A little bit of Beauty and Beast Who: Roman & Tasha What: Working a charity event When: September 28th, evening Where:The Stirling Club Rating: Pizza and Lobster Status: Complete
That wasn’t about you
A job was a job. That’s what Tasha had to tell herself to get through the evening. Some executive had contacted her and tapped her to perform at a fancy black tie gala benefit. Rich people getting richer while pretending to be charitable. It was awesome. The organizer of the event was very specific about what type of songs she was allowed to play. She had needed an extra caffeine boost just to stay awake during her set.
Once done, she was allowed to stay and mingle. The only reason why she actually chose to do so was rather simple: free booze. The former hunter sidled up to the open bar and ordered a bourbon, neat. While she waited for the drink, she idly smoothed out the front of her black silk dress.
“That music was elegant,” Roman offered as the woman in the black dress idled by the bar. He turned to look at her. The silk caught the light and shimmered, radiant enough to illuminate only what she wanted him to see. Him and anyone else who may be looking. He knew from experience that there was always someone looking.
These events reminded him too much of California; saving the whales, saving the bees, raising money for the Police (as if they didn’t have plenty). Whatever the cause of the event those elite rubbed elbows and opened up their wallets for a tax break come April.
His partners had insisted he attend the event though he had considered strongly against it. Roman had to be in the mood to schmooze, though like his father it was a natural state of being that he could turn on and off with the fluidity of a situation.
“Please tell me you don’t play boring music for a living.” Roman waved his hand at the air, as if to state at events like these.
Tasha turned her head, drink in hand. She immediately sized up the man who had spoken. Expensive suit, slightly bored expression on an almost comically handsome face. He looked like he had just stepped out of some catalogue, a human version of Photoshop. “Was it elegant, or boring?” she asked, before bringing the bourbon to her mouth. “Or are they one and the same to you?”
She began drifting toward one of the elevated cafe tables draped in red tablecloths. He could follow if he wanted, or the conversation could be over. Tasha was fine with either outcome.
Roman laughed softly at her question. “You were elegant, this is boring.” His own glass would lift and touch his lips, delivering the whiskey into his mouth. A slow, casual sip. He hadn’t seen her in the usual circles, so he gathered that this wasn’t her usual scene. That was refreshing.
As she moved he did follow if only out of something interesting to do. Along the way he caught eyes with a few notable people, offering a raise of a glass, a wink or a smile or both, and then he slid up to the table with the woman.
“And you didn’t answer my question.”
“This isn’t what I usually play,” she answered, her eyes sweeping over the crowd. People looked right past her. She had been the entertainment, and now she was a non-entity. “But music is my living. Of sorts.” Tasha set her rocks glass down.
“What about you? Wait, let me guess.” She smiled mischievously. “Investment banker. Or…trust fund baby moonlighting as an underwear model.”
She confirmed his suspicion. Her talent was undeniable. It was a little known fact but he also dabbled in music though not in the sense of playing at functions. “Well, it suits you.” He was sure that she heard that before, amongst a lot of other things.
And then Roman laughed, “Would you leave right now if I told you I was an underwear model?” He sipped from his drink, setting it down. “That would be something though, wouldn’t it? I am just a humble public servant. Protecting innocent people from the harsh side of the law. It’s sort of a family business, if you will.”
She tilted her head, letting her gaze openly drop downward. “I might ask to see the photos,” she said, shrugging. Tasha’s attention was diverted by a shrill laugh coming from her right. The musician turned her head to see a woman drunkenly cackling, dripping in diamonds, hair stiff and shellacked into an elaborate updo. She put a manicured hand on someone’s shoulder and swayed a bit on towering high heels.
“So,” Tasha continued, turning back to face her conversational partner. “A public servant, huh? And how many figures does that net you, Mr…?”
Her answer earned a playful look. Though it seemed her eyes dropped and he turned to look in the same direction, letting the moment get away. That was a sight common in events like these. His interest waned and Roman turned back to the woman.
“Skye,” he murmured, “Roman Skye. And I prefer not to divulge finances the first time.” It tended to attract unwanted attention when you flaunted your wealth. While he was confident, he was also smarter than he looked and playing the game was vital to survival.
Her eyebrows shot up. “The first time?” she remarked. “Confident there will be a second?” She shifted on her feet. Even the low kitten heels she had opted to wear were annoying. Tasha took another slug of the bourbon, licking her lips after, the familiar warmth traveling down her throat and making a beeline for her most likely resentful liver.
“One sec.” She held up a finger and leaned down, undoing the straps of her slingbacks and kicking them off beneath the table. Her bare feet rested against the cool marble floor, and she ignored the looks she could feel being sent her way.
A shrug and he smirked, “Why not be confident?” Presumptuous, whatever she wanted to call it. When it came to certain things he didn’t play coy, other things he might play cat and mouse with.
Her movement caught his interest. He looked down and noticed her bare feet, then nodded and smiled at her, “Already making yourself comfortable.” The remark was playful. There were so many ways to attract attention whether you cared or not, and this woman didn’t seem to care about ruffled feathers.
Tasha laughed openly and freely, her head tilting slightly back. “I couldn’t be comfortable here no matter how hard I tried,” she told him. “Do you know how it feels to spend practically your whole life learning a talent, only to have to use it to be background noise to the one percent so you can make rent?” She leaned forward coyly, dropping her voice to a near whisper.
“I have a feeling you don’t, Roman.”
He smirked at her. “Honestly, to some degree I know exactly how you feel, and I can understand the rest of what I don’t have the experience to empathize with.” He’d been background noise since he was born, only in the limelight when his mother needed to show off to her friends or his father requested something nearly impossible to get Roman out of the way. Spending your life in the shadow of someone else didn’t bode well for confidence, but he made his own way and finally had that taste of freedom.
“But you have a talent, which is a lot more than many can claim to possess.” There was nothing wrong with music, or playing it for a living. “Do you have your sights set on bigger things with your talent?” He inquired in a soft purr.
There was something disarming about the way he spoke, his tone, the manner in which he looked at her like she was a chess piece. His voice was a prodding fingertip, a supercilious smirk turning his features into an inaccessible mask. Tasha got the impression that not one person at this event knew the real Roman Skye.
“You flatter me,” she replied, continuing to sip her bourbon. A white-shirted server drifted by with a tray of hors d’oeuvres, and Tasha grabbed one. She was starving. Why did rich people eat such small food?
The truth was, ambition was in short supply for her. She kept her desires on a short, accessible leash. Easy things. Few commitments. Less chance of disappointment. “I just do this so I can meet some lonely octogenarians and marry up,” she deadpanned.
A snort at the last thing she said and Roman covered his mouth with his hand, “Good luck with that. These days, with the modern age of technology and all, any of the eligible ones are cautious. But if you want a few tips,” he murmured, looking around. Roman motioned to an older gentleman, “That one there is like a moth to a flame for a pretty lady. Or, if you’re of the more fluid persuasion,” he said, motioning toward a younger looking woman about their age, “That is Marcy. She’s just come into a bit of fortune and can’t seem to find anyone promising to share it with.”
Marrying into a wealthy, established home wasn’t exactly an old-fashioned method. He’d seen that happen plenty of times to unsuspecting fortune-seekers and entrepreneurs. Trying to convince them to do a prenup beforehand never sunk in until something unfortunate happened.
Tasha looked appraisingly at Marcy. Not bad, actually. “Hm. Good to know. You’re a regular Millionaire Matchmaker.” She killed the rest of her drink, setting the glass down. She leaned against the table, angling her face toward him.
“Now, do you know where a girl can find some real food? All of that elegant, boring music really worked up an appetite.” She smiled winningly.
“I have a bit of information on most of these people,” Roman explained. “Part of the job and all. Plus I know personal things about them that they might not like shared with the public. That would be terrible, wouldn’t it?”
And then the topic changed. “I’ll show you where they keep the food, and I’ll cover you while you’re in there. Trust me, they keep all the good stuff covered. Most of the people here are too drunk to care about what they’re stuffing into their mouths, anyway.”
A toss of his head and Roman wound an arm around the woman’s, leading her toward the kitchen area. He didn’t leave her any time to get her shoes, guiding her through the crowd that didn’t give either of them much of a second look anyway.
The kitchen beyond the door was bustling a bit. A troupe of catering personnel busied themselves in varying stages of preparation. Nobody even looked up or said anything that might make them leave. Clearly they didn’t try to argue with the more affluent types.
Tasha didn’t swat his arm away, but if he decided to put his hand anywhere else at any point, she would have to break something -- something that he would definitely miss. She smiled apologetically to the beleaguered workers. “Hey, guys. ‘Sup?” This was slightly awkward. The hunter was not used to barging into someone’s workplace, essentially, expecting to be catered to. Even if they were...caterers.
Oh, but he was.
Roman’s arm fell away from hers and he surveyed the kitchen and the staff. It was a typical set up - stove tops were producing heat for cooking, pots and pans steamed on the flat surfaces. A metal holding rack was filled with decorated plates with tiny food.
“So it looks like the industrial sized refrigerator is there,” he began, ignoring the staff for now. “And something smells tantalizing from the stove. I wonder what they’re making.”
“You mean, what they’re making for the $500 plate dinner? That I didn’t pay for?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow. “I’m cool with, like, Burger King.” Tasha turned to one of the employees. “Dude, I’m sorry. He’s…”
With a glance at Roman, she leaned forward, blocking her mouth with one hand and stage-whispering, “Entitled.”
The caterer laughed. “It’s fine. We’re used to it. Hang on.” He walked over to an alcove and opened up a steaming pizza box, removing a slice and putting it on a paper plate, handing it to Tasha. “I think I saw you play at Artifice last month. You were good.”
Tasha exhaled happily. “You are amazing. Thank you!” She tucked into the pizza.
“Burger King?” Roman made a face, although it turned amused. He couldn’t say he’d ever dined there before. Who hadn’t heard of Burger King? It just never had appeal to him. “Trust me, the five hundred dollar plate is worth the expense.”
“So, connoisseur of fast food, I didn’t catch your name?” He didn’t care much for pizza, either. It was often too greasy. Some of the interns at the office opted for pizza for lunch on the busier days, but he didn’t indulge.
She grabbed a paper napkin and blotted her mouth. “It’s Tasha,” she said. “Come on, let’s get out of their way.” The hunter turned and exited the kitchen. She walked blithely through the party, barefoot, eating pizza. Maybe she had been wrong; maybe she could be comfortable here.
Tasha. It had a certain charm to it that he found he liked. “Well, now that we’re formally introduced we can start becoming better friends.”
Following along, Roman caught the door for Tasha as she made her way out into the main part of the gala. She certainly knew how to attract attention as eyes swept over the pair of them as they parted the sea of intoxicated dancers, those coasting on the coattails of a good event, or any who may just be purely judgmental.
“Oh, I’m sure you want me as a friend.” Tasha gave a pitch-perfect version of his snake-charmer tone. She took another bite of pizza, cheese strings pulling from the slice. She watched people dancing, mingling, being high-toned. She turned to face Roman, setting the plate down on a table. “Do you wanna dance? But you have to keep your hands where I can see them,” she warned.
“Otherwise, mine might slip and break something,” she smiled, then leaned in to whisper, “and ruin your secret underwear model ambition.”
For a moment they paused while around them everyone continued to move. Rotate. This particular dance he was a bit familiar with as this crowd was a bit older. Thank goodness there wasn’t any modern day twitching occurring. Otherwise he might have refused her offer.
“Scouts honor,” Roman promised, offering Tasha a hand.
He swept her out onto the dance floor and into the crowd with confidence. One hand stayed in hers while the other found a modest space on her hip and he guided her along gracefully. “I like to dance,” he told her. “It’s wonderful exercise.”
“I get my exercise other ways,” she replied breezily. Then, “That wasn’t an invitation. Just honest.”
Tasha wasn’t surprised about his confidence on the dance floor. For some reason, she thought about that scene from Beauty and the Beast, and burst out giggling. She covered her mouth with her hand. “That wasn’t about you,” she promised. “Funny mental image.”
Roman only smiled at her addition. “Oh, I do, too. But I prefer dancing sometimes. It’s good for exercise, balance, dexterity.” And you could do it to music. Yoga was alright, it was quieter than he prefered but then the mood had to be right for zen.
Eyebrows lifted, his smile grew a bit. “Do tell,” he replied, emitting a laugh of his own.
“Mm, no,” Tasha replied cheekily. “I’m going to make you wonder.” The song ended, and someone announced that the dinner was beginning in the dining area. She pulled away from him.
“Well, um. I was told to leave at this point. My job is done.” She shrugged. “Enjoy your fancy lobster, or...whatever they’re serving.”
Roman grinned. He let Tasha go, offering her a cheeky bow. “I’ll think of you while I indulge,” he promised. And with a wave he was off to the main dining hall to eat and schmooze.
She grabbed her shoes and pizza. It had been an odd night. It struck her, then, how ridiculous it was that dancing with a rich stranger was odd for Tasha, now. Maybe she did miss hunting.