by Ward, Alice
“Well, you certainly deserve it.”
“Speaking of deserving people, I have a surprise for you. Can I steal you away for a second?” he asked, dropping his voice.
I turned to Kennedy. “Tell Eric that I’ll be right back.”
“Of course,” she agreed with a nod.
Deacon took me by the elbow and led me into a dark corner. “Tonight has gone better than I ever expected. And to top it off, Gale has recently gotten a promotion. I’m putting in official notice at the museum on Monday. Gale will be traveling more, and I’m planning to go with her.”
Happiness bloomed inside me for my friend. “Oh Deacon, I couldn’t be happier for you. I know how long you’ve worked for this.”
“Thanks, Lauren. I’m sure you’re wondering what this has to do with you.”
“A little,” I agreed. I was genuinely happy for Deacon and I couldn’t wait to see how his work was influenced by the new places he’d see. But I didn’t know what it had to do with me or what I deserved.
“Gale and I talked, and neither of us want to give up our townhouse. Thanks to my father’s life insurance, it’s paid for. We need someone to take care of it, and I know you’ll put the studio to good use.”
My mouth fell open. “You’re going to let me use the studio?”
He grinned. “Actually, we’re hoping you’ll just move into the apartment.”
I shook my head. “I appreciate that, Deacon. But I can’t accept. You could rent the place out and make a fortune.”
He groaned. “My uncle owns a string of apartment buildings. I’ve heard enough rental horror stories to last a lifetime. We don’t really need the money. And we don’t want strangers in our house. If you’re not interested, it will just sit empty.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this for me,” I said, stunned and touched by his generosity.
“You’re talented, Lauren. And I know you don’t have room to paint at your place. I want you to have as many opportunities as possible. How much longer do you have on your lease?”
“Three months… but I may be able to get out of it. There’s a waiting list to get into my building, remember?” I teased.
Like a good surrogate big brother, Deacon had scoped out the safest places in the city and put my name down for apartments months before I actually arrived home.
“I know Gale’s due home next week. When will you be leaving again?”
“Right now, we’re set to leave for Istanbul on September thirtieth.”
I did a mental calculation. “Well, that gives me six weeks to come up with a way to thank you for everything.”
“Just be fabulous, Lauren. That’s all the thanks I need.”
***
“I can’t believe it’s already time for you to leave,” I said with a pout. It was Sunday afternoon and Kennedy and Jackson were about to leave for the airport. Kennedy and I sat in the hotel coffee shop while Jackson made a few last calls in their suite.
“I know,” she agreed with a frown. “Three days just wasn’t enough time together. But I think Jackson’s really going to look into putting the next resort here. And I’ve already told him I want to buy a winter house here. He said next time we visit we can look at some property.”
Because that’s what you do when you have a bazillion dollars.
“What is it?” she asked with a confused grin. “What are you finding so damn amusing?”
“I was just thinking of how much you’ve changed, that’s all. You’ve really settled in to life as a Montgomery. And I mean that in the best possible way,” I insisted.
Kennedy blushed and my heart sank. When Kennedy and Jackson got together, she had to fight a lot of assumptions about her relationship and her intentions. Most people assumed she was a gold digger. I knew better than anyone that she’d never been impressed by money.
“I’m not offended,” she assured me. “I’m just a little embarrassed. I know I must sound like a spoiled snob. But the truth is, I’ve stopped thinking about money entirely. I give away five times as much as I spend, and the bank balance just keeps growing. That’s why I wish you’d let us take care of you more. The cost is seriously a nonissue for us.”
I reached for her hand. “I appreciate the offer. But I really want to take care of myself. I feel bad enough moving into Deacon’s place without paying rent.” I’d already decided to put money away every month, as if I were paying rent. When I eventually found my own place, I’d use the savings to buy something nice for Deacon and Gale.
“All right. But remember that the offer is on the table.”
“I will,” I assured her. I stirred my iced coffee with my straw and took a long sip. Kennedy took a bite of her cinnamon chip scone and washed it down with her Earl Grey tea.
“So… Eric,” she said, her voice low and direct. “What are you doing there, Lauren?”
I searched her eyes. “You don’t like him,” I replied with a groan.
“I like him just fine,” she corrected me. “So do you, it seems. But you’re not into him, Lauren.”
“I’m trying to be,” I told her, my brow narrowing defensively. I folded my arms over my chest and stared down at the heavy oak table.
“I know. Remember when I went out with Steve?”
“Yes,” I groaned again. I knew exactly where she was steering the conversation.
Steve was one of our friends at Harvard. He had a desperate crush on Kennedy, which she used to her advantage when she was trying to distance herself from Jackson.
“Remember what you said to me when I insisted I could learn to love him?”
I nodded and stirred my coffee again. “I told you it wasn’t fair to either of you.”
“And how is this different?” she pressed.
I sighed and spent a few moments considering her question. “Because I’m older and wiser than you were back then. I really do like Eric, Kennedy. He’s easy to be around, he makes no demands on me, and I know he’d never screw around behind my back.”
“Those are all wonderful traits,” she agreed. “But they’re not reason enough to be with someone. Jackson told me he saw you talking to another man last night… a wealthy, sexy man.”
My cheeks flushed hot as Asher’s smile flashed through my mind.
“I knew it! You liked him. Tell me all about it.”
“It was nothing, really,” I insisted. “I was studying one of the paintings and he came up behind me. We talked about the show for a few minutes, and then the guys walked up. That was it.”
“I don’t believe you.” She shook her head and stared across the table, her eyes determined. “I didn’t get a good look at him last night, but I googled him after Jackson told me he saw you with him. That’s one good looking man, Lauren. The two of you would have gorgeous babies.”
“Thinking about babies, are we?” I teased, trying to turn the conversation back to her.
“I’ve been thinking about babies since my honeymoon. And I’m going to continue thinking about them until I’ve established my practice and actually have time to have one.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Don’t try to distract me. What else did you and the elusive billionaire talk about last night? Jackson said you were blushing when he found you. I know you weren’t talking about art.”
I sighed and reluctantly told her about Asher’s invitation to the diner.
“I hate that you had to turn him down,” she gasped when I finished the story. “See, this is exactly what I was talking about. If you weren’t trying so hard to make yourself love Eric, you could have gone with Asher last night. You missed out on a chance with an attractive, successful man you have real chemistry with.”
Damn it. She actually has a point.
“You know I’m right.”
“I know,” I relented with a frown. “I’ll find a way to let Eric down easy.”
Her face was a mask of sympathy. “I know it will be hard. But the longer you wait, the more it’s going to hurt him,” she warned.
“I’ll find a way to end things,” I promised.
Jackson stepped into the coffee shop and made his way to our table. “I hate to tear you away from each other, but the car’s all packed and the driver is waiting.”
Kennedy and I sighed in unison and slid out of the booth. We wrapped each other in a hug and Kennedy turned her lips to my ear.
“Things have a way of working out for the best, Lauren. Do the right thing with Eric. Who knows? Fate may reward you by putting Asher in your path again.”
CHAPTER 2
After Kennedy and Jackson left the city, I spent a lazy Sunday alone in my apartment, eating take-out and trying to dig up information on Asher Reynolds. It had struck me as odd when Kennedy referred to him as elusive, until I did an internet search of my own. Asher had been mentioned in more than his share of tech industry articles, but he’d never given a direct interview. The only picture of him online showed him with much lighter skin and much shorter hair. No one seemed to know anything about where he came from or what he’d done before developing the Real Play.
I was frustrated by my fruitless search, but I didn’t have much time to dwell on Asher Reynolds. Deacon gave notice at the museum the following day, sending the curating department into a frenzy. Everyone on the chain of command hoped for a promotion and ass kissing ran rampant through the office. I had no interest in taking on more responsibility at the museum, so I kept my head down and tried to stay out of the chaos.
By Wednesday, word started to spread that David Hollis would be promoted to Deacon’s position. David was the one person at the museum who seemed to have a problem with me, but I’d never really understood why. I was considering all of the ways his promotion could affect my job when my phone vibrated in my pocket, startling me back to reality. I answered, even though I didn’t recognize the number.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Lauren. This is Ash.”
I was struck dumb with shock.
“We met Saturday at Mission Art,” he pressed.
“Yes, of course,” I stammered. “Hello, Ash. How did you get my number?”
“I asked around. I understand that you’re involved at the moment, but I was hoping to speak to you about a business proposition involving the museum. I have a terrible habit of overbuying, and I could stand to get rid of quite a few pieces. I’m interested in donating them to the museum’s permanent collection.”
“Well, that would be wonderful, Ash. But I’m afraid I’m not really the person to talk to about it. If you want, I can put you in contact with the head of our acquisitions department.”
“I’d rather deal directly with you,” he insisted. “Look Lauren, let’s drop the pretenses. Given you’re a smart woman, I assume you’ve figured out who I am?”
“Yes,” I confessed, relieved to have the truth in the open.
“Then you’re bound to have noticed I like my privacy. I consider myself to be an excellent judge of character. You don’t seem like the type of person who’d lead the press to my door or plant surveillance bugs under my coffee table.”
I couldn’t help it, I laughed. “You’ve had that happen?” I asked, grinning into the phone.
“You’d be surprised at what I’ve dealt with. If you’re available, I’ll be home later this evening. I’d prefer to send a car for you instead of giving you my address. Please, don’t take offense.”
“I understand. My best friends are… well, they have a lot in common with you. I can be available around seven this evening, if you’d like to send your car to my apartment. Do you need the address?”
“Will you be creeped out if I say no?” he asked, a hint of a tease in his voice. I did my best to remain collected and professional.
“I don’t suppose so. I assume it was listed along with my phone number, wherever you found that.”
“You suppose correctly. I apologize for my directness, but…”
“No apologies necessary, Mr. Reynolds. Thank you for considering us for the donation. I’ll see you this evening.”
I ended the call and slid the phone into my pocket, my heart racing.
Asher Reynolds just asked me over to his house. I can’t believe this.
I took a series of deep breaths, desperate to calm myself down. The first time Asher smiled at me, I felt a spark. After his phone call, I knew he’d felt it too. There was no real reason for anyone from the museum to view the paintings before donation. Asher could have simply had them appraised and delivered. He wanted to see me. And I returned the sentiment so much it scared me a little.
I could be reading too much into this. I’ll go home, change into something casual but conservative, and act professionally when I get there. He knows I’m involved with someone. Which means I can’t flirt with him at all, or I’ll come across as a cheater. I’m still not completely sure I should end things with Eric. I can’t go losing my head just because the guy went to the slight trouble of finding my contact info.
I spent the last three hours of work trying to convince myself that I wasn’t interested in Asher Reynolds. When it was finally time to clock out, I raced home and threw open my closet door.
Time to pull out another one of Kennedy’s presents. I can’t remember if I had it cleaned after my museum interview. Please, please let it be clean.
My hands fell on plastic and I let out a sigh of relief. I pulled the custom tailored Dolce and Gabbana suit from the closet and pulled it from the dry cleaner bag. I was determined to look and act like a representative of the museum. Anyone else in my position would wear their best clothes to the home of a billionaire benefactor. And I knew I’d feel more confident if I dressed for the role I was so determined to play.
I took a quick shower, folded my hair into a tight bun, and brushed on a light layer of makeup. I took my time getting dressed and then paced the loft, waiting for Asher’s driver. When my intercom buzzed, I grabbed my purse and told the driver I’d be right down. A short, bald man greeted me on the front stoop and offered me his hand.
“Ms. Matthews, my name is Gabe. Mr. Reynolds asked that I bring you to his estate.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Gabe. Please, call me Lauren. Thanks for the ride.”
“My pleasure,” he replied. He led me to a nondescript beige Honda.
“The less fancy the car, the less likely anyone will be to follow,” he explained, reading the surprise on my face.
“That makes sense.”
Gabe held open the back door and I slid onto the leather seat. A few moments later, he took his place behind the steering wheel.
“Would you like to listen to any particular type of music?”
“Whatever you want to listen to is fine with me,” I insisted.
He nodded and turned up the volume. The riff of a classic rock song filled the car and I leaned back against my seat. I was grateful Gabe seemed comfortable with silence. I was too nervous to make polite conversation.
I wasn’t surprised when Gabe turned the car toward Silicon Valley. I knew Asher’s company headquarters were there and he seemed like the type of man who liked to keep careful watch on what was his.
I stared out the window and watched the city pass by. I had no idea where we were going or how long it would take to get there, and it struck me that I probably should have asked more questions. But I was already in too far to turn around, so I willed myself to relax.
After navigating a long stretch of highway, Gabe took an exit ramp and turned onto a mountain road. After about ten minutes, he turned onto a narrower, tree canopied road and announced we were almost to the estate. I steadied myself, determined to appear unfazed by Asher’s wealth. But all pretense of my composure dissolved when we pulled up to a twelve-foot concrete wall with a solid steel security gate.
What the fuck is this?
Some sort of security box was mounted on a metal arm near the gate. Gabe slowed to a stop and rolled down his window. A security camera turned in the box and the gate swung open. He drove through and I sat on the
edge of my seat, anxious to get my first look at Asher’s top secret home. Instead, all I saw was trees and an enormous manicured lawn.
Gabe continued for what had to be another half mile and finally, the house came into sight. It was a sprawling modern ranch, smaller than I’d expected but still five times as big as my childhood home in Sonoma Valley. The house was a blend of industrial and rustic design, with exposed beams, lots of windows, and a metal roof that made me long to curl up with a book during a thunderstorm. Asher was on the wide front porch waiting when Gabe pulled up to the front door.
“I’ll be right here when you’re ready to leave,” he promised.
“Thank you, Gabe. Again, it was nice to meet you.”
Asher opened my door and offered me his hand. “Lauren, I appreciate you coming out with such short notice. I trust you had an easy trip?”
I accepted his hand, but dropped it as soon as my feet hit the driveway.
“Yes, thank you for sending Gabe. I’m not sure I could have found this place, even with directions. And I’m certain I’d have been intimidated and turned around at that wall,” I confessed.
A light blush filled Asher’s cheeks. “I’m afraid the security is necessary. Please, come inside. I’ll show you the pieces I’ve decided to part with.”
He pushed open the thick birch door and I stepped inside, surprised as my eyes fell on the relatively simple home. The house had no formal entryway, opening instead to the large, open concept kitchen and living area. Plush cream rugs sat on top of sleek birch floors, and understated leather furniture was arranged in front of a trio of massive flat-screens.
“You seem… underwhelmed,” Asher observed with a grin.
“I guess after the wall outside, I expected to find some sort of castle. Don’t get me wrong, your house is beautiful.”
“It’s just not what you expected,” he finished. “I don’t need a lot of space and I abhor the thought of live-in help. If I’d built over two thousand square feet, I wouldn’t be able to keep up with the cleaning.”
He’s got to be kidding. He’s a millionaire that does his own vacuuming. I doubt even Kennedy could say that.
