Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Beck
I was sticking out like the sorest of sore thumbs. I was wearing a navy-blue Tom Ford shell jacket in a sea of green and brown Barbours and tweed. It said everything you needed to know about me and the people here—I was new money versus their old.
But fuck it, I was a better shot than most of them. Shooting clays was so fucking boring. I didn’t understand the appeal. It was no better than shooting cans at the back of the abandoned garages with an air rifle. And I’d mastered that around thirteen.
In any other scenario I would have just gone back to the hotel. My emails were piling up, and I had a thousand missed calls, but nothing, not even clay pigeon shooting, was going to drive me away. Henry Dawnay was ten meters away from me, and I wasn’t going anywhere until I’d introduced myself.
Obviously, I didn’t want to stare, but out of the corner of my eye I could see he was standing with three or four other men, one of whom was Stella’s ex-boyfriend.
We hadn’t been officially introduced but I’d caught Matt’s eye a few times, first at the engagement party and then last night.
It was strange. He’d obviously moved on because he was getting married, but I got the distinct impression there was some unfinished business with Stella from his perspective.
But perhaps I was imagining things.
My imagination had been working overdrive recently.
Last night when Stella had tried to kiss me, I’d been a second away from pushing her against the wall and kissing her until she didn’t know what day of the week it was.
Ever since, I’d been imagining what she tasted like, how her skin felt under my hands.
I’d been wondering if the floral scent that I couldn’t quite place was a perfume or just how she woke up.
And now I’d kissed her, I’d been thinking about when I’d get to do it again.
But that would come later. Right now, I needed to focus on why we were both here.
A table with drinks and snacks on it had been set up, and when I saw Henry break off from the small group he was talking to and head toward the table, I decided to seize the opportunity.
I took a settling breath. I couldn’t blow this by going in too hard and fast, which was my usual MO.
In my experience, men like Henry didn’t like to feel ambushed.
They were used to having the control in most situations, so I needed to take my time and stick to my plan.
When I got to the table, I set about making myself a cup of tea. “It’s a lovely day to be outside,” I said, trying to sound as casual as I could—as if I didn’t want to pin him down and sign away his property in Mayfair.
I was used to doing business with all different types of people.
When I’d been flipping bedsits in East London, the people I’d worked with had been the opposite to the ones I now dealt with when developing luxury residential property in the W1 postcode.
I prided myself on finding common ground with some people, flattering the egos of others.
I did what was required to get what I wanted.
The difference was whoever I normally worked with, wanted or needed something from me.
Henry was different. The Dawnay building wasn’t on the market.
Henry didn’t need me.
And that together with the fact he was old money meant I was so far out of my comfort zone I needed oxygen and a parachute.
“A perfect day,” he replied and held out his hand. “I’m Henry Dawnay. How do you do?”
I shook his hand. “Beck Wilde.” I couldn’t bring myself to say “How do you do” back. I liked to find common ground with people, but I wasn’t a faker. I couldn’t pretend to be someone I wasn’t, and I’d never said “How do you do” to anyone.
Henry smiled and the muscles across my upper back began to unlock.
I was finally here. In front of the man who could give me what I most wanted: a closed door on my past. I just had to bond with a man I had nothing in common with.
A man who would no doubt look down on me because I hadn’t been to a school he’d heard of.
I had to get him to like me, trust me. I had a lot of work to do.
First thing was first, I needed to point out the coincidence of us being at the same wedding. “Henry Dawnay, that name’s familiar to me,” I said, poised to put two and two together in front of him.
Before I’d gotten much past giving Henry my name, we were interrupted. By Stella’s ex. I held back a groan. I just needed a few more minutes to tell him we had a connection and that I’d been trying to get in contact with him.
“We haven’t met,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m Matt, the groom. You’re Stella’s plus one, right?”
Plus one? That was an interesting way of referring to me and it gave away a lot more than he intended.
He was clearly trying to dismiss me, and if I had been Stella’s boyfriend, perhaps I would be offended.
But he served it up with such transparency it didn’t earn my offense.
I nearly laughed at his petty point-scoring, but there was no need for him to know that I saw through his bullshit.
“Beck Wilde. Stella’s boyfriend. Great to meet you and congratulations. ”
He held my gaze as if he were trying to stare me down. Christ, he’d be getting his dick out in a second and suggesting a pissing contest.
I cast my mind back—I didn’t think Stella had ever mentioned why she and Matt had split up.
But if they were still friends, and they had been together a long time, I guessed it was something innocuous like they just fell into a brother and sister relationship.
I would have to ask her. It was the kind of information you would tell a new boyfriend you were serious about. And anyway, I was interested.
“Looks like it’s going to be a beautiful week,” I said. “Perfect wedding weather. You’re a lucky man, given it’s Scotland.”
“Indeed. And of course, I’m marrying the perfect woman,” he said. “How are you enjoying the day so far?”
Perhaps it was my imagination again, but it seemed like his reference to Karen being perfect was rather pointed.
“Great company, wonderful weather, and a cup of tea. What more could a man wish for?” I replied, glancing across at Henry.
“Here, here,” Henry said, raising his teacup.
Matt smiled tightly. “Absolutely,” he said. “I’ve spent almost every summer of my life up here, enjoying the spectacular countryside. And to get to enjoy it with the wonderful weather is the icing on the cake.”
“You’re very lucky,” I said. Matt and these people weren’t like the rest of us.
They could take entire summers off to shoot and ride horses while I pulled out rotting floorboards from a flat in New Cross.
Now I had people to do the physical work, but my summers were still spent in the office, negotiating the price of my next property or managing builders and designers.
My money had to be earned.
Theirs just had to be babysat.
“I don’t think we run in the same circles,” Matt said. “What is it that you do?”
I might not want to answer Matt’s questions because he was no doubt wanting to know so he could judge me. But at least it was information I wanted Henry to know. “I’m a property developer,” I said. “Residential mainly. It’s how I met Stella. She’s a designer on one of my buildings.”
Matt’s mouth twisted as if he’d taken a bite of something sour. “Really? What kind of building?”
“Luxury residences. My latest is in Mayfair.”
This was the perfect moment for Henry to tell me he had property in Mayfair. That he owned some rundown building that needed to be redeveloped, but he was staring out across the countryside, as if I’d been talking about the weather.
Patience. This was our first conversation. And I had a plan, even if it had been thrown off track a little.
“How interesting,” Matt said, clearing his throat and seemingly flustered.
“Excuse me, I need to make a call,” Henry said, and I tried not to inwardly groan. Losing an opportunity to chat with Henry was bad enough. There was no way I was going to get left with Stella’s tool of an ex-boyfriend.
“That reminds me,” I said. “I have to return an email. Good to meet you both.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket and wandered toward the knoll that led down from the house.
I wasn’t sure how I was going to get through the next week surrounded by these people, who were all sweetness and conversations about the weather on the surface.
Perhaps it wasn’t just the surface. Maybe an indulgent life and summers shooting clays and playing croquet provided unlimited charm.
I’d never know. I’d never fit in with these people. My father had made sure of that.