She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You know you can be a bit of a stuffed shirt. You might want to watch that. I’m offering—free of charge—to go with you to whatever thing you have going on so you don’t have to find a replacement date.”
“You’re willing to spend the evening with a stuffed shirt?”
“Hey, I’ve been out with worse. At least you smell good and have a nice ride. But if you’re not interested, just have the driver pull over and drop me off.”
“Let’s say I agree to allow you to accompany me, I’d prefer to pay you for your time.”
Lexi blinked at him. “Why?”
“Because I prefer to keep our association on a professional level.”
“You want me to cut your hair?” She said it just to rile him. The man had no sense of humor. Or sense of fun.
“What?” His brows drew together in a scowl. “Why would you suggest such a thing?”
“Because I’m a cosmetologist and my profession is to cut hair.”
“That’s not what I meant.” His shoulders were razor sharp against the black leather seat. “More, you know it wasn’t.”
“You’re right, I’m messing with you, but you deserve it for being so pompous.”
“A stuffed shirt and now pompous,” he muttered.
“They’re nearly the same thing. And obviously your comfort zone.”
“I merely wish to keep things clear.”
“Oh, I get the point. It wouldn’t be a date.”
“That is correct. And as I value my time, I feel it only fair to pay you for yours.”
“Very gracious of you.”
He sighed and relaxed slightly.
“But forget it.” She patted his knee and flashed a bright smile. “We’ll just go as friends.”
He practically choked on his own breath. “We are not friends. I barely know you.”
“Sometimes people just click and are friends for life.”
“There was no click.”
“We even have a history.” She talked right over him. “We both knew Alliyah, were friends of hers.” If anyone needed a friend, it was this man. He was so cut off from everyone around him. For some reason, Lexi felt compelled to be there for him tonight. Perhaps because he was Jazi’s father or maybe just because she hated to see anyone so alone. “Close enough, don’t you think?”
His hand closed over hers on the seat. “You miss her very much don’t you?”
Tears threatened. She nodded, and without thought turned her hand over in his to give his hand an answering squeeze. “It would be payment enough to spend the evening with someone who knew her.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.” He pulled away from her. “As long as it’s understood that it’s not a date.”
“Understood. There will be no good-night kiss.”
He gave a shake of his head. “I may be a stuffed shirt, Ms. Malone, but you are outrageous.”
“Huh. You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He dropped his head forward as if he’d reached the end of his patience, but she thought she saw just the tiniest of smiles at the corner of his mouth.
* * *
“The event at Caesar’s Palace is an art showing at the Maxim Gallery.”
Interest flared in her bright blue eyes. “Oh, that sounds like fun. I’ve heard of the Maxim. I’ll warn you, though, that I know nothing about art.”
“There’s no need for you to have knowledge of art.” Jethro assured her.
He was still wondering at himself for allowing her to join him at the opening. It was unlike him to make impulsive decisions. And he didn’t reward dishonesty. She may be from Excursions, but she was unlike any of his previous dates. And a former dancer. That alone should have been enough to drop her off along the strip as she’d urged him to do.
But there was a lightness about her that appealed to him, a genuineness that intrigued his jaded soul.
Outrageous was an understatement. No one talked to him like she did. Stuffed shirt? Pompous? He’d fire anyone who dared say such a thing. It didn’t matter that it was the truth. That he worked hard to maintain a hand’s distance from everyone around him. He wouldn’t be disrespected.
Coming from her it rang of the truth, plainly spoken.
“Good. Because my art appreciation is limited to knowing what I like, which could be anything from a good Elvis painting to a portrait of an old woman smiling. And I never know if there’s any importance attached to the piece.”
“Well, it’s highly doubtful there’s any significance to a velvet Elvis painting.”
Soft laughter trilled through the air. She nudged his shoulder with hers. “I know that much, silly. But he was a huge contributor to the music world and I like the colors. When I look at the painting, I like to think he found peace.”
So did Jethro. Elvis was a favorite artist of his. One more thing linking him to this woman when the softness of her was already too dangerous. She didn’t fit in either of the two categories he allowed in his life.
“So you don’t believe he’s living a secret life somewhere?”
“No.” Sadness briefly dimmed the animation of her delicate features. “Much as I’d like to believe he’s still with us, music was too much a part of his soul for him to stay undetected all these years. He’d have to perform, and if he performed he’d be found.”
Disconcerted because he held the same belief, he went on the offensive.
“How old are you?” he asked derisively. “Twenty-three? Twenty-four? You’re too young to be an Elvis fan.”
“Please, great music transcends age. And I’m twenty-seven. Old enough to know my own mind.”
Not as young as he’d feared—or should that be hoped? Against his better judgment, he’d decided to indulge himself tonight and enjoy a bit of light company, but having a few elements that put her beyond his strict restrictions would be helpful.
“We’re here.” The car rolled to a smooth stop. Jethro pushed the door open and stepped out.
“Good evening, Mr. Calder.” A valet immediately appeared to greet him. “Welcome back to Caesar’s Palace.”
“Thank you. We’re here for the Kittrell showing.”
“Very
