Slay complete series, p.12
Slay Complete Series, page 12
“No worries. I can find out.” I moved on to measure the side table next to it.
“What is it you think you’re doing?” This didn’t come from the secretary.
No, it was a very manly, very familiar voice. A voice that sent a delicious shiver down my spine.
There he is. The secretary hadn’t even managed to call him yet. He’d definitely known I was coming up. He’d been waiting.
I had to catch my breath before I turned to face him, then I had to catch it again when I saw him. He was leaning against the doorframe, looking as devastatingly handsome as always.
“There you are, Edward. Is that your office through there? I’m going to need to see that as well.” It was a miracle that I hadn’t stammered.
Before he could answer, I brushed past him and glided into the room beyond.
“This isn’t horrible,” I said honestly, surveying the dark wood walls, the oversized desk in the center of the room, the chocolate leather of his chair. “This paneling is going to have to go. It’s nice, but it makes this space feel like a cave. The patterned ceiling is stunning, though. We’re keeping that.”
I crossed the room, circling his desk so I could open the curtains. With the light streaming in, the decor took on a whole new appearance. “That’s better. This room was designed for the curtains to be open.”
I could feel him close behind me, and when I turned again, he was leaning his fists on his desktop. His knuckles were white as though the furniture was the only thing keeping his hands from roughing someone up.
I’d liked that desk initially. Now I suddenly hated it.
“What. Is it. You’re doing.” He was so terse in his delivery, that it was no longer a question but a demand. A demand he was irritated to have to repeat.
Good. This was good. I liked seeing him this barely restrained. I liked it a whole lot more than I should.
“I’m taking notes so I can put together a design,” I explained, as though it was obvious.
He let out an incredulous laugh. “I’m not hiring you to be my decorator.”
“You are.” I stalked toward him until I bumped up against the desk, the only barrier now between us. “My father already thinks that’s how we met, and there’s no way I’m telling him the truth. Besides, your office is badly in need of an update. And I’m a designer. Not a decorator. Don’t make that mistake again.”
His lips curled up into a smug smile. A ridiculously sexy smile. “This means you’re accepting my offer then.”
He still had the beard I’d asked for, and he was so attractive it was almost hard to look at him. It was even harder not to crawl over the bulky piece of furniture in front of me and give him my answer by pressing my mouth against his, but somehow I managed.
Instead, I held my left hand out and wiggled my bare finger. “It means, Edward, that I’m going to need a ring.”
NINETEEN
The driver opened the door of the Maybach, and I stepped out onto the carriage driveway and gasped. I’d come from wealth, and the home I’d grown up in had encompassed two penthouse floors in a Fifth Avenue highrise, which perhaps gave me a certain impression about what expensive homes were like in big cities.
Edward’s home was nothing like what I’d expected.
Instead of an apartment or a townhouse, the building I stood in front of was a well-known, long string of consecutive mansions called Cornwall Terrace. The architecture was both historical and stunning, and the location was superb, at the edge of Regent’s Park, no less. I quickly counted the rows of windows stacked before me. Four floors. Holy luxury! This residence had to cost a fortune. The view across the park alone had to be worth millions.
Once again, Edward had thrown me.
He did that a lot, it seemed. If I had to guess, I would have even said he thrived on it. At the very least, he enjoyed calling the shots. After I’d shown up at his office on Wednesday, I’d hoped we’d sit down and talk about what happened next, made plans for our forthcoming marriage. But Edward had seemingly had enough of being the bystander, and he’d quickly taken the reins in his hand, commanding I go to my hotel, settle in, and recuperate from my travels. He’d escorted me out of the building telling me he’d send a car for me on Saturday. We could “dine over discussions,” he’d said, a term that made me bite back a smile.
Three days had been an awful lot of time to sit around. After all the planning I’d done over the last month, the wait had felt like an unnecessary delay, and I’d been more than a little eager and excited when the driver had pulled up in front of my hotel.
Excited because I was ready to get on with The Game, not for any other reason. Certainly not because I wanted to see Edward.
I’d found ways to occupy myself, but standing now in front of his insane mansion, I’d wished I’d used some of that time to do more research on my fiancé. Exactly how rich and powerful was my husband-to-be? Did I really know who I was playing with? What level of game had I entered?
I was still standing in the driveway when the front door swung open and a liveried servant welcomed me with a nod of his head.
With a toss of my hair, I threw aside my self-doubt and walked in with my head held high. The entrance led immediately into a large reception area.
“Master Edward should be with you shortly,” the butler said politely. “You may have a seat if you’d like. May I get you something to drink while you wait? Water? Wine? Tea?”
“No, thank you,” I said, distracted as I surveyed my surroundings. The room was conventionally furnished, in the vein of a formal living space. There was a sitting area comprised of two black sofas, a white sofa, and two armchairs, all of which were tufted and ornate. The hardwood floors were stained dark chocolate, matching the color of the walls. Long white curtains with black valances draped each of the four windows. Two large filigree mirrors occupied the opposite walls.
It all had a traditional, masculine flavor that was all well and good for a bachelor, but would need to be softened if I were to be expected to live here. Even the very nature of the front room was old-fashioned. With no foyer or front hall, it was truly a receiving room, meant to receive guests, preventing them from needing to journey farther into the home. It was an outdated style of floor plan that I’d had little opportunity to encounter in my design work in New York City. It was fascinating and foreign all at once.
By the time I’d taken in enough to truly be aware of him, the butler had disappeared, leaving me alone. If he’d gone to inform my date that I’d arrived, Edward didn’t rush to greet me. At least ten minutes went by with me sitting poised on the edge of an armchair, my nerves getting the better of me with every passing second. The tick-tick of the grandfather clock in the corner filled the quiet space, sounding louder than it actually was. The rhythmic beat magnified the passing time and heightened my anxiety.
He was doing this on purpose, I was sure of it. Making me wait. Like I’d said, he enjoyed unsettling me.
Too restless to sit any longer, I stood and ventured toward one of the mirrors to inspect my makeup for something to do. I’d worn a floral jacquard A-line dress, and though it had a severe plunging neckline, it was more romantic and casual than my usual attire. I’d left my hair down as well, remembering what he’d said earlier in the summer about appearing too uptight. It was a deliberate attempt to try to appeal to Edward, and while I’d frequently dressed for whatever role I was playing in the past, I’d had more of a struggle deciding to do it today, for some strange reason. Maybe because he’d asked specifically for me to be different, and I’d always hated letting anyone take authority over me. Or maybe it was because I wasn’t entirely comfortable yet with the woman he wanted me to be.
Most likely it was because it wasn’t about The Game at all. I’d dressed this way for him. Because I wanted to please him. And that wanting felt dangerous.
As I fluffed the curls I’d spent all afternoon applying to my shoulder-length hair, I caught movement low to the ground in my periphery.
My head shot toward the hall leading into the house. There was nobody there. I stared for long seconds, seeing nothing.
But I could hear something. Short, heavy breaths followed by a light giggle.
Curious, I tiptoed toward the doorway, hugging the walls of the room. I was just about to peer around the open door when a little face poked out and peeked at me. The laugh that erupted this time was still light even in its fullness. Light and adorable, making the insides of my chest feel liquid and warm.
“Well, who are you?” I crouched down to better see my new friend, a little boy wearing a dress shirt and vest paired with little boy blue jeans that were too cute for words. Having not spent much time around kids, I couldn’t be sure of his age, but I guessed around two. He toddled the way I’d always imagined toddlers toddled, anyway, his steps unsteady as he came out from behind the door and into the room.
“Hi!” he said with another bewitching laugh, his face pinching up as his mouth opened wider with the sound.
And oh that face…
While his laugh was adorable, his face was ten times as precious. It was the cutest thing I’d ever seen in the flesh—brown hair, chubby cheeks, and blue eyes that were reminiscent of the shade belonging to the man I was betrothed to. There was no doubt they were related, a realization that should have set off alarms in my head, but instead had my gut twisting with inexplicable longing.
Was this what a baby Edward would look like?
Why did I suddenly want to find out more than anything I’d ever wanted in my life?
“Come away from there, Fred.”
The stern voice drew my gaze down the hall to a woman I recognized from my online searches. I’d seemed to have forgotten Edward’s sister lived with him, or at least hadn’t expected to see her tonight. She was thin and pale and gorgeous, her dark brown hair and hazel eyes as captivating as her flawless skin. Even though she wore jeans and a simple long-sleeve black shirt, I felt plain in comparison.
She scooped up the toddler, and I stood to introduce myself. “You must be Camilla. I’m Celia.”
“I know who you are,” she said sourly, ignoring the hand I held out to her as she hugged the child—Fred—closer to her.
Stunned by the hostile greeting, I dropped my hand quickly and gaped.
“Good! You’ve had a chance to meet.”
I glanced behind his sister and saw Edward coming down the stairs. He was arresting as always, but especially so with his laidback look. His hair lacked the usual slick styled appearance, and while he wore black slacks and a white button-down, he had the collar unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It was the first time I’d seen him without a jacket, and the tight fit of his shirt showcased an impressive set of pecs underneath.
Damn, Edward wore casual well. Too well for my good.
Camilla turned toward him. “Yes, we’ve met. Can you and I talk for a moment please?” She walked past the staircase and stopped to wait for him to join her.
He looked from me to her and then back again. “I’ll be just a minute,” he said to me, his gaze pointing at the receiving room behind me, a not-so-subtle hint that I should retreat there and give them their privacy.
I didn’t like being ordered around, but I was on my best behavior, so I did as I was silently told.
Sort of.
I mean, I did go back into the room, but I hovered at the door, the way I had when I’d been looking for the child. Pressing my back to the wall, I listened in.
“You can’t expect me to like her, Eddie. That’s beyond reasonable.” Camilla’s voice was tight and filled with animosity.
I stiffened. I didn’t need friends, and in general, I wasn’t bothered by enemies, but this woman’s hatred felt intense without reason.
I strained to hear Edward’s response, but his words were hushed in comparison, so all I could hear was a low rumble.
Whatever he’d said, it didn’t settle his sister. “Of all people, why does it have to be her?”
Apparently my father wasn’t going to be the only one upset by the arrangement between me and Edward.
Again, I couldn’t hear his response, but his tone had taken on a soothing timbre.
“Fine. But I’m not eating dinner with her.”
He said something quick at that and then there was a bustle and footsteps. I jumped away from the door so as not to be caught eavesdropping, but didn’t move fast enough, or moved too fast, because when Edward appeared in the room he saw me scurrying in a way that could only indicate what I’d been doing.
He narrowed his eyes and gave me that smug, knowing smile. That smile that seemed to have a direct voltage line to my lower regions since every time he gave it, my pussy buzzed and clenched.
There was no point pretending I hadn’t been caught. “Eddie, huh?” I teased.
“Sisters have a way of poking, don’t they?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m an only child. Eddie.” I prided myself on my ability to poke as well.
“Oh, no. That’s not for you to use.”
I took a challenging step toward him. “Isn’t it?”
“No. It’s not.” He said it so finally, I didn’t dare refute.
He moved then to the wine fridge at the other end of the room and began sifting through bottles.
I stared at his back, clutching and unclutching my hands while I tried not to be hurt that he’d dismissed my attempt to be more familiar, hurt that he hadn’t actually greeted me. Hadn’t said hello or even looked at me in a way that said he’d seen me.
So much for pleasing the man.
“A Malbec all right?” He was already unscrewing the cork, so I didn’t think my answer was really wanted.
“Fine,” I said anyway. Feeling defeated, I searched for another way to gain footing. The private conversation in the hall seemed as good a place to step as any. “She doesn’t like me.”
“Who? Camilla?” He didn’t look at me while he dealt with the wine glasses and the pouring. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
He was condescending me again, and it made my blood boil. I shot daggers at his backside.
His perfectly shaped backside.
Seriously, his pants had to be sewn on the way they showed off that rock-hard ass.
Forcing myself to focus, I pushed once more. “I am definitely sure that’s true, and don’t say I’m wrong. We both know I’m not.”
He paused his task and looked at me, truly looked at me, for the first time that night. After a beat he shrugged. “She doesn’t care for Americans.” He poured the second glass and held it out toward me.
He could very easily have dismissed her acrimony as a symbol of loyalty. It wasn’t like I wasn’t aware of the feud between her brother and my father. Why hadn’t he just said that’s what it was? Was there more to her hostility than that?
I considered other motives as I sauntered toward him, and remembered with an odd stab to my gut the first suspicions I’d had about his relationship with his sister.
“I think it might be a more particular lack of caring, for Americans who are dating her brother.” I took the wine glass from his hand, shivering when I “accidentally” touched his finger, despite it not being an accident at all.
His brow furrowed sharply. “Are you suggesting my sister is jealous?”
“You’re as rich as God and yet your sister—who is older than me, I might add—still lives with you. It could lead some people to suspect there’s more to your relationship than it first seems.” I was goading him was all, but the little boy’s eyes flashed in my mind, eyes that looked so much like his uncle’s. They were so similar, he could have passed for Edward’s son.
The thought brought on another stab to my stomach. God, I was the one who was acting jealous.
Edward’s expression grew hard and mean. “I’m more than a little disturbed by your implication that my sister and I have anything other than an appropriate sibling relationship. She lives with me because she was going through a difficult time and needed support. I am her only family, so, of course, I endeavor to look out for her and Freddie in any way I can, including offering them my home when they need their loved ones close. I’ll ask you kindly to never again suggest anything as crass or depraved or irresponsibly cruel where Camilla is concerned.”
I never liked being scolded. Who did? Particularly I hated anyone ever thinking they knew better about who I should or shouldn’t be, how I should or shouldn’t behave.
But there was something about this scolding that especially stung. It sunk into my pores and stayed with me, the way that menthol cream clings and burns for hours after it’s applied.
I wanted to scrub it off of me. Wanted to wash myself from his brusque words and earn words that would soothe instead.
That wasn’t like me, though, and I didn’t know where to begin.
I sipped from my wine glass, holding the swish in my mouth until the black cherry notes showed themselves before I swallowed. “Freddie,” I said suddenly, noticing the child’s name’s similarity to Camilla’s nickname for her brother. “Is he named after you?”
As soon as it was out of my mouth, it hit me that this could be taken as a further attack on his bond with his sister. “I don’t mean that like it sounds. I meant…” What did I mean by it? “I heard what you said. I’m trying to understand, not belittle.”
I bit the inside of my lip while I waited for him to respond, every muscle tense, my breath held tight within me.
Edward swirled the contents of his glass around once. Twice. Three times.
Finally, he answered. “After me and his father, Frank.”
There’d been very little to read online about Camilla’s husband, only that he’d died in a fire before her son had been born.
I didn’t know anything about that kind of loss, and yet, I did. Somewhere, deep inside me, hidden in a shadow, there was a part of me that did know. A part of me that remembered the kinds of pain that drove a person to search for safety in anyone and anywhere they could find it. I’d found my solace in a questionable friendship and a game that stole every essence of emotion and humanity from my soul.
