a pencil.”
Which was no answer at all. “Is it a sensitive subject?”
“No.” Carefully, he cut a hunk of fish and chewed it in a spectacular stall tactic she recognized a mile away. He didn’t want to discuss his art, that much was clear.
“So, never mind then. It’s not important,” she lied. His reaction said there was more to the story and it was very important, but she didn’t want to alienate him. “Tell me something else instead. Why venture capital?”
His expression warmed. “If you’re good, you can make a lot of money. You just have to recognize the right opportunities.”
“Are you good?”
She already knew the answer but was curious what he thought about the empire he’d built. Most of her research into the complexities of venture capital had been conducted by reading articles about her husband’s successful company before she’d even spoken to him on the phone for the first time.
“I’m competent. But I’ve made my share of mistakes.”
As if that was something to be ashamed of. He seemed determined to downplay all his positives. “Everyone makes mistakes. You’ve recovered from yours quite well. The reputation of Reynolds Capital Management is unparalleled.”
He inclined his head with a pleased smile. “It’s a work in progress.”
Fascinated with the way his eyes turned deeper blue when he engaged, she drained her wineglass and propped her chin on a curled hand. This was exactly what she’d envisioned their friendship would look like. “So how do you recognize the right opportunity?”
The cook bustled in and cleared their empty dinner plates, replacing them with bananas Foster for dessert. She lit the rum and blew it out in an impressive culinary display, then efficiently disappeared.
Leo spooned the dessert into his mouth and murmured appreciatively before answering Dannie’s question. “Experience. Gut instinct. A large percentage of success is simply showing up. I create the remaining percentage by getting there first and staying until everyone else has gone home.”
“Do you see your job as creative?” Dannie took a small bite of banana, gratified Leo liked the dessert as much as she did, but determined to keep him engaged in conversation. A full mouth wouldn’t lend itself well to that.
He pursed his lips. “In a way, I suppose. Without backing, a lot of entrepreneurs’ ideas would never see the light of day. I provide the platform for other people to tap into their creativity.”
Which was what he’d done for her—given her the opportunity and the means to be exactly what she wanted to be. A wife. If tonight was any indication, Leo had changed his mind about spending time getting to know each other. Maybe she’d get the relationship—in some form or fashion—she craved out of it, too.
“You’re the puppet master, then,” she said.
“Not at all. I never stick my fingers in the pie. Micromanagement is not the most effective way to do business. I’m the money, not the talent.”
“But you have talent,” she protested.
His expression dimmed. “You’ve never seen one of my drawings.”
“I meant you have a talent for recognizing the right opportunity.” She smiled in hopes of keeping things friendly. “But I have a feeling you’ve got artistic talent, too. Draw me something and I’ll let you know.”
She was pushing him, she knew she was. But she wanted to know him, and his mysterious artistic side intrigued her.
“I don’t draw anymore,” he said, the syllables so clipped they nearly drew blood.
Message received. They hadn’t connected nearly as deeply as she’d hoped, but they’d only just begun. One day, maybe he’d open up that part to her. “You’ve moved on to bigger and better canvases. Now you’re creating your art with completely different tools.”
Leo pushed his chair back. “Maybe. I’ve got some work to finish up. Thanks for dinner.”
He escaped, leaving her to contemplate whether to open another bottle of wine in celebration of a successful dinner or to drown her disappointment since Leo had abandoned her once again.
Drown her disappointment. Definitely.
She located a bottle of pinot that went better with her mood than white wine and filled her glass almost to the rim. Then she called her mother to talk to someone uncomplicated and who she knew loved her always and forever, no matter what.
“Dannie,” her mother cried when she answered. “Louise just told me. Thank you!”
Dannie grinned. Her mother’s caregiver had turned into a friend almost instantly, and the two were constantly chattering. “Thanks for what?”
“The cruise, silly. The Bahamas! I’m so excited, I can hardly stand it.” Her mother clucked. “I can’t believe you kept this a secret, you bad girl.”
The wineglass was somehow already half-empty again, but she didn’t think she’d drunk enough to be that confused. “I didn’t know. What cruise?”
“Oh. You don’t? Louise said Leo booked us on a seven-day cruise, leaving out of Galveston. Next week. I thought for sure you suggested it. Well, thank him for us. For me, especially.”
A steamroller flattened her heart. Her husband was a startling, deeply nuanced man underneath it all.
Dannie listened to her mother gush for several more minutes and managed to get a couple of sentences in sideways in spite of the question marks shooting from her brain. Were Leo’s nice gestures indicative of deeper feelings he didn’t want to admit for some reason? No man did a complete about-face without a motive. Had he come home for dinner in hopes of developing a friendship—or more?
Regardless, something had changed, all right, and her husband owed her a straight answer about what.
Sometimes talking to Leo was worse than pulling teeth, like their conversation after her text about the fake noise. Her marriage didn’t just call for blunt—if she wanted to get answers, it apparently called for Scarlett, as well. And Scarlett had been squashed up inside for a really long time.
Three glasses of wine put a good dose of liquid courage in Dannie’s blood. She ended the call and cornered Mr. Behind the Scenes in his office.
She barged into the study. Leo glanced up, clearly startled. She rounded the desk to pierce him with the evil eye, not the slightest bit concerned about the scattered paperwork under his fingers.
“About this cruise.” Bumping a hip against the back of his chair, she swiveled it so he faced her, swinging his knees to either side of hers.
Not the slightest bit intimidated, he locked gazes with her. “What about it?”
Good gravy, when he was this close to her, the man practically dripped some sort of special brand of masculinity that tightened her thighs and put a tingle between them.
“Are you going to deny you did something nice for my mother?”
“No?” He lifted his brows. “Or yes, depending on whether you thought it was nice, I suppose.”
His voice hitched so slightly, she almost didn’t notice it until she registered the rising heat in his expression. Oh, my. That was lovely. Her proximity was putting a tingle in his parts, too.
“It was nice. She’s very excited. Thank you.”
He sat back in his chair, as if trying to distance himself from the sizzling electricity. “Why do you seem a little, ah, agitated?”
“Agitated.” She inched forward, not about to give up any ground, and her knees grazed the insides of his thighs. “I am agitated. Because I don’t get why you won’t ever acknowledge the wonderful things you do.”