Chapter 10
Lark
—From Lark’s Christmas to-do list
I draw in a sharp breath and straighten.
Talk about bad timing. Or maybe, that was good timing?
What was that about?
From the moment we got into the car, I was so aware of him.
The feel of the soft leather against my thighs, the dark, masculine scent of his which enveloped me, the larger-than-life presence of his which seemed to suck out all the oxygen in that enclosed space.
God. I was wet instantly. I had to stop myself from squirming around and squeezing my thighs together.
Not that it would have helped fill that aching void in my core.
And when our gazes locked, I was overcome with this surge of lust that made me want to crawl into his lap and kiss him. Argh. I almost kissed my boss.
So unprofessional. So bad. This is very bad.
I need to get control of my lust. I’m engaged, not blind. Of course, I find my boss attractive. That doesn’t mean I need to act on it. Right?
I feel terrible that, I haven’t spared a single thought for my fiancé this entire time. And he did send flowers to apologize for being distant. I wish I could accept the gesture for what it is…but something in me wonders if there’s more behind it than simple remorse.
The door on my side is pulled open. I step out and try not to notice how big he is. And how he towers over me. How his gaze seems to follow me as I approach the handsome period house in Primrose Hill.
Christmas lights illuminate the windows. More lights encircle the trees and shrubs that surround the short driveway.
To the side, I spot the waters of the Regent’s Canal.
We’re in the heart of the city and yet, it’s so quiet. The sun has set. I take in a deep breath and smell pinecones.
"It smells like Christmas." I sigh.
"Arthur has a thicket of pine trees on his property."
I follow Brody’s line of sight and spot the small woodland in the distance.
"He bought this place fifty years ago. My brothers and many of my friends live nearby."
"That’s wonderful. It’s a community, huh?" I want to ask him if he lives close by but decide that would give away my interest in him. Strictly professional. Remember?
Brody doesn’t reply. I glance at his face to find a preoccupied expression. His mind must be on the meeting ahead. His grandfather must be formidable, if the tension in Brody’s shoulders is any indication. He guides me forward with an impersonal hand to the small of my back.
We walk up the steps to the front door.
A beautiful Christmas wreath hangs on it. It’s classic pine with gold ribbon and cinnamon sticks woven through. The scent spikes the air and makes me sigh again.
Christmas, ah!
I love that the entire place feels this festive. Apparently, unlike Brody, his grandfather appreciates the Christmas spirit. I find myself re-evaluating the picture of Arthur Brody painted for me. The fact he is happy to express his Christmas spirit is, surely, a positive sign.
Every year, I put up my Christmas tree on the last day of November. This year, I’ve been so wrapped up in job interviews, then proving myself in this new role, not to mention taking on all the wedding planning, I haven’t had the mind space to put up a single string of lights.
I haven’t lit a peppermint candle. I haven’t even bought the ingredients to bake my annual “12 days of cookies” sampler, though I have the recipes memorized.
These are traditions I created. Someday, I’ll have a family of my own to share them.
Meanwhile, I cherish how the festive season brings color into almost all aspects of everyday life.
I truly believe it gives us the opportunity to build better relationships with the people we encounter every day, and yes, also with ourselves.
It’s a chance to press pause and lean into something joyful.
And yet, here I am…no gingerbread-scented kitchen, no twinkle lights in the window. Just a planner full of deadlines, and a fiancé who’s AWOL, and a boss who doesn’t like carols.
The door swings open to reveal a man in suit and tie. That, along with a indefinably patient look on his face, declares he’s a butler. He half bows, confirming my guess.
"Otis." Brody nods. “This is Lark Monroe, my executive assistant.”
"Sir, ma’am." He turns to me. "May I take your coat?"
"Of course." I look around for a place to put down my purse.
Brody takes it from me. I blink, surprised because it’s a strangely intimate gesture. But he’s being polite, that’s all it is.
Putting it out of my mind, I take in my surroundings.
The foyer of the house is lined with dark wood panels that stretch at least two stories high and gleam under the soft glow of sconces.
A staircase sweeps up in a graceful curve, its polished banister catching the light.
Shadows pool between the carved panels of the wall, giving the space a solemn gravity.
In the corner, a towering Christmas tree strains toward the high ceiling, its decorations glittering like precious stones under watchful eyes. The evergreen, while a festive touch, also seems to proclaim beauty, power and tradition.
It’s arranged to impress. And it does. It reflects the Davenports’ wealth and status. Good for them.
Personally, I’m more of a cozy, homemade, shabby-chic Christmas decorations kinda gal.
Three doorways open from the foyer: to the right is the living room with its velvet drapes and firelight; to the left, a cloakroom lined with hooks and boot racks; and directly ahead, is a hallway leading to a study.
"There you are," a man’s voice calls out.
We look up to find a guy wearing jeans and an elbow patch sweater approaching us. He’s as tall as Brody, with broad shoulders and biceps that stretch the sweater sleeves.
The two shake hands.
He looks from Brody to me. His eyes light up with interest. "You are—”
“Lark Monroe.” I hold out my hand.
"She’s my executive assistant." Brody’s voice is cool.
The man takes my palm. "James Hamilton."
“I know.” I politely incline my head.
He has a well-known cooking show, and the media can’t seem to get enough of him.
"We have a friend in common. Harper Richie. She’s one of my BFFs.”
"Right." A peculiar look comes over his features. Huh? I get the feeling there’s something between him and Harper. Damn, I really need to catch up with her and my other friends.
Brody steps forward between us.
It forces James to release my hand and move back.
Brody hands my bag over to me.
"What are you doing here?" Brody inclines his head.
"I assume, I’m here for the same reason you are?"
"This is my update meeting with Gramps.”
"Which he asked me to sit in on.” James raises a shoulder.
“Eh?” Brody seems taken aback. “He asked you to sit in on this meeting?”
James shrugs. “I told him it was highly unusual, considering this is a business meeting, but he insisted. And when Arthur gets like that—”
“No one can change his mind.” Brody firms his lips.
"This way." Otis leads us to the closed door and pushes it open. Rows of books on the wall reveal it to be the library.
I follow the men inside and step into warmth. A massive fireplace burns brightly, taking up a good portion of the wall opposite me.
The flames throw light over the man who occupies the throne-like armchair in front. A blanket covers his legs.
A cane leans against the chair but seems almost incongruous with the ruddy cheeks and the full head of steel-gray hair that the older man sports. This must be the infamous Arthur.
He nods his chin in the direction of the men. The imperious gesture reminds me of my boss. “Brody, come closer, boy."
I stifle my chuckle at my boss being referred to as 'boy.'
Said 'boy' leads me a few steps forward. I know the exact moment the elder Davenport notices me for his eyes gleam.
"You must be Lark Monroe.”
I nod. "I’m his executive assistant." My voice comes out thinner than I intended.
There’s something about being under the full force of Arthur Davenport’s gaze that makes my spine straighten and my palms go clammy. His eyes are sharp, assessing, like he’s measured me and debating whether I pass muster.
I can see where Brody gets his domineering attitude.
"Arthur Davenport." He bows that full head of hair.
“Pleased to meet you, sir.” Pretending a confidence I don’t feel, I straighten my spine, smooth my skirt, and flash him a polished smile as I approach the couch opposite him.
“May I?”
“Please.” His eyes narrow, then gleam. "It’s nice to meet someone who’s not afraid of me."
“Well, sir.” I smooth down the back of my skirt, then sit. “I’ve met scarier men. One of them signs my paychecks.”
He chortles.
I smile.
Brody glowers at both of us.
I realize, having fun at my boss’s expense is a lot of fun.
I sink into the couch, ensuring I sit straight. I know instinctively that getting too comfortable would be a mistake.
Arthur turns to Brody. "Finally, you made a hire who’s going to add value to the company."
"Wouldn’t want my brothers to hear you say that." Brody stalks over to the straight-backed chair between Arthur and the couch. He drops into it.
"Oh, your brothers know how much I appreciate their efforts in growing the company. They were also wise enough to take my advice when it came to getting married."
"You mean, they realized your machinations had worked out in their favor?" Brody smirks.
I draw in a sharp breath at the rudeness, but Arthur merely waves his hand. "The ends justify the means."
"I agree with you.” Brody stretches out his long legs. “But of late, I’ve begun to wonder if the journey is not as important as the goal?”
Arthur’s gaze sharpens.
Then he turns to me. “And you, Ms. Monroe, do you agree?”
I take my time forming my answer. For some reason, this philosophical debate seems to be one of importance to Arthur.
“Moving from America to come here and study on my own made me resilient. I could only do it because I decided when I was very young to aim high. That way, wherever I land it’ll be better than where I started.
But also, what kept me going in the darkest days, when everything felt so uphill, was that I had the ability to look around and appreciate how far I’ve come. ”
“It gave you perspective.” Brody leans forward. There’s interest in his eyes.
“And that’s what kept me going. It meant, I was able to laugh at myself, and marvel at where I was, and appreciate all the positives in my life.”
“You get what you want the moment you stop needing it, but never stop showing up for it,” he murmurs.
Something warm squeezes my chest. “A poet, huh? Never would have guessed that.”
His gaze heats. Once more, our eyes meet, and everyone else in the room vanishes. There’s only Brody, and the way he looks at me like he wishes we were alone.
That inevitable chemistry between us surges to the surface. He only has to look at me, and all my defenses seem to melt. I seem to forget that I’m an engaged woman. That I’m getting married in a few weeks. I should look away, but I can’t. My body reacts despite myself.
I feel seen by Brody. The way I never have been by my fiancé.
Brody makes me feel desirable. He’s sneered at me, challenged me, apologized to me…
He’s never ignored me. And when he looks at me, it’s like he’s touching something deep inside.
I feel his interest in me ignite in a deeper way.
Damn. This is getting complicated. All I want is do my job and do it well, but this…
connection with Brody is not something that’s going away anytime soon.
The silence in the room stretches.
It’s Brody who gathers his emotions first. A mask drops on his face. It’s as if he turned off whatever he was feeling. He wrenches his gaze away from mine and glances at Arthur. "Why is James here?"
Arthur’s features soften. He even nods at me. I can’t help but feel that Arthur tested me. And I passed it. I’m relieved.
But a part of me wonders about the real significance of it. For now, I relax back in my cushion, glad not to be under the scrutiny of both Davenports.
"He’s here as an observer." Arthur places his fingertips together.
"Observer?" Brody furrows his forehead. "For what?"
"For the fact that you’re committing to get married."
Wait, what? My heart rate ratchets up, and I turn on Brody. "You’re getting married?"