Chapter 7 #2
He reached over to the stereo and turned down the volume on the Debussy Nocturne he’d been listening to. Sylvie knew her classical music.
“Why? What happened last time?”
His eyebrow lifted.
She crossed the room, handing him the plate of food. “Been dying for your call inviting me back. Moody emo guys wearing ankle jewelry are my jam.”
“That’s an improvement over what you called me last time. I guess I’ll take it.” He plopped back onto the couch and set the plate on the coffee table.
Sylvie felt herself smiling. She’d caught him off guard. Crane was nowhere near as smooth as a few weeks ago. He looked anxious and unsettled.
I’m totally winning, she thought.
But the more she studied him, the more she wondered if there was some other reason for his change in demeanor. Redness rimmed his eyes, like he hadn’t slept.
“Are you okay? You look like a vampire that just got staked.”
“How kind of you. Probably just in need of food.”
“But I thought you weren’t hungry.”
“Maybe I am after all.” He shrugged and grabbed a carrot. “So you’re here to fix the system you messed up?”
“Wasn’t me who messed it up. But yeah, I’ll fix it.”
He leaned back against the couch, one foot up on the coffee table, regarding her. “Then where’s your bag with all that…internet stuff?”
“Internet stuff? Is that a technical term?”
“Best I can do.”
“Isn’t the Silverlake Syndicate supposed to be a modern, sophisticated operation? You sure you were in charge of it?”
The corner of his mouth quirked. “That’s what they tell me. But honestly? I’m not so sure.”
She didn’t know what that meant. “My ‘internet stuff’ is in the kitchen. Maureen recruited me to help make your lunch and serve it to you.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“You could say thanks.”
“You’re right. Thank you.”
He’d spoken more softly than she’d expected. He’d even sounded sincere.
Sylvie wandered around the room, hands on her hips as she examined the space. “Actually, I think Maureen might’ve pulled a bait and switch. She’s probably in my car halfway to Vegas by now. You’re stuck with me. Sorry.”
“I can think of worse things,” he said in that same soft voice.
Her heart rate jumped.
She really should’ve been working on the panel by now. But she was actually enjoying their chat. Probably because she was still winning. If Crane was going to play with her, at least she could be a tough competitor in his little game.
Sylvie kept walking around the room. The man had all kinds of musical instruments on the wall behind the grand piano. Guitars, banjos, violins. Trumpets and clarinets. Some looked antique. It was quite a collection.
“Do you play any of these?”
“Nope.”
Dominic’s voice was much louder now. He’d snuck up behind her. How did he do that? She hadn’t even heard him get up.
Seems like a tiger to me, Maureen.
“I never had the discipline to learn when I was growing up.” He pushed air through his nose. “Or now, I guess. This all belongs to my mother. She plays the piano and the strings. Not the others, but she likes collecting rare, expensive things.”
Sylvie didn’t want to glance at him because she’d be looking up, and that felt like a concession. But the warmth of him glowed against her side. “Does she come here often?”
“Not in the last few years. She lives in Norway with her new husband. Some kind of banker, I think.”
“What about your dad?” Sylvie didn’t even know why she was asking. She was supposed to be acting superior and aloof. Any minute, she expected Dominic to scoff at her show of interest.
But he just said, “He has early dementia. My mom left before that happened, and she didn’t feel enough pity to come back. Can’t blame her. But that’s also why my brother Warren took over the family business in his place.”
He’d said all that so casually. “And then you were up when Warren went to prison?”
“Yep. Then it was me. To everyone’s great disappointment and regret.”
Was he serious? Or was he messing with her?
She couldn’t resist any longer. She looked up at him.
Dominic was staring at the instruments on the wall, his profile contemplative and melancholy. “You’ve got my life story now. Want to tell me yours?”
His eyes flicked down before she was ready. Long lashes, those near-black irises that almost blended into his pupils. His gaze hit her right behind the belly button. Pure longing, both in his eyes and in her response.
God, this was bad. She had to do something before she wound up a puddle at his feet again.
Sylvie reached for one of the violins. “May I?”
“Sure. Touch all you want. I won’t stop you.”
He’d taken a step back, and she heard the humor in his voice. But she wasn’t so sure he was laughing at her anymore. He almost seemed…shy.
She gently gripped the instrument to keep her hands steady, then picked up a bow from a nearby shelf.
“You play?” he asked.
“You don’t think I can?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Sylvie plucked the strings, taking her time with tuning it. Nobody had touched this poor baby in so long. But she was going to make it sing.
She placed the violin below her chin and the bow against the strings.