he wasn’t the easygoing guy he wanted the world to think he was. Henry Devonshire was a man used to getting his way. And right now that meant he was going to try to uncover her secrets.
Her secrets.
She had so many. And she knew there was no way in hell that she was going to trust Henry Devonshire with them. Men had let her down. Not her dad. No, her pop was a stand-up sort of guy. But the men—man—she’d met since she’d left home … Daniel Martin had broken her ability to trust. He had shown her that not all men rewarded her trust in them.
“Not just yet,” she said.
He nodded and sank back into his own chair. “You don’t trust me.”
“I don’t know you,” she said. That was one lesson she had learned. Not everyone she met had the same feelings of loyalty