Chapter 17 #2
“So how ...” I pause because I don’t know how to articulate what I want to say.
“How what?”
“How was it decided what each of you boys would do in the company?” I shrug. “Like how were the positions given to each of you?”
He frowns and sips his drink, contemplating his answer. “I guess it was based on what we are individually good at.”
I listen.
“Jameson is good at control. He is very ...” His voice trails off. “You will meet him next weekend.”
“When?” I frown. Oh God. I’m already dreading meeting that man.
“We have an industry cocktail party. I want you to come and meet my family.”
I smile “Great,” I lie.
Fuck, what will I wear? I sip my drink as I internally begin to go through my wardrobe. Nope, I have nothing ... I’ll have to buy something new.
God, I hate shopping.
“Elliot is into the graphics of the company. He oversees the visual representation of all things Miles.”
I frown.
“Christopher manages human resources. He likes people. Managing staff is his thing.”
“And you?” I ask.
“What about me?”
“How did you get to do the acquisitions?”
He smiles into his wineglass. “I’m good at numbers and taking calculated risks.”
I listen, fascinated. “Meaning what?”
“Well, I can look at a company and its figures and do a due diligence report, and from that I know whether the company is worth anything moving forward.”
“You know, now that I know you, I can’t imagine you—and don’t take this the wrong way—destroying companies.”
He gives me a sad smile; his eyes hold mine, and understanding dawns on me.
On our first night together, he told me that he has insecurities, but just because I can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t there.
This is his insecurity.
He’s a good guy doing a job he’s not proud of.
I get a lump in my throat as I imagine what he must feel as he tears a company apart in the name of profit. I smile over at him. “You know, Tris, out of all the people I have met in my life, you have been the biggest surprise.”
“Why is that?”
“You’re not at all who I thought you were.”
“Who did you think I was?”
I reach over and take his hand. “Somebody that I could never have feelings for.”
The air crackles between us.
“What are those feelings, Claire?” He picks up my hand and kisses my fingertips. “You keep hinting at these feelings, but you haven’t told me what they actually are.”
Our eyes are locked, and he knows that I know that I’m in love with him.
He wants me to tell him. He’s waiting to hear the three sacred words; I know he is.
Those magical words swirl between us so often—the closeness and tenderness after we make love. I can almost hear them whispered in the air. I know he does too.
It’s too soon.
I need to be sure. I need to know that this is going to work, because once I tell him that I love him, I can’t take it back.
“You know, Tris ...” I pause. “I don’t want to sound insecure, because I’m not. I’m more than happy with who I am. But I do wonder what you see when you look at me.”
He leans his face onto his hand as he watches me.
I feel suddenly uncomfortable. Why did I say that?
“You know what I see, Claire.”
I frown.
“I don’t see anything ... it’s how I feel.”
I take his hand again.
“For the first time in my life ...” He frowns, as if getting the wording right in his head.
“How do you feel, Tris?” I whisper.
His eyes meet mine. “Like myself.”
Emotion fills my heart.
“I feel that when I’m with you, I’m who I’m supposed to be.”
I smile softly.
“It’s like ...” He frowns. “It’s like I’ve gone back to being a teenager, and you’re reprogramming everything I thought I ever knew.”
“Is that a bad thing?” I whisper, confused. “I don’t want to reprogram you.”
“No.” He frowns. “Wrong choice of words. I mean, you’re showing me what I want as opposed to what I was supposed to want.”
“You mean my kids?”
“No,” he whispers. “I mean you.”
I frown.
“You’re everything I never knew I wanted. Feminine but strong. Your beautiful body.” He smiles softly. “Your selflessness with your boys.”
I watch him as my heart somersaults in my chest.
“You put everyone’s needs before yourself, Claire.”
My stomach clenches.
“And for the first time in my life, you make me want to put someone before me.”
I’m overcome with emotion. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“For what?”
“For being everything that I thought you weren’t.”
He smiles. “No, thank you.” He raises his glass to mine. “For being exactly who I thought you were.”
I smile through tears. “Who, a bitch?”
He chuckles as he clinks our glasses together. “A raving bitch with a magical vagina.”
I laugh out loud.
It’s official—I do love this man ... I really do.
I just wish I could tell him.
I straighten my dress. “Do I look okay?” I whisper as Tristan leads me through the crowd. We’ve just arrived at the auction and are weaving our way through the people to the other side of the room to meet his two younger brothers. I’m sick with nerves.
“You looking fucking hot, Anderson. Stop it,” he whispers as he strides through the crowd.
God, this is a nightmare. Why did I agree to this?
We are in a trendy art gallery warehouse; the crowd is eclectic and buzzing with excitement.
Huge abstract paintings are on the walls, and people are gathered in front of them, admiring their beauty. Loud funky music is being piped through the space, and waiters are circling with silver trays and glasses of champagne.
This is another world, far from the school homework I’m usually doing on the dining room table on a Sunday night.
We get to a clearing. “There they are.” Tristan smiles as he leads me toward two men standing and looking at a painting.
They are handsome and similar to Tristan: dark hair and tall and built—the family resemblance is strong. Dressed in jeans and sports jackets, they look as much like fashion models as their brother does.
“Hey.” Tristan laughs as we get to them.
They both spin toward us, and their eyes light up. “Tris.” They both laugh as they all shake hands.
“This is Claire.” Tristan smiles proudly. “This is Elliot and Christopher, my two younger brothers.”
“Hi,” I breathe ... oh God, this is hell.
Their eyes widen as they stare at me, and then, as if remembering their manners, they smile. “Hello, Claire.” Elliot shakes my hand first. “Lovely to meet you.” He’s businesslike and emits a dominant power—quite daunting, actually.
“Hi.”
Christopher smiles and leans in and kisses me on the cheek. “Hi, Claire. I’ve heard a lot about you. So lovely to finally get to meet you.” Christopher is much more relaxed, it seems, and he looks like Tristan. He’s my favorite—I can already tell.
“So ...” Christopher smiles as he looks between us, making small talk. “What have you two been doing all weekend?”
From my peripheral vision, I can see Elliot looking me up and down as he stands back and sips his champagne. What is he thinking?
God, I just want the earth to swallow me up.
“Oh, you know.” Tristan smiles as he puts his arm around me. “Bit of this and a bit of that.”
Christopher laughs. That’s code for sex.
And he’s right; we’ve been at it like rabbits all weekend. It’s a wonder I can walk.
Tristan holds his champagne glass up toward the painting we are standing in front of. “So this is Harriet Boucher?”
Elliot’s eyes light up as he stares at the huge canvas in front of us. “This is her.” He smiles at it in awe. “Spectacular, isn’t it?”
Tristan scrunches up his nose, unimpressed. “Meh, it’s okay.”
Christopher laughs. “I could take it or leave it, to be honest too.”
Tristan and Christopher begin to chat between themselves.
Elliot’s eyes come to me. “What do you think, Claire?”
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” I reply.
He smiles softly as his eyes go back to admiring the painting. “Yes, it is.”
“Tristan says that you love this artist?” I ask, trying to make conversation.
“I do.” He gives me a lopsided smile. “Not love her as such, but I admire her work. She is by far my favorite artist.”
“Why?”
He frowns, puzzled by my question. “I guess ... hmm.” He thinks for a moment. “Her paintings speak to me. I can’t explain it.”
I smile softly as I stand beside him and stare at the canvas. “How romantic.”
His eyes come to me. “Really?”
“If I were an artist, all I would want in life is for my paintings to speak to someone.”
He smiles and turns his attention back to the painting. “I suppose.”
“So you know her?” I ask.
“No, I’ve never seen her. I go to every auction, but she never attends. She’s elderly, from what I know.”
“And you have a few of her paintings?” I ask.
“I’ve bought five at auctions, although there are thirty in circulation. It is my aim to own all of them at some stage. They never come up for sale.”
“Are they all in storage?”
“No, her paintings are in my homes. They are personal to me.”
I smile as I watch him. He’s not intense like I first thought; he’s deep.
A man in a suit comes out with a roll-out little table thingy. “We are about to begin the auction for Harriet Boucher,” he calls.
The people in the room all turn and make their way over to where we stand. The crowd gathers in a semicircle around the painting.
Tristan puts his hand on the small of my back and smiles as he watches.
A woman comes and stands opposite us in the crowd. She’s honey blonde and innocent looking. She has a ballerina look about her. Perfect posture and innately feminine.
Elliot’s and her eyes meet across the crowd, and they stare at each other. I smile as I watch them; I can feel the electricity as it bounces between them.
Elliot leans into Tristan. “Black dress, red lips. Who the fuck is she?” he whispers.
“Never seen her before,” Tristan whispers back.
Elliot turns to Christopher and whispers the same thing to him.
Christopher looks over at her and frowns. “No idea.”
I smile as I listen to them. Tristan moves behind me and puts his arm around my waist as he pulls me close. He kisses my temple. “Do you want another drink?” he whispers.