With her back to him, she offered her hand to the woman on her right. “I’m Mackenzie Foster-Shaw. You must be a friend of Martin’s?”
“Janet Forrest.” The woman gripped Mackenzie’s fingertips in the gentle handshake of the upper class. “And this is my husband, Ernie.” Mackenzie reached a hand over and the portly man clasped it in the same manner. “It’s so nice to meet you. Yes, we’re friends of Martin’s. We’ve got many of his pieces in our collection, don’t we, dear?”
“Which ones? I’m quite familiar with his entire body of work.”
As they ate their salads, the woman told her about each piece in detail and Mackenzie nodded appreciatively. She felt the heat from Dom’s eyes on her back and she purposely played with a lock of her hair and twirled the stem of her wineglass. She was so not going to turn around.
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Forrest said. “Here I am droning on and on about myself. How about you? How do you know Martin?”
Before Mackenzie could reply, Martin’s voice boomed from behind her. She turned around and saw Dom staring at her through lowered lids. He looked dreamy and way too sensuous. Dragging her gaze away, she concentrated on Martin.
“Mackenzie was one of my best students at the University of Washington. She’s a talented young artist and I couldn’t bear to let her go at the end of the term. A few years ago I made her an offer she couldn’t refuse.” He tilted his head back with an infectious laugh that invited company, and a few others at the table joined in, including Dom. “Right, darling?” Martin asked.
Mackenzie bit back her laughter and smiled awkwardly. All eyes at the table turned to her, but the only set she was aware of was the ice blue pair to her left.
“Martin was kind enough to offer me a job teaching beginning art students—”
“Yes, and she came up with a brilliant lesson plan where she takes them on a walking tour of the various local galleries, then puts what they’ve observed into their own work in the studio. In addition to that—”
“Martin, please.”
Ignoring her protest, he continued. “In addition to being an artist, she’s also a skilled photographer. She works for a location scout in town. You know—movie locations.” Excitement tinged his voice and he sat forward in his seat. Like everyone else, he thought her part-time job was glamorous. If only she felt the same way.
“Oh, how wonderful. That sounds so exciting. Just what does a location photographer do?” Mrs. Forrest leaned forward as well, clasping her gnarled fingers under her chin.
Mackenzie squirmed in her chair and rearranged the food on her plate.
“We get a spec sheet from the production company, spelling out what they’re looking for at each shooting location. I research possible sites, taking pictures and measurements and my boss—my other boss, not him—” she inclined her head in Martin’s direction “—handles all the permits and permissions. Sometimes he has ideas for me but other times, I do the research myself.”
“So what film are you working on now?”
“I’m not allowed to say specifically, but a potential client wants to shoot some scenes at a cemetery. So that’s what I’ve been working on based on their specific needs. I’ve got a few more sites to photograph before I’m done. The port. A beach with a cityscape in the background—I’ll head over to West Seattle for that one. But it’s the cemetery I’m having the most trouble with.” She touched a finger to her forehead, remembering the migraine.
“You’d think that’d be easy,” Dom said. “There are plenty of cemeteries around here.”
Determined to ignore him, she turned to Mrs. Forrest and continued. “It needs to be somewhat dark, very oppressive, and not too far from the city. It’s expensive to take all the film equipment too far.”
“That’s a little frightening, don’t you think?” asked Mrs. Forrest. “How do you do it, dear?”
Mackenzie leaned in and lowered her voice. “When I’m out shooting remote locations, I carry a gun.”
Mrs. Forrest gasped. “Oh, goodness. Do you know how to use the thing?”
“Well, yes. I’ve been using one for years. My mother started taking both me and my brother to the shooting range when we were old enough to legally carry a gun.”
Please stop and move onto someone else. Surely someone else at this table would be more interesting to talk to.
“You must be a terrific shot. Do you have it with you now?”
“No. Not enough room in this little thing.” She winked at Mrs. Forrest and shook her clutch. “And nowhere to strap a holster on this outfit.”
Everyone at the table laughed. Good, now maybe the conversation would turn elsewhere. She threw a glance in Dom’s direction and he looked down his nose at her, his lips turned up as if he was trying not to give her a haughty smile. He was so irritating. She wondered if he practiced. She flipped her hair and turned away.
Words like fascinating and exciting swirled around the table. She shifted her water glass, aligned her fork next to her plate. Taking compliments was not something she was comfortable with, and neither was being the center of attention.
When the conversation thankfully turned to other things, she relaxed against her seat and felt the sudden warmth of Dom’s hand. Every nerve ending jumped to attention. He had casually, maybe even conveniently, laid his arm on the back of her chair. Before she could sit forward, she could’ve sworn he brushed his thumb across her shoulder blade. A trail of sparks lingered on her skin and she shivered involuntarily.
Mrs. Forrest whispered into her ear. “What’s your date’s name? I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten.”
“Dominic … Serrano, I think. But he’s not my date.”
Louder now, Mrs. Forrest said, “Mr. Serrano, what is it that you do? I detect a bit of an accent, though not much. Spanish, is it?”
“My family is originally from Northern Spain—yes. But I’ve lived in the States for years now. I’m surprised you even picked up on it.”
“Ernie and I made the mistake of visiting Madrid during the summer months a few years ago. Remember that, honey? It was so humid …” While Mrs. Forrest continued, Mackenzie sipped her wine, not paying much attention until Dom began to speak.
“I work for a multinational corporation that has contracts with the U.S. government. We have a small presence here locally, but it’s classified, so I really can’t say much about it.”
“Goodness. We’ve got exciting here—” she patted Mackenzie’s hand “—and mysterious there. What a couple you two make. Is your office here in the city?”
Mackenzie bristled. “Careful, he might have to kill you if he tells you.”
Everyone laughed, including Dom, who rested an arm easily over the back of her chair again. She made sure not to lean back this time.
“We maintain a small field office downtown, but the majority of the region’s work is out of British Columbia. I’m in charge of things here in Seattle, and I occasionally work in Portland, Spokane and Boise. But I’m afraid that’s about all I can tell you.” Dom’s smile stretched to his eyes and seemed genuine.
Why did he have to be so charismatic? It’d be much easier to ignore him if he wasn’t. She toyed with the evening bag on her lap, turning it over and over, and the prongs of an embedded crystal caught the chiffon of her skirt. Damn. While Martin talked about one of his recent projects, she picked it loose, but the stupid thing snagged the fabric.