Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
T he door to my suite closed with a snick. Liliana clutched the towel tighter to her chest. Her long hair dripped on the floor, a soft patter against the Saltillo tiles, darkening their terra-cotta color to an even deeper shade. Yet she remained silent, watchful. Beautiful.
I pushed away the thought, though I’d always found her attractive. Smart. Inquisitive. Kind. Soulful. I’d just never allowed myself to dwell on those qualities because she’d been my employee.
She’s not your employee anymore.
Argh. I gnashed my teeth, annoyed.
I didn’t even know what I was doing, insisting she come back to my room. I should’ve taken her to the resort doctor, not my room. This was foolish, and yet I couldn’t seem to make myself stop.
I told myself it was because we’d garnered enough attention and I’d wanted to escape. But I knew that wasn’t the entire truth.
She sighed with a weariness that seemed to go bone-deep. “What do you want from me, Graham?”
“Answers,” I said, my impatience growing the longer I stood there, water sliding down my face. My body.
It had been Jackson’s idea to fly her out for the Ixtapa opening. Jackson’s idea to give her the VIC, or very important client, experience after her less-than-positive reviews of various Huxley Grand locations, which had been seen by her millions of followers. She had more influence than I cared to admit.
But he was right. This was a chance to remind her of everything the Huxley Grand brand stood for. I didn’t understand why she needed reminding. She knew what went into the brand better than most. She’d worked closely with me for a year. And she’d always been outstanding at her job. Even when she annoyed me. Even when she pushed. Especially when she pushed me.
People rarely questioned me, but Liliana hadn’t been afraid to. And that was what I needed—to be challenged. It made me more creative and innovative, more alive. So for her to turn around and write less than favorable reviews of the Huxley Grand…
I tugged at the collar of my shirt. The material clung to me, adding to my irritation. It made me want to crawl out of my skin, so I stripped out of my jacket and flung it on the back of a chair.
“I’ve read some of your reviews about the Huxley brand.”
She placed her hand on her throat, and I couldn’t help but follow the movement. Admire the elegant curve of her neck and the way her delicate fingers brushed over her pulse point. Was it racing like mine?
What the fuck is wrong with you?
“Was there a question in there?” she asked.
It wasn’t even the reviews that bugged me—though I wasn’t pleased about them. It was the fact that it had taken me so long to discover that she was Gilded Lily. I’d started by checking Gilded Lily’s information when she stayed at our hotels in the past. But we’d only ever provided free accommodations, meals, and transportation, so it had all been arranged for “Gilded Lily.”
Then I’d combed through her blog and social media. She never showed her face in any of her posts. Never shared her name or any identifying details. And her blog had been protected by layers of cybersecurity that—for a while—had even me scratching my head in frustration.
But once I’d gotten in, I’d learned some interesting things about Liliana. She seemed to be traveling less than before. But her current address had been the biggest shock.
She owned a chateau. In France. And she was restoring it on her YouStream channel, which was dedicated to showing the trials and tribulations involved with owning an historic property. She treated it as a completely separate brand from her blog, and I found it interesting that she didn’t try to leverage the more established brand of Gilded Lily like so many other influencers would.
I’d watched a few episodes, captivated by her. She was funny and down-to-earth, but she always found the bright side. Her optimism was almost as annoying as it was unrealistic.
I cleared my throat, thinking of the change I’d witnessed in her on her YouStream channel. The lightness I saw that was different from when she’d been my assistant. Seeing her now, though, she seemed withdrawn. Closed off. Tired.
Dark circles lined her eyes, and her arms were crossed over her chest. Because of me?
“Are your reviews based on something I did?” I hadn’t even realized I was going to ask that until the words left my mouth.
That wasn’t me. I didn’t talk first and think later. But something about Liliana had me doing all sorts of things that were out of character.
I tugged at my shirt, the wet material clinging to my skin. I felt as if I might explode if I didn’t get it off soon. The temperature. The texture. It was all wrong.
She jerked her head back. “What? No. Why would you think that?”
Maybe, as my siblings would suggest, I was paranoid, cynical. Considering recent events—the escort scandal that had rocked stock prices and investor confidence, a disgruntled former employee who had threatened my sister—my vigilance felt justified.
I told myself I was asking for the brand. To protect the company. But I knew that wasn’t completely true.
And the longer we stood there, the more my agitation grew. It felt as if my clothes were suffocating me. I couldn’t think straight. My heart was racing.
I started unbuttoning my shirt, unable to handle the feel of it on my skin a second longer. It was heavy and cold, and I couldn’t get it off fast enough. But I was so irritated, my fingers weren’t working fast enough to loosen the buttons.
“I—” She frowned, her brows drawing tight. And then she seemed to snap into action. “Let me help you.”
I couldn’t push her away. Couldn’t hide this. Couldn’t think of anything but getting out of my wet shirt as quickly as possible.
Liliana unbuttoned my shirt with quickness and efficiency. When her hand lingered on the bare skin of my chest, I felt…remarkably calm. Or at least calmer than I had even a second before. It distracted me enough, momentarily, that I forgot about the grating sensation of the wet material on my skin. Strange.
As soon as she’d finished unbuttoning, I stripped it off and tossed it aside, feeling a little lighter. It flopped to the floor in a wet mess. I tore off my undershirt as well, and it hit the tiles with a smack.
“Thank you.” I shuddered, grateful to be free. “Thanks.” I felt as if I could breathe again.
I inhaled deeply and let it out slowly, trying to center myself. When I finally chanced a glance at Liliana, she didn’t seem surprised or disgusted by my outburst. Her expression was quietly thoughtful. Concerned. And while I appreciated her assistance, I hated that she’d witnessed such a vulnerable moment.
Her dress continued to cling to her skin, and my eyes bounced from her thighs to her hips to her breasts. When I finally returned my attention to her face, I realized she was staring at my chest with a dazed expression. My body heated from the inside out, and I gritted my teeth. Focus, Graham.
“How did you…”
“You’re sensitive to textures,” she said, practically stripping the words from my mind. Responding as if the answer was that simple. As if it simply was—not bad or good. But part of me.
She was right; I was sensitive to textures. But most people didn’t realize that. I didn’t let them see it. See me.
But Liliana had.
She’d always been observant, often anticipating my needs when she’d been my personal assistant. And I was in awe of her now. Her ability to understand what I needed and spring into action without judgment.
“You looked as if you were on the verge of a panic attack if you didn’t get that shirt off,” she added.
I studied her once more and realized she was shivering. I turned away, heading for the closet to grab us each a robe. I needed to check on her cut as well.
“Here. You can change in the bathroom.” I held out a robe to her before wrapping mine around me and tying the belt firmly.
Liliana chewed on her bottom lip, and it was damn distracting. She’d always been distracting. Beautiful. Smart. Stubborn. Some things might have changed since the last time I’d seen her—but her beauty wasn’t one of them.
“Thank you,” she said, heading down the hall and closing the door softly behind her.
While she was gone, I stripped out of my pants and put on fresh clothes before heading back to the living room. There. That was better. I felt more in control again. A sensation that evaporated when Liliana emerged from the bathroom, her body encased in the robe.
It felt even more intimate. Fuck.
I’d been so good about avoiding these situations in the past. Situations where I was tempted to cross a line I shouldn’t. Where it was easy to forget that she was off-limits.
Focus.
I grabbed the first aid kit from the kitchen, poured myself a glass of whiskey, and then offered her one as well. “Leave them by the sink,” I said, gesturing to the wad of wet clothes in her hand. “Housekeeping will take care of it and return them to your room.”
“Thank you.”
“Please.” I gestured to the couch opposite, taking her in. Her hair was darker, longer. Or maybe it just seemed that way because it was wet. “Take a seat.”
She clutched her robe at the neck, holding it close as she sank down across from me. The coffee table separated us and our matching couches. I leaned forward, sliding her a glass of whiskey. My eyes caught on the vase of dahlias. The flowers were native to the region, and they were bursting with color. I thought of Gran, and I could hear her voice telling me that dahlias symbolized kindness, steadfastness, and creativity.
She used to send me messages with flowers and their meanings. When she was alive, it had always been our thing. Was she trying to tell me something now?
I held out my hand to Lily. “Let me see your ankle.”
She opened her mouth as if to protest, but I cut her off. “I’m not going to bite.” Unless she wanted me to. “I just want a closer look to see if we should call the resort doctor.Despite what your reviews might imply, I do take extreme pride to ensure every single guest is well cared for.”
She frowned at me, but when I didn’t relent, she finally lifted her foot with a resigned sigh. “I know you do, not that you typically give your guests this personal level of care.”
I gently placed her foot on my thigh. “Then consider yourself the exception.”
I grazed the skin of her ankle with my finger, nearly groaning at the softness of her skin. She inhaled sharply.
I stilled. “Did I hurt you?”
When I glanced up at her, she shook her head quickly. I studied her briefly before returning my attention to her ankle. “Looks like a superficial scrape,” I continued, reaching for the hand sanitizer. I cleaned my hands then grabbed the foaming antiseptic for her. I pumped some on, waiting for it to finish cleaning the wound.
“I’m sorry about—” she spun her finger in the air “—the pool thing.”
I grabbed a bandage from the kit and dabbed some ointment on it. “No need to apologize. It was an accident. I’m sorry if I implied otherwise.”
I could tell she felt bad enough about it; I didn’t want to make her feel worse. And I was kicking myself for being such a jerk earlier, but I’d been caught off guard.
I applied the bandage to her skin. “There. That should do it.” I smoothed my hand down the top of her foot.
She lowered her foot to the floor. “Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “I, um, you were really good at that.”
“What? Basic first aid?” I joked.
“You have a kind bedside manner.” She sounded surprised.
“A by-product of being the second eldest of five. I can’t tell you how many times I bandaged up Nate or Jasper, even Sloan.” Usually, my grandparents did that, but sometimes, if they were in a meeting or couldn’t be interrupted, I took on that role.
She smiled. “Always taking care of everyone else. But who takes care of you?”
My skin prickled. “I can take care of myself.”
“Even so…” She paused. “Are you okay?”
This conversation was getting too deep. Too personal. So I opted for humor. “Apart from the fact that I’m never going to hear the end of it from my family. Yes.”
“I get that.” She blew out a breath.
“You have a big family too, right?” I asked, though I knew the answer, thanks to my research. Perhaps she’d told me in the past, but I doubted it. When she’d worked for me, I’d rarely spoken to her about anything that didn’t involve business. I was cordial to my employees, but I’d always preferred to maintain a professional distance.
“I’m one of four,” she said. “And I’ve always been the oddball.”
“Same,” I confessed before I could stop myself.
“Yeah, but…” She chewed on her lip. “It’s different.”
Was it? I tilted my head, and she seemed to understand.
“Your family still respects you and what you do. Mine—” She shook her head and glanced at the ceiling. Then she drank deeply from her glass.
“Yours?”
She set her glass on the table. “It’s not important.”
I leaned forward, my arms resting on my thighs. She huffed, perhaps sensing my unspoken questions. My unwillingness to relent.
“I should get going,” she said. “I’m sure you have more important things to do.”
She wasn’t wrong, and yet…nothing felt more important than this. “I haven’t seen you in two years. Surely we can take some time to catch up. Tell me what’s been going on with you. What you’re working on.”
She tilted her head. “You really want to know?”
I draped my arm over the back of the sofa. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”
“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Well. I’m restoring a French chateau in the Loire Valley.”
“Sounds like a big project,” I said, as if I hadn’t spent way too much time watching her YouStream channel.
She blew out a breath, but she smiled when she spoke. “Like you wouldn’t believe. It’s as full of character as it is defects.”
She was proud of what she was doing. As she should be. The scope of the project was incredible, especially for one person to manage.
The magnificent Loire Valley chateau was steeped in history. It had been constructed during the reign of Louis XVI just before the French Revolution, and it had only changed hands twice during the past 250 years. Thanks to a complicated system of inheritance laws, increasingly expensive maintenance, and lack of agreement and interest from the various family branches who had owned it, they’d finally decided to sell for the bargain price of $20,000.
I was almost jealous that I hadn’t discovered the property and snatched it up myself.
“And what do you plan to do with it once you’re finished?”
“ If I finish.” She stared into her glass, her face full of defeat. I’d seen that same expression many times when I’d looked at myself in the mirror.
“You will,” I said. “I have no doubt.” She’d always been persistent.
And perhaps she was more of a risk-taker than I’d given her credit for. I could respect someone who put it all on the line for a project they were passionate about.
She laughed, but it was humorless. “That makes one of us. Lately, I’m not so sure.”
“A project like that takes time and patience.”
“It definitely does.”
We were quiet, sipping our drinks. Finally, she said, “I’m surprised you know about my blog.”
“I make it my business to know what people are saying about my hotels.”
She straightened, lifting her chin. Proud. Beautiful. Like a fucking queen. “Everything I’ve written is something I would’ve—and have said—to your face. While I was your assistant, I made suggestions.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You were just too,” she huffed, “stubborn to listen to anyone else’s opinion.”
I gnashed my teeth. “Oh. Right. Because a twenty-seven-year-old assistant knows better than the CEO who’s nearly double her age and has been running the company for over a decade.”
Fuck. This was like my argument with the board all over again. Why did no one see or respect what I’d done for the company? I’d devoted fourteen years to running the empire, and that didn’t account for all the years I’d worked for the brand before that, serving in nearly every role possible.
My grandparents had been firm believers in earning your place. And in addition to instilling a strong work ethic in their grandchildren, they’d wanted us to value and appreciate the role of each and every employee in the company. I wondered what they’d think if they could see me now. I wondered if they—like the board—would be questioning my competence. The idea that I might have somehow disappointed them pained me.
Liliana rolled her eyes. “You’re not nearly double my age. You’re fifteen years older than me.”
“Close enough,” I huffed. Fifteen years might as well be fifty in this case.
“And yes, I’m young. But that doesn’t mean you should discount my opinion. If anything, I represent the next generation of guests.” She sat back, crossing her legs and revealing more of that delicious, creamy skin. I no longer had to wonder if it was as smooth as it looked; I knew.
She made a good point, but I wasn’t ready to concede. “Your generation is so damn entitled.”
Why did I get off on arguing with her? Most people vexed me, but she… I swallowed hard. Liliana had always intrigued me.
She scoffed. “Interesting choice of words coming from a man who inherited generational wealth and has opportunities because of that and the fact that he’s a white, cis-het man.”
“Says the white, cis-het woman who owns a chateau.”
Our eyes locked, and the tension pulled taut between us. It felt as if it were a rubber band ready to snap. Or maybe I was just ready to snap. First, the shit that Donahue had pulled with the board, Moretti’s proposed “merger,” the negative article, and now this?
She inched closer, full of fury and fire. “Fair point. But before I purchased the chateau, I worked my ass off, first as your assistant, and then later to build my blog. Not to mention everything I’ve done to restore the chateau. And I’m not going to stand here and let you undermine my hard work and success.” Her eyes blazed with indignation. “I might not have the experience or education you do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have something valuable to contribute.”
Damn. That was… Seeing her claim ownership and take pride in her work reminded me of how I felt about the Huxley Grand. And I hated that I was making her feel like I was attacking her work, just like the board was attacking me.
It prompted me to say, “You’re right. I wasn’t trying to undermine your hard work.”
Her shoulders dropped, some of the fight going out of her. “Thank you for saying that.” She blew out a breath. “It’s not like I need someone to undermine my work when I’m sabotaging all my efforts anyway.”
I frowned. “What do you mean by that?” I asked, unable to stop myself.
“My phone.” She massaged her temples. “It had all my photos and a list of content ideas and…” She glanced toward her purse, which was resting on a towel on the table, the contents laid out on top. “Maybe I could put it in some rice? Isn’t that supposed to be a thing?”
“I’ll have my staff bring some up.” I texted my kitchen staff, wishing I’d thought of it sooner, but I’d been a little distracted. “Didn’t you back up your photos? Save them to the cloud?”
She shook her head, her eyes watery. Fuck. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry .
“I was having issues with my service, and then I was so busy that I didn’t get the chance to check if any of them uploaded after my arrival.” She stood. “I should…” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “I should go. I have to—” She glanced around as if searching for something. Her movements were frantic, and I hated seeing her so unsettled.
I could understand that she was upset. Stressed. But this seemed beyond that. She’d handled numerous stressful situations while in my employ, and she’d never reacted like this.
I made a note to look into the service issues. I wanted my guests to feel like they could escape, but excellent Wi-Fi was a given at our hotels.
“Liliana.” I grasped her wrist. “Stop. Wait here.”
I went into the bathroom and returned with a box of tissues before handing her one.
“Thank you.” She sniffled. “God, this is so embarrassing,” she murmured. Or at least, that’s what it sounded like.
“What’s wrong? What’s going on?” I asked, all thoughts of boundaries and propriety taking a back seat in the face of her distress. She had a problem, and I wanted to fix it.
“I—” Liliana’s eyes darted about the room, never coming to rest. She hiccupped around a sob. “It’s nothing.”
“It doesn’t seem like nothing.” I lifted my arm, tempted to wrap it around her shoulder. To console her. The feeling was both foreign and natural.
I didn’t comfort anyone except maybe my family or my dogs. And yet, I found myself wanting to do something to help Liliana.
I settled for placing my hand on hers. She startled, then relaxed. She peered up at me with tears in her eyes and racing down her cheeks, and she was still the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Her eyes were so blue. Blue like the navy of the Huxley brand logo. A warm, rich color that spoke of depth and intelligence. They were rimmed with dark black lashes, and I couldn’t have looked away even if I’d wanted to.
I sat with her, wheels turning, chest aching at the sight of her distress.
“Tell me,” I commanded, impatient to find a solution.
I kicked myself for being so brusque in my approach. Demanding, even. But putting people at ease had always been more Jasper’s forte.
“Come on,” I said more softly. “You can trust me.” I lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to mine. Wanting her to hear the truth of my words and believe them.
She blinked back tears and peered up at me. Her expression gave the impression that she was seeing me for the first time. I reluctantly dropped my hand from her chin, feeling exposed.
She considered me, and I wondered if she was going to answer me. Finally, she said, “Between traveling for my blog and restoring the chateau, I’m beyond exhausted and overwhelmed. I used to love traveling. Part of me still does, but I need a break. But without the income from my blog, I’ll never be able to renovate the chateau. Even with it, well…” She blew out a breath, her shoulders slumping.
She was right. I knew how costly a renovation like that could be. Even so, I hated seeing her so defeated.
“Maybe everyone’s right,” she continued. “Maybe I don’t know what I’m doing and I should just give up and sell the chateau.”
I gnashed my teeth. I knew what it was like to have to fight for your vision. It was part of the reason I was so determined to gain control of the board. I didn’t want to have to answer to them ever again.
I couldn’t help but draw some parallels between Liliana’s situation and my own. I glanced at the dahlias, wondering why they’d stuck out to me. Why I’d thought of my gran. I saw flowers every day, and yet it wasn’t until now, until I was with Lily, that I’d remembered my gran’s coded messages.
My eyes lingered on the petals of the dahlias. Kindness. Steadfastness. Creativity.
I might not believe in fate, but this moment, this meeting, felt like the universe was trying to send me a message. And what I was about to propose was nothing short of creative.
“Maybe I can help,” I said. “Maybe we could help each other.”