One Perfect Man. Lynda Sandoval
type to derive pleasure from other people’s humiliation. “I think you’re a woman who probably puts up with men’s unwanted attentions all the time. I understand.”
Her humiliation waned, thanks to his kindness. “Still, to automatically assume…well. I just hope this won’t affect our working relationship. Believe me—” she laid a palm on his forearm, then lowered her tone to an intimate level hoping he’d recognize her sincerity “—I work with a lot of gay men, and consider many of them my closest friends. This is completely not an issue for me.”
Startled confusion clouded his eyes for a moment, then he smiled widely. She hadn’t noticed that dimple before.
Don’t notice it now, dummy. He plays for the other team!
“Look, ah…don’t worry about it.” Laughter laced his words. “I should’ve made myself more clear. Obviously. But, what’s done is done.” He clapped his palms together. “What do you say we start over from scratch?”
“Sounds like a fabulous idea.” She gestured behind her, relieved to have made it through the flaming hoop relatively unscathed. “I hope you don’t mind if I pack up while we talk.”
“Not at all. In fact, I’ll help.”
“Thanks.” He set about stacking chairs while Erica disconnected her computer and placed the components in the leather carrying case. “Tell me more about this proposition.”
He glanced up, then held her gaze. “I’d like to hire you for a special project. I need your expertise.”
Erica cocked her head to the side. “What’s up?”
“My daughter, Hope—she’s fourteen. Fifteen in—” he checked his watch “—just about six months.”
Daughter? Erica blinked, trying to grasp this newest bit of information and assimilate it into Tomás’s swiftly metamorphosing profile in her brain. From paunchy old man to sexy young man to gay man to father of a teenager—all in the span of a couple minutes. How much was one woman expected to take?
“I’d like to celebrate it during the summer, though, which means I have about five months to plan one heck of an extravaganza to celebrate her quince años,” he went on. “One perfect night for a very special girl turning fifteen. It’s been a dream of mine ever since she was born to make it extra special for her. There’s only one problem.”
She forced her vocal cords to form words. “W-what’s that?”
“I have no clue how to plan a quinceañera, and my little bundle of teenage hormones isn’t giving me much direction.” His mouth took on a rueful quirk.
Erica stared at him for a moment while her mind tried to catch up. She ran both hands through her hair. She needed more information, needed to pull herself together, needed…a drink.
“Well? What do you say?”
He wanted an answer now? She laughed, a small nervous sound. “Hold on. To be frank, I’m still trying to get over my shock that you have a daughter. And one that old. Fifteen?”
“Almost.”
She shook her head, marveling. “And here I thought you were about my age.”
His body stilled. He stood motionless before her, looking as he had during the meeting…wary, watchful. “I’m thirty-one,” he said, the words devoid of emotion.
“Ah. So you are about my age. Three years older, in any case.” Erica did the math. Interesting. “Your daughter was—”
“Not a mistake,” he said, his warning tone putting her on instant alert. His tiger’s-eye gaze hardened.
She blinked in surprise. “No, I…I wasn’t going to—I didn’t mean it that way.” Although she couldn’t imagine a seventeen-year-old boy planning to father a child. What else could it have been but a mistake?
Almost as if he’d read her thoughts, he added, “I had her too young. True. That’s my fault, not hers.”
“Of course not. I never…” She stepped closer, hating this awkward turn in what should’ve been an innocuous business conversation. She’d felt off-kilter since the moment he walked in, and things kept spiraling ever downward. She used to think her communication skills were a strong asset. Ha. “If I’ve offended you, I’m sorry.”
He studied her a moment, then his shoulders loosened. It seemed it was his turn to experience some embarrassment. “No. My fault. I’m…a little defensive where Hope is concerned. Undeservedly so in this instance, I fear. I’m sorry.”
Erica shook her head and released a little huff. “We seem to be apologizing a lot here.”
“Yes.”
“Let’s just stop then. Clearly neither of us intends to offend the other.”
“Agreed.”
“So, Hope.” Erica brushed her hair off her shoulder and went back to packing up her materials. “That’s her name?”
“Yes. Hope Genavieve Garza.”
“Lovely.”
He grinned. “Thank you. Picked it myself.”
She returned his smile, but knew she needed to get the conversation back to its core. “About Hope’s quinceañera.” She sighed, reluctant to take the job, but equally hesitant to turn him down flat. He seemed like such a nice man, a concerned father. She admired him for that. “I don’t accept that kind of assignment, I’m afraid. Weddings, sure. Parties, meetings, festivals. But quinceañeras involve all kinds of traditions I know nothing about.” She shrugged. “My family has been in this part of the country for generations. We don’t celebrate any Mexican holidays or traditions.”
“My grandmother can help you. She lives with us.”
“Maybe she should be the one to plan it.”
He shook his head. “She’s in her late seventies, Erica, and she has multiple sclerosis. With the fatigue and pain, it’s all she can do to make it through some days.”
Erica didn’t know what to say, so she simply nodded. Tomás Garza certainly had a full plate. She studied him, chewing on her bottom lip. Something told her to tread lightly with her next question. She knew it would come off sounding like one of those lame, thinly veiled come-ons if she wasn’t careful. “Doesn’t Hope’s mother want to plan the event?”
A tension-buzzed pause stretched between them. “No.” Something in his shuttered expression warned her not to probe any deeper. Erica sighed. “Listen, I appreciate the offer. But I am up to my ears with the festival, not to mention several weddings over the next few months. Plus…the truth is, I’ve never planned a children’s event.”
Undeterred. “Doesn’t mean you couldn’t.”
“No, but—”
“Besides, she’s a young woman, not a child anymore, much to my chagrin.” Tomás cringed and raised his eyes heavenward.
Erica laughed softly at his morose tone. “I’m sure she’s an amazing young lady. That doesn’t change the fact that I don’t plan young people’s events, or that I’m overbooked.”
He moved closer, body taut, gaze intent. “I’ve seen you in action, Erica. Busy or not, I know you could pull this off, or I wouldn’t have asked.” He paused, watching her.
She pressed her lips together, saying nothing.
“I can pay you.”
Doubtful. “I’m expensive, Tomás.” She cocked her head apologetically. “Far too pricey for a girl’s party, anyway.”
“Try me. Name your price.”
Aha, so this was her out. The man was an artist, a single parent who also cared