Chapter 10
Alice
He was here.
As soon as I stepped into the elevator and hit the red P that would take me to Acheron Angelou's residence, I immediately scented him. His unique, spicy, intoxicating scent—which had rendered me a bumbling idiot last time—filled my body with its heady aroma.
With my heart in my throat and my nerves climbing like a vine, I stepped into his suite with an outer confidence I was far from feeling. Especially when his essence hit me with such a potent intensity.
When I'd left his suite the last time, his aroma followed me like a hidden shadowy figure—lurking and ducking, determined to keep up with my quickening departure.
With a clenched jaw, I'd focused on the decreasing numbers in the elevator, counting along as we passed each floor toward the underground car park.
His fragrance should have left my senses the further I traveled; yet the smell, the metaphorical taste of him, was still strong.
It stalked me through the parking garage, swirling around me as I unlocked my door with trembling hands and slid my tense body onto the leather seat.
The pine-scented car freshener barely registered as his fragrance overwhelmed my space.
When I yanked my sun visor down to glare at myself in the mirror, I was stunned at the wild and panicked look in my widened eyes.
There was also another emotion I refused to acknowledge. One that had my nipples puckering and my panties damp. One that should only be reserved for my husband.
My foot slipped on the accelerator as I reversed out of my spot, almost veering into the parked cars behind. As I drove away, my gut had tightened with every mile I put between us. My throat was tight, and my nose turned pink. I felt…utterly bereft. Like a boat that had broken away from its anchor.
And yet, his scent lingered on, oddly comforting me.
It wasn't until I'd greeted David with a tight hug and kiss that the scent vanished. My gut started to unfurl, but that morose, mournful disposition refused to fade.
Now that I was confronted by that intoxicating warmth again, I realized just how much I'd deceived myself. It was as addictive as I remember. As heady. I had a strong desire to seek out its origin and bathe in its scent.
Oh, boy. This was not a great start.
A sharp noise from my tablet shook me out of my trance, and I gripped my tote bag tighter as I willed myself to get a fucking grip.
I retrieved the tablet and punched in my passcode, cursing when it took me two tries to get the numbers right.
I needed to focus, and my mind needed to center back on being the astute, professional woman I knew I was.
My heels clacked across the floor as I marched through the penthouse.
The protective plastic that had been laid down to preserve the newly installed flooring muffled the sound of my footsteps.
My toes pinched in my shoes, and I wiggled them to get some feeling back.
I never wore heels when I made a site visit.
They were impractical on a construction site, so I always swapped them out for sneakers before I viewed a job.
My sneakers were currently sitting on the floor of my car.
Instead, I decided at the last minute to keep on the red stilettos that hadn't seen the light of day since I purchased them six months ago.
They had been an impulsive vanity buy. I'd bought a sexy new dress to wear out for dinner and needed a pair of heels to match.
The salesperson had gushed about how they accentuated my calves and made my posture taller.
I never ended up wearing them, as David and I decided to go dancing afterward, and I promptly forgot they existed.
I couldn't explain why I decided to pop them on this morning. David had certainly approved, giving me a wolf whistle and an ass squeeze on my way out the door.
I stopped as the flooring changed into a bold design that tickled my designer's heart.
I bent to peel back a few inches of plastic to reveal the gorgeous new floor.
Even though the hard marble was hell on these new heels, I was over the moon with the final results.
The gray-and-black pattern was beautiful, sleek, and masculine in an overtly sexy way.
Of course, I wouldn't expect anything less from Acheron Angelou.
Everything he selected to furnish his home was purposeful, if not a tad opulent.
Still, I couldn't deny that his space was tastefully gorgeous. Dark. Mysterious. Bold.
Just like the man himself.
Straightening, I refocused my attention on the checklist on my tablet, scrolling down the litany of furnishings that were yet to be delivered and installed. Much to my surprise, the list was decreasing at an accelerated rate.
Most of the items selected were custom-made and flown in from Europe, so there were waitlists and shipping delays. However, it seemed like the pace on this project machine had cranked up a few hundred knots. Von and I were checking things off in our shared spreadsheet in rapid succession.
That was fine by me. The sooner this Empire Gates build was behind me, the sooner my life could return to normal.
I planned to book an appointment with Dr. Huang to discuss trying out a new medication brand.
I'd been on every dose of my current subscription, and I couldn't stand the thought of going back on it.
But a promise was a promise. David deserved a wife who was fully present, both awake and asleep.
"Okay," I murmured to myself as I highlighted bullet points on my screen. "So the dining room chandelier is coming in at nine-thirty and should be—"
I came to an abrupt halt and my mouth dropped open as I gazed up at the sheer size and beauty of the eight-tier Flemish chandelier. It hung in dramatic fashion, highlighting the large Gothic dining table with its matching high-backed chairs.
It was the most ornate and beautiful piece of furnishing I had ever had the pleasure of seeing in person. The pictures, which were already gorgeous in their own right, did not do it justice.
But awe swiftly turned into annoyance. This delicate and outlandish lighting piece was why I had to skip our team meeting this morning.
I was supposed to be here to ensure the delivery and installation went smoothly.
I'd planned and meticulously double-checked with Von that the dining room chandelier would be delivered between nine-thirty and ten.
Of course, it was a positive thing for a plan to occur ahead of schedule, especially in my line of work, but one thing I couldn't stand was the lack of communication.
My eyes caught again on the glimmering, intricately designed light structure, and I allowed my irritation to slowly slip away.
It was hard to retain my annoyance when I was in the presence of such unique beauty.
As a designer, I had seen my fair share of one-of-a-kind furnishings.
The penthouse suite I helped design at the five-star hotel at Whistler Blackcomb ski resort had commissioned a large bespoke button-upholstered linen chaise that was deep purple and dripping in luxury.
That paled in comparison to this masterpiece. It wasn't even in the same league. My brow furrowed as I studied the details from below. A strange thought came over me. Was this an original period piece?
When my senior designers exchanged ideas and quotes for various light fixtures, Von immediately shot us down, coolly informing us that Acheron Angelou had access to a private collection. A chandelier had already been lined up for the dining room.
With Acheron's money, I had zero doubt that he had the privilege of selecting the best of the best. But an original piece for a casual residence? The rich could be frivolous with their money, but this seemed unnecessarily wasteful.
"Miss Harper?"
I gave an undignified yelp at the interruption. My tablet fumbled in my hands, but I quickly caught it just before it crashed onto the hard floor. Cheeks heating, I turned toward that crisp voice, and all thought of being a take-charge, no-nonsense hard-ass flew out the window.
This was my third time meeting Von, yet I was always unprepared by how gorgeous he was.
I'd never seen such contrasting features on a person.
His hair was as black as midnight, yet his skin was as pale as alabaster.
His eyes were blue, but not as arresting as his formidable boss.
A straight nose and high cheekbones finished off his dazzling looks.
I couldn't pinpoint his age. He looked around thirty, but if he told me he was sixty, I'd have believed him.
"Y-yes." I cleared my throat and started again. "Hello, Von. It's nice to see you again."
He bowed his head, and I found the gesture odd coming from someone so aesthetically stunning. His whole demeanor seemed otherworldly and out of place.
When I first met him, I was stunned that a man this…hot…was also the same man who signed off his emails as “Yours, Von.”
He also refused any segue into injecting humor into our email exchanges and used words like “thrice” and “conundrum.” I'd expected someone like Niles from The Nanny, not a tall, suited man who resembled a high-fashion model.
Von frowned at me. "It's a pleasure to see you, too, ma'am."
Ma'am? I winced at the term. There went my self-esteem. I pasted on a wide smile and held my hand out in greeting. His intense gaze dropped to my outstretched hand. A pensive and almost pained expression flashed across his face as he continued to eye my hand as if it were diseased.
Warmth filled my cheeks when I realized Von was really going to leave me hanging.
"Apologies," he finally said in the ensuing silence. "I have just handled an unsightly bag of refuse. I'm afraid I have yet to wash my hands."
Who the fuck used the word “refuse” instead of “trash”?
"Err, that's okay." I dropped my hand, rubbing it against my thigh.