Page 5 of Perfect Composition
Instead, it’s my blessing and burden to give her the wings to fly and catch her if she falls—the way I have from the moment she was placed in my arms.
And I’ll do anything I can to make sure that she soars.
Anything.
BECKETT
CHAPTER TWO
November
If you can’t take time to enjoy the scenery while you’re dining, well, you’re not opening up all your senses. Even if you are simply reheating leftovers at home, make every meal an experience. Pretend your favorite celebrity is dining with you. Set the table. Interact with one another. Embrace the experience.
—Fab and Delish
“It’s good to see you.” I hold my hand out to the dark-haired Broadway actor.
“You as well, Beckett.” Simon Houde holds up a finger, and the hovering waiter comes rushing over to our table. “Something to drink?”
“Just some sparkling water.” At Simon’s arched brow, I toss him a careless smile. “Somehow I have a feeling I’m going to need my wits about me for this conversation.” The reality about my life is I don’t indulge in any vice to a degree that I’d become addicted to it. Not booze, not drugs, and due to my parents, I’ll never enjoy a woman to the degree I’ll lose myself in her. Not after the way my parents ruined my life.
Or the woman I abandoned to have it.
Simon and I exchange quips about his wife, who is my longtime financier, while the waiter is fetching my drink. “I consider myself a fairly knowledgeable man.”
“I would agree.”
I lean forward to make my point. “But when your wife starts in on the importance of diversifying my portfolio to include alternative energy futures, I swear I feel like I’m back in high school, man. I have to ask, does she talk like this at home?”
Simon bursts out laughing just as the waiter arrives. I lean back in my chair as my drink is poured. When the waiter steps away to the far corner of the private room we’re in, Simon responds, “Sometimes, she talks to Alex like this. And sure, we’ll talk about our finances. But after all these years, she knows better than to loop me in on a conversation about energy futures.”
I lift my glass in a toast. “To your wife, one of the most crazy-brilliant women I know.”
He does the same. We both take a quick sip, and then he declares, “Now, the biggest coup—aside from you agreeing to do the music score by the end of this lunch, of course—would be finding out if some smart, savvy woman has sunk her claws into you, Beckett.”
Immediately, I shake my head. “Not going to happen.”
“You can’t tell me you play the field as much as the tabloids say. You’d be dead.”
“And you would have had an affair nine times over with your favorite leading lady—who happens to be your wife’s sister,” I retort.
“True. Hey, speaking of which, let’s look at the menu. I have to find something completely noxious for lunch.”
I smirk. “Why? You and Evangeline have a kissing scene to practice later?” I make smooching noises in his direction.
“Tragically, yes. But let’s order before we talk business.” Simon calls the waiter over.
I lift my menu. “I’ll take the halibut.”
“And I’ll take the tilapia. Extra cilantro.”
The waiter clears his throat before clarifying, “Extra cilantro, Mr. Houde?”
The waiter is swallowing repeatedly—like he’s trying not to choke over the very idea. I rescue him by shaking my glass. “That’s all…Charles. And perhaps some more of the sparkling water when you have a moment?”
“Yes, sir. Right away.” He scuttles off.
Simon pouts for just a moment. “I was going to tell him to add onions.”
