18. Kent
Chapter Eighteen
KENT
In the morning, I walk out of my office and meet Liz in the hall. She’s stylishly dressed in a cream cashmere sweater and a pair of black trousers. Her darkened lashes flutter around her pretty amber eyes as she takes in the sight of me.
“Good morning,” I greet her.
“Morning,” she says, averting her gaze. Is she trying to hide that gorgeous sparkle in her eyes when she looks at me? I’m sure I saw a flicker of it last night.
“Shall we head down to the office?”
Liz nods and quickly proceeds down the hallway. Inside the lift, we stand close to one another even though it’s empty. The moment the doors close, her hand brushes mine. She doesn’t flinch or make a sound. Instead, she takes in a deep breath, and I watch her breast billow as her chest rises.
A warm tingle rises in my core, and the urge to take her in my arms, press her against the wall, and kiss her gorgeous, glossy mouth almost overcomes me. If only I could drag her back to my bedroom and roll around with her in the sheets for the rest of the day.
Liz is quiet as we slide in the back of my town car.
Her knee touches mine. Another brush with the beauty.
Only this isn’t merely a brush. She remains there as if this is her small way of warming up to the idea of engaging with me.
Letting me know she wants me too. My pulse quickens in the same way it would if I had my hand up a woman’s blouse.
Why I find such an innocent touch so arousing is beyond me. But I like it.
I look over at her, and her gaze finally meets mine.
And there it is. That sparkle. Subtle but very much present.
My gaze drops to her pink lips. Damn, I want to kiss her so badly.
Almost imperceptibly, I lean in, and she doesn’t look away.
Does she want me to go for it? Just as I decide to test the waters a little more, my mobile buzzes in my hand, pulling us both out of the moment.
Of course. Every time I get near her, something pulls us away.
I look at my mobile. It’s Mick. A little early for a ring. What’s this about?
“Hey,” I answer.
“Is it true?” Mick asks.
“Is what true?”
“Are you engaged?”
That excited feeling Liz inspired in my gut quickly turns unnerved. How does he know? Did our father tell him? Dahlia? In any case, he was going to learn the news anyway, so why do I feel so cornered?
“Yep, I’m engaged,” I say.
Liz whips her head in my direction and mouths, “Who is that?”
To which I mouth, “My brother.”
“Christ, mate! First Drew, then me, now you. When did this happen? I didn’t even know you were dating anyone,” he says.
“Just in the last week,” I answer. “Who told you? Dad?”
“Dad? No, it’s in Cheeri-Ooh!” The moment he utters the title of the infamous publication, I understand why my gut’s reacting this way.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, then hold my breath.
“There’s a picture of you with a woman covering her face, and she’s wearing our grandmother’s royal diamond ring. It was published just this morning.”
“What!” I quickly put him on speakerphone so I can search for the thing myself. Liz’s eyes go wide with horror. She has no idea what’s happening yet but she knows it’s not good.
“Yes, my fiancée saw the alert early this morning. I don’t even think my engagement has hit the news circuit yet.”
“Shit,” I mutter to myself as I find the article. There we are. A clear photo of Liz and I getting into my car after our lovely working lunch. “Mick, hang on.” I mute the mobile.
“What’s happening?” Liz is at the edge of her seat.
I show her the very public photo. “We’ve been outed.”
She snatches my mobile. “Shit. That’s from yesterday. I thought you said not to worry about this. You said they only publish the telling photos.”
“They usually do. I don’t know how this made the news, and I really don’t know how they got that we’re engaged out of this snapshot.”
“Do they know who I am?” she asks.
Both of us scan the article. Her identity doesn’t seem to be printed. Then I read the phrase, unidentified woman. “It doesn’t look like it.”
“So now what?”
“I don’t know. Hang on.” I unclick the mute button. “Hey, mate?—”
“Kent, I’ve got patients right now, but we want you to come over for dinner tonight so we can meet your fiancée. How’s seven o’clock?”
I flick a glance to Liz who looks like she’d rather hide in my closet than have dinner with my brother. But how can I say no? “Sure.”
“Brilliant. And congratulations!” Mick says.
“Thanks,” I say, feeling more dread than excitement, and end the call.
“What the hell’s going on?” Liz does not sound pleased.
“I don’t know but I’ll get to the bottom of this,” I say.
But the thing is, this isn’t really bad press.
If anyone on the board sees it, it will simply legitimize the story.
I wanted to keep the press out of it as long as possible, but so what?
They don’t even know who she is. And maybe it’s better we keep it that way.
“Ugh, I feel sick.” Liz’s fair skin turns a light shade of green.
“Why? It’s not a bad photo of you. You can hardly see your face.”
“I don’t do well with scandalous press.”
“It’s not scandalous. We are, in fact, engaged.” That’s the story and we’re sticking to it. Or at least I hope the press doesn’t spook Liz away.
She shoots me a look as if to call bullshit.
“Trust me. It’s fine,” I say, grasping at a sense of control. It has to be fine. This is how I get to run Bonnaire Capital.
“And tonight. We’re having dinner with your brother and his fiancée?” Her voice goes up a notch. Or five.
“Liz, would you relax,” I say, and reach for her shoulder, beginning to knead her stiff muscles. “This is all part of the game. Remember, we’re both getting something big out of this.”
I feel her shoulder relax beneath my palm the tiniest bit, and she glances down at the diamond on her ring finger. Amazing how much it suits her. If this goes really well, maybe I’ll let her keep it. Like a bonus. I can’t imagine ever needing it in the future.
My driver pulls up to Bonnaire Tower. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
She stares up at the building. “I don’t want to go in there. This ring already got so much attention yesterday. Now it’ll be worse.”
To her point, the less we’re seen working together, the better. “Maybe you’re right. Why don’t you head back home, and we can work virtually today?”
“Home?” she asks, looking in my eyes almost like she wants it to be her home.
“You know what I mean. My apartment. Besides, I’ve got my team on it. They’re handling the bulk of things.”
Liz agrees, and as much as it kills me to leave her side, I head into Bonnaire Tower. As I pass through the lobby and the halls, I’m met with whispers and stares at every turn. Yeah. They’ve all seen the story. These may all be posh professionals but they love gossip as much as anyone.
I march up to my assistant with a furrowed brow. “Poppy,” I say sternly, and she looks up behind the rim of her thick lenses. “Did you tell anyone about my engagement?”
“No, of course not. You know me better than that.”
“Then do you have any idea who told the press about it?”
She spins around in her chair to face me. “Oh, you mean that photo in Cheeri-Ooh!?”
“You saw it too.”
“Yes, and so did your father. He wants to see you right away.”
I don’t know what’s worse—the press or Dad?
Probably Dad. I make my way to his floor, facing more whispers and stares along the way.
Inside his office, his oil painting towers over the room like his shadow.
When I eventually become the Chairman and CEO of Bonnaire Enterprises, my first order of business will be to get rid of that thing.
“Kent, why does the press know you’re engaged? We haven’t made an official statement,” he barks.
“I’m just as surprised as you.”
He rises from his chair. “And you didn’t tell me you proposed with Prince Edward’s diamond.”
“That’s why Mum gave it to me. For my future wife,” I say, feeling strangely protective over Liz as if she truly were my future wife.
“What do you know about this woman?” Dad furrows his brow.
“I know she’s the perfect fiancée.” Which is the truth.
“Now you and the perfect fiancée will need to make a formal appearance for the press. Then the family publicist will confirm your engagement.”
“A formal appearance?” What is he talking about? Mick and Beau never made a formal appearance. Neither did Drew and Kate.
“Yes, the ballet this weekend. It will be Mick’s formal appearance too. Two engagements to celebrate. Two more Americans joining the family.” Dad grumbles that last part.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I ask for several reasons, one being that Liz seems to be press averse and the other .
. . is a little more personal. My dad’s referring to The Nutcracker.
It’s a long-standing family tradition to watch from the Bonnaire box at the Royal Opera House.
It was my mother’s favorite show. She looked forward to it every year.
Since she passed, I haven’t been able to bring myself to attend. It just feels too sad or something.
“Why would it not be?” he asks, and I can’t argue the logic. So I switch gears, knowing exactly how to turn this conversation around in my favor.
“I think someone tipped off the press. But only a few knew of our engagement as of yesterday.”
“Who do you think it was?” Dad asks.
“I think it was Collin.”
“Collin? Nonsense. What does he have to gain by publicizing your engagement?”
It’s a good question but I can’t share the answer I’m suspicious of, which is that Collin is likely convinced this is an arrangement of convenience. He may be trying to root us out.
“All I know is he seemed pretty upset about the news after you told him,” I say, putting it back on him.
Dad raises an eyebrow as if he’s considering this but then quickly shakes his head. “No, Collin knows better than to talk to the press about family business.”
Collin may know better but doing better isn’t his strong suit.