Chapter Twenty-Six
David froze. Somehow he’d imagined that Cartier would sequester himself in the VIP lounge all night, and was not in the least prepared to encounter him roaming freely among the other guests.
Now his disappointment increased tenfold.
Not only had his efforts over the past weeks—months—been a foolish waste of time, but now he was about to humiliate himself further still.
Then again, perhaps not. The unexpected thought flashed into David’s mind as he recalled their first meeting at the edge of the Midnight Wood, and the way Meredith had waltzed right up to Cartier and air-kissed him without batting an eye.
If David himself could channel even a fraction of that confidence—well, perhaps Cartier was not quite so untouchable as David had built him up to be.
Summoning all his courage, David extended a hand. “Mr. Cartier, good to see you again.”
“Nice to see you again as well, Douglas,” agreed Cartier, shaking his hand. “I hear you were one of the major players in putting this event together.”
“Thank you, sir. And, er, it’s David, actually.”
“So it is, so it is. But no more of that sir stuff,” said Cartier, wagging a finger at him.
“No, si—no. As you say.” Then, with a boldness that surprised himself, David said, “I hear you’ve bought up the Midnight Wood.”
“I certainly do hope to, once Mr. Bednarek and I iron out the last few details,” said Cartier. “By the way, son, I know I’ve already said so, but I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you helping out Adalynn by hosting her bridal shower.”
David ought to redirect the conversation back to the fate of the Midnight Wood, but this was exactly the recognition he’d been waiting for.
(He tried to ignore the sick sinking feeling that invaded his stomach at the thought of Adalynn Cartier marrying Florian Schwarzwelder.
Either she knew his true character and had no objection to it, or she didn’t, in which case—well, that was too awful to think about, but how could David possibly interfere?
How could he possibly know the difference?)
“No trouble at all,” said David. “Genevieve organized it all, but I’m glad to have helped in any way.”
“I’m looking forward to having a chat with your roommate soon, Ada’s brother-in-law—what was it? Vivian or Evelyn or something? The funny little fella with the tattoos.”
“Meredith, actually,” supplied David, and added conscientiously, “He’s not little. He just looks like it next to me.”
Cartier waved a hand. “Oh, yes, I knew it was one of those old-fashioned names. Those drawings of his are making quite the stir.”
“Are they really?”
“I don’t mind telling you, I’ve been bidding on a couple of them myself. Brilliant stuff.”
“Oh, yes,” said David. “Absolutely.” As he said it, he realized he wasn’t just agreeing with Cartier—he meant it. When it came to art, Meredith was brilliant, even if his style might not be to David’s personal taste.
David turned to search for him in the crowd and soon spotted him and Kinley in conversation with Belinda Fairfax (she of the argyle sweater) and Rick Pangolin, the head of HR.
“Actually, he’s right over there, if you’d like to—” David stopped, his heart sinking. Cartier had seen Meredith, too, and his affable expression had morphed into hard disapproval. But the day they’d met at the edge of the Midnight Wood, hadn’t Meredith been wearing a skirt then, too?
No—David followed his line of sight. He was watching Steve Corner, who stood a short distance away, champagne flute in hand, gaze sweeping down Meredith’s bare back with undisguised lust as obscene as if he were raking his hands over him.
As though he could feel it, Meredith shivered, shot an uneasy glance over his shoulder, and inched closer to Kinley.
“Excuse me,” said David, already turning away before Cartier’s absent nod registered. He made his way through the crowd, slipped past the partitions, and hurried up the back staircase to his office, where he retrieved the cardigan sweater he’d left draped over the back of his desk chair.
By the time he returned downstairs, Kinley was nowhere in sight, Harriet had fallen into conversation with Sylvania Holland, of all people, Florian and Adalynn were perusing the lots at the far end of the room, and Cartier was chatting with Rick Pangolin by the buffet table.
“I wondered where you’d got to.” Meredith’s voice at David’s shoulder made him jump.
“You mustn’t come creeping up on me like that.”
“Oh! But I wasn’t trying to. Only, Kinley took off, and I was staying away till you’d had your chance with Cartier so I wouldn’t mess it up like last time, but I saw you talking to him a bit ago, so I thought it’d be all right now.
” Meredith hesitated, then went on, “Did you ask him about the Midnight Wood?”
David’s insides twisted with guilt. “I—er, well, not exactly. I mean to say, I did try, but he didn’t quite take to the idea.” This was not a lie, he told himself. He had brought it up, and the conversation had rather gotten away from him.
“Oh,” said Meredith quietly. (Did David imagine it, or was there a momentary flicker of hurt in his eyes?)
He hastened to change the subject. “Actually, I was looking for you.” David offered his sweater. “I know it doesn’t really go, but I thought—it looked as if you were still cold.”
Meredith eyed it doubtfully. “That’s your favorite sweater.”
“Yes, and you can borrow it, if you’d like.”
“You told me once if I ever so much as thought about touching that sweater, you’d lock me in the cellar and throw away the key.”
“I—well—”
“I don’t want to live in the cellar, David. Although”—Meredith tilted his head in consideration—“I suppose ours isn’t so bad. Could be quite cozy with a bit of redecorating.”
“Nobody is going to put you in the cellar,” said David in exasperation.
“Florian used to.”
David stared, then ran a hand over his face. “Christ, Meredith.”
Meredith shook off the faraway look that had crept over him. “Sorry,” he said. “Don’t know why I said that. ’S true, though. But you were saying?”
The urge to hug Meredith competed with the urge to go give Florian a good punch to the face, though David did not punch people as a rule.
Instead, he held out the sweater once more in silent offering.
Carefully, as though he were handling something as delicate as cobwebs, Meredith took it from him and slipped it on. The combination of a Cowichan sweater with a cocktail dress and pearls looked ridiculous—but no more ridiculous than usual. It suited him.
David’s breath hitched, and something in his chest fluttered. The sight of Meredith wrapped in his too-big, incongruous sweater made David want to sweep him into his arms and press close against him in a way that was entirely divorced from any kitchen table–related fantasies.
“Thank you,” said Meredith. Something in his delivery of the words seemed off in a way David could not quite put his finger on. Perhaps he had caught sight of Florian across the room. But just in case he hadn’t—
“Your brother’s here, by the way,” said David. “With Adalynn. I wasn’t sure if you knew.”
“Oh, yes,” said Meredith vaguely, “we’ve been playing at cat and mouse all evening.”
An inexplicable heaviness seemed to have settled over them. In hopes of dispelling it, David remarked, “You make rather an outsize mouse, I’m afraid.”
“S’pose so.” Meredith made an effort at a smile, but even that last bit of cheer faded as he looked down at the sweater he wore, at the cuffs of the sleeves slipping down over his hands. “Oh. Is that why?”
David didn’t follow. “Is what why?”
“Five minutes!” bellowed Steve Corner from the mezzanine. “Five minutes left on the bidding!”
The auction floor erupted in a frenzy of activity.
“I’d best go check mine one last time,” said Meredith, and disappeared into the crowd.
David managed to keep him in the periphery of his vision while pretending to be interested in a nearby earthenware jug; as soon as Meredith was safely out of the way, he dashed over to Manuel Holland’s table.
Meredith’s final bid had been underlined for emphasis, and David smiled to himself as he pictured his expression of mock indignation.
He bid another dollar.
How to court a magpie—David snorted as the absurd phrase popped into his head. But wasn’t that what he was doing after all as the two of them bid dollar by dollar, playing a pretend game of tug-of-war over the nearest shiny object?
“One minute!” announced Steve Corner.
David just had time to place a final bid on the Forkupine, where he had some more serious competition. It was a little higher than he ordinarily would have been happy with, but winning this one mattered a great deal.
“Time’s up!” shouted Corner. “All right, folks, relax and enjoy the refreshments for the next little while as we process the bid sheets. You’ll receive a text message to your registered mobile number to notify you of any winning bids, and a complete, anonymized list of the winners for each lot will be sent out shortly. ”
David stole a glance at the sheets for the other Scribblings before they were collected by one of the auction staff, and was astounded at the numbers they’d risen to, particularly the rat pie. He’d gotten off lightly with the Forkupine.
This time, it took him longer to locate Meredith among the milling guests, and by the time he did, phones were beginning to buzz with notifications.
“Did you win anything?” David asked casually.