14. Stuart
STUART
The look of stunned disbelief on Brooke’s face cuts me to my core. While she had listed theft as one explanation, she had discounted it. Townsend mentioning the possibility, even as unlikely, reminded her that the necklace may be permanently gone.
I glare at the security agent, wishing I could yank him by the collar and wring some sense into him. Couldn’t he read the room? Couldn’t he see the utter sadness on Brooke’s face? How dare he extinguish her last shred of hope.
Realizing his faux pas, he hastily retreats, and I guide Brooke toward the ballroom exit for the second time.
No one from her firm is around to notice, so I wrap my arm around her shoulder.
She doesn’t push me away. Instead, she leans against me.
She fits perfectly in the crook of my arm as if we were made for each other.
If only she wasn’t so upset. I wish I could hold her when things are going well—no stuck elevators, no missing jewels, no tears threatening to fall.
Bide your time, man. Bide your time.
The only problem is that I’m running out of time. I leave LA in less than a week.
Normally, that would comfort me. Typically, I’d welcome a quick fling with a lovely woman in the city I’m visiting. Then the built-in departure date would save me from difficult goodbyes. Why am I dreading this goodbye, when we’ve barely said hello—at least in any intimate way?
I’ll process those thoughts later because, as we exit the hotel, my driver is already waiting with the car.
Once in the backseat, I put my hand on top of hers.
“Don’t let Townsend get into your head. You did nothing wrong.
The pearls belonged to your aunt. That means the clasp was old and likely just broke.
The necklace could have fallen onto the floor and been kicked anywhere in the room.
Someone will likely deliver it to hotel management soon.
After all, the people at the hotel are quite wealthy.
They’re unlikely to keep something that isn’t theirs. ”
She seems mildly satisfied with my reassurance despite her lips curving downward as she mulls my explanation. Eventually, she says, “That’s true. It’s more valuable to me than to anyone else. I’ll try to be patient. Unfortunately, that’s never been one of my strengths.”
“Patience is overrated but probably necessary in this case. Let’s do something fun to take your mind off the situation.”
“You told my colleagues we had work to do, didn’t you?”
“I did, but it can wait. If you had a weekday afternoon off and could do anything in LA you wanted, what would you do?”
“I’d go to the beach, walk in the sand, and watch the sunset. It sounds simple, but it’s something I never have time for, even though I live near the ocean.”
I stare at her, stunned. She’s so different than the women I typically meet.
Hell, I’d do anything to cheer her up—even fly to Paris for breakfast if that’s what she wanted. The fact that her face lights up at the idea of watching a sunset on a sandy beach draws me to her even more.
“Let’s do it. I have the perfect place for us to go,” I say.
Her eyes twinkle with quiet excitement. It’s incredible to me that granting such a simple request can make her so happy. It makes me want to please her even more.
“What do you mean?” she asks.
“It’s a surprise.”
Grabbing my phone, I text Evan and Sean.
Me: Would you mind if a friend and I drop by your place in Malibu this afternoon?
Evan: Of course not. We’re having a few people over for drinks soon. It’s perfect timing.
Me: Great. Brooke and I will be there by 3:30.
Evan: Who’s Brooke?
Me: She’s a friend.
Sean: Define friend.
Me: Ha. Ha. We’re just working together and need a break from downtown.
Sean: Plan on staying over. We have plenty of room but can make sure there’s only one bed available, if you’d like.
Evan: Sean’s right. You’ve played wingman to each of us enough times. We’re here to help you with your “friend.” See you soon.
Me: Unfortunately, we can’t overnight.
They’re going to give me so much grief for bringing Brooke to meet them, but it’s the perfect place to fulfill her desire for an afternoon at the beach.
Of course, I’d prefer a private stretch of sand, but that’s not an option.
As a viscount without personal security here, we can’t just show up at a public beach.
While I’m not aware of any current threats, my family has always considered kidnapping a possibility.
With the plans set, I give our driver the address. “How long will it take at this time of day?”
He says, “GPS estimates it will take an hour.”
“If there are any shortcuts, please use them.”
“Yes, sir.”
Closing the privacy partition, I turn to check on Brooke. She’s silently leaning against the door and staring out the window, deep in thought.
Should I give her space or try to cheer her up on the long drive?
I’m trying to think of the right thing to do when she leans toward me and reaches for my hand. She laces her finger through mine.
I smile to myself.
I’m glad she showed me what she needs. Now, let’s see if I can deliver.