Exit Strategy by L. V. Lewis Page A

kitchen.
“Someone’s been waiting to see you before she retires to her quarters for the evening.”
I smile up at him, and as we enter the kitchen, I see Mrs. Naven standing next to something on the Viking range that smells heavenly. She’s beaming at me. I release Tristan’s hand and run to give her a big hug.
“Ms. Beale, it’s so good to see you,” she says. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
“I’m not—”
“I may need to do some groveling first,” Tristan says. “We’ll let you know how it goes.”
Mrs. Naven says, “I made an herb-roasted baby rack of lamb with spring succotash and wilted spinach for your entrée. To start, there’s a garden salad and a hot broccoli and sweet potato salad. Go on into the dining room, you two. The table is already set, the salad and rolls are there, and I’ve opened a bottle of red wine to breathe. I’ll bring the hot food right in.”
She shoos us out of the kitchen, and Tristan puts his hand on the small of my back to usher me into the dining room. Our places are set at one corner of the long dining table. He holds the chair for me before taking his seat.
“Wine?”
“Yes, please.”
He pours me a glass, and I grab it and take an inelegantly long drink.
Tristan quirks an eyebrow. “Consuming a little liquid courage?”
I nod.
“I daresay that should probably be me.”
“No,” I say. “And don’t you dare do anything that even resembles groveling.”
“Well, I might have been exaggerating,” he says.
“If he doesn’t want a boycott on his hands he’d better do something,” Mrs. Naven says as she sets the hot broccoli salad on the table.
“You don’t want a boycott. I’ve seen one put into practice in the last couple of weeks, and it wasn’t pretty.”
Tristan looks concerned. “Is your staff unhappy?”
“Not anymore,” I say, even though I hadn’t been referring to my staff at KSR, just my impish fairies. “I’m on hiatus from day-to-day management. Jada and Jorge are pinch-hitting for me until we get through this season of songwriting in preparation for four new artist debuts this summer. Not to mention we’re preparing tours for the acts whose albums are doing well. They’re all going on tour with A-list bands.”
Tristan smiles. “I knew this idea of yours would be a success when you handed me my ass after our first meeting.”
“That was sooo stupid,” I say. “If you hadn’t had a change of heart, we’d still be struggling to get KSR into the black.”
“I hope we’ve both learned from our mistakes,” he says, and I have a feeling he isn’t referring to our rocky start.
Mrs. Naven comes in and puts down our food.
“Everything looks delicious,” I say with a smile.
“Thanks, Ms. Beale” she says. Then to Tristan, she asks, “Shall I serve?”
“No, I think we can manage,” he says, not taking his eyes off me. I don’t take mine off him either, and at some point Mrs. Naven quietly leaves the room. Tristan carves us pieces of lamb, and I’m grateful when he loads his plate with generous portions and tucks into his meal with gusto.
I hold my tongue and don’t ask questions because I’m so happy to see him eating. I begin with some small talk, and the rest of the meal is filled with light conversation.
After dinner, we sort through his movies. I’m fascinated, yet again, that he has such an extensive collection, most of which he hasn’t seen. We debate until we finally settle on The Incredible Hulk , the version with Edward Norton and Liv Tyler. We sit side by side in his authentic movie theater seating. While the previews are running, I can’t take it anymore. I have to ask my questions, because as charming as he’s being, I’m only a few seconds from losing my shit—I want to jump his bones so bad.
“Tristan?”
He pauses the movie and gives me his undivided attention. “Yes?”
“What is this?”
“We’re watching a movie,” he says.             
“I mean, why are you... romancing me like