by A. S. Green
Now I look at him, and I wish I hadn’t. His sleepy gray eyes look genuinely concerned. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to flake.”
Fenton is leaning against the bar now. He flinches, then reaches into his pants pocket, retrieving his phone. “Hello?”
He pulls his hand away from his face, frowns at the blank screen, then slips the phone inside the breast pocket of his tuxedo. Jax and I both give audible sighs. It seems neither of us were too keen on me putting my hand in Fenton’s pants.
Jax gives my arm one more gentle squeeze of encouragement, then leaves to mingle with the other guests.
Chapter Nineteen
Natalie
“Are you enjoying your visit to Chicago?” asks a smooth baritone voice too close to my ear.
Startled, I turn quickly and slosh a little wine over the side of my hand. I raise it to my mouth and suck it off. Fenton’s eyes focus on that action. I hadn’t meant for it to be seductive, but—what the hell—whatever works.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, regathering myself. “I mean, yes. It’s a bit overwhelming, of course. I’m not used to how much there is of everything.”
“Really?” he says, sounding surprised. His eyes drop to my chest, then slowly drag back to my face. “I thought you were from Toronto.”
“Charlie’s from Toronto,” I say, a bit louder than necessary, though Jax is staying close. He said to stick as much to the truth as possible, so that’s what I’m going to do. “But I’m from northern Minnesota. Tall trees I know. Tall buildings, not so much.”
Fenton laughs and steps into me. My eyes dart to Jax, who seems to give me a nod even though he’s talking to Janet Feinstein. Right. This naive, small-town-girl card might play well. I decide to go with it.
“Charlie and I recently met up at a family wedding, and when he said he was going to Chicago for a couple days, I practically begged him to bring me along. I don’t get the chance to dress up very often.”
“Well, you do it very well.” His eyes go to my chest again, and my skin crawls.
“That’s so sweet of you to say.” I will myself to step in closer.
“It wasn’t hard to say,” he says, and I laugh, letting my hand brush his sleeve. I can see the slight outline of his phone inside his jacket. Jax said we should wait until after we eat, but maybe I could—
“Everyone,” Mrs. Halderman announces, “dinner is served.”
Fenton looks annoyed by the disruption, but as we walk to the dining room, I take the opportunity to get some distance and steady my nerves.
Jax sidles in close. “It looks like it’s going well so far.”
“He has no idea what color my eyes are, but…”
“But what?”
“He could waltz into Victoria’s Secret and buy me a bra that would fit like a glove.”
“Bastard,” Jax says, and his voice sounds tight.
He eyes Fenton as if he’d like to take him out back and throttle him. Interesting. Wouldn’t help our assignment much, though, and before I can give it another thought, Jax’s face has returned to its charming mask.
We find our seats marked by place cards written in elegant calligraphy. As chance (or Jax’s manipulation) would have it, Fenton is seated to my right.
“Lucky me,” Fenton says in a deep, suggestive tone, and I give him what I hope looks like a sexy smile rather than a grimace. “I was hoping we could pick up our conversation where we left off.”
“The fates must be in our favor tonight, Mr. Fenton.” I sound completely fake, but he seems to buy it.
“John. Please. Call me John, Natalie.”
“All right, John.”
Jax is across the table from me, seated between Mrs. Halderman and one of the wives. He’s watching Fenton closely, and his mouth is set in a firm line. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was jealous of Fenton sitting so close.
Wishful thinking, Nat. I take a sip of wine, wishing that it was Jax’s knee that was not-so-accidentally rubbing against mine. Keep focused.
Dinner is served: salad, followed by a juniper-roasted duck and baked plums. It’s okay, but maybe I can convince Jax to make a bacon cheeseburger run later.
The conversation tapers off as everyone eats. Now and then, someone comments on local politics, or a new commercial development in the suburbs, or their luxury condo in the Keys. Fenton is left-handed and his elbow keeps brushing against me. It seems like a well-practiced move.
As we are finishing our meal and Janet Feinstein’s husband launches into another not-fascinating story about his recent trip to Luxembourg, Jax takes control of the conversation. “Tell me about the architecture of the house, Mrs. Halderman. We don’t see many stone houses like this in Toronto.”
Mrs. Halderman looks pleased to have someone finally move the conversation to why we’re all here. “It’s Romanesque revival,” she says.
“The house really is lovely,” Mrs. Sharif says. “Why isn’t it registered for preservation?”
Mrs. Halderman opens her mouth, but Fenton butts in. “The original owner did nothing of historical importance.” The alcohol on his breath is so strong it makes me lean back.
Fenton leans in to the table to make eye contact with those seated at the far end. “On top of that, in the 1960s, they enlarged the kitchen. Modernized. The National Register of Historic Places tends to frown on that.”
Fenton puts his hand on my knee and strokes it with his thumb. That takes some serious balls, and Natalie Ridgeway has to convince the real me not to punch him in the throat.
“True,” Mrs. Halderman says, “but that modern kitchen you speak of, which was redone again only a year ago, is what allows us to host dinners and conferences in a beautiful and unique setting that brings our guests back to the golden age.”
“We’re in a new golden age,” Mr. Comb-Over says. “Sometimes the old has to give way for the new. Progress! I, for one, intend to leave a legacy, leave my mark on this city.”
I let out a groan, thinking of how our own city council back on Little Bear Island wanted to tear down Calloway’s lighthouse for the sake of progress.
“I’m sorry, dear,” Mrs. Halderman says. “Did you say something?”
Jax gives me a pointed look that tells me I should probably stay quiet.
“Oh. No, I’m sorry,” I say. “Don’t mind me.”
“You did,” Mrs. Comb-Over says. “What did you say, dear?”
I glance around the table, my eyes finally landing on her husband. “It’s just that I can’t say that I agree with you, sir.”
The men around the table start chuckling. Their wives are staring at me intently. The corners of Jax’s mouth twitch.
“And why’s that?” Mr. Comb-Over asks.
“Well, I’m Charlie’s cousin by…um…marriage only, and I grew up in a small town. It’s on an island actually, and people rarely leave. Normally that makes me feel like I’m missing out, but listening to this conversation makes me sad. It’s important to have connections—not just to the future, but to the past. To people.”
“Are you suggesting I don’t have connections?” Mr. Comb-Over asks. “I can assure you—”
“You’re building all these great things,” I say, trying to appease him, at least temporarily. “You think they’ll be your legacy. But someday you’ll be gone, too, like the architect of this place, and like Mr. Lenz, for that matter.”
Mr. Comb-Over’s face goes blank. His wife looks down at her plate, and there’s some nervous laughter from the far end of the table.
“When’s the last time you had your cholesterol checked?” Mr. Weak Chin jabs. “Your days may be numbered, Conrad.”
I swallow and continue. “The architect…and Mr. Lenz…they both died believing this house was their legacy. I think it’s important that you see your city—past, present, and future—as one thing. Each part dependent upon the other. Like a family.”
Mrs. Halderman looks like she wants to leap across the table and hug me.
; “Well, I can’t say I like the idea of someone, a hundred years from now, tearing down my legacy,” Mr. Comb-Over says, but only half seriously. He’s grinning like he doesn’t know whether he’s amused or unsettled.
“No, sir,” I say as the staff comes in to clear our plates.
“People are attracted to history,” his wife says.
“You attract people, you attract money, you attract growth,” says Mrs. Sharif.
“Plus, you don’t want to ruin a habitat,” I mutter.
“What’s that?” Mrs. Halderman asks.
Jax looks down at his plate and tries to hide a smile.
“Um…habitat. I’m just saying it’s like when you drain the wetlands. The animals move out. The rabbits head for my mom’s garden, and the coyotes end up stealing Mrs. Tremblay’s pomeranian right out of her backyard. If you tear this place down, you destroy Mr. Lenz’s natural habitat.”
“Excuse me?” Janet Feinstein asks. She turns to her husband. “What did she say?”
Mrs. Halderman smiles at me like she knows I’m not far off base. Yeah, I knew Ghost Hunters wouldn’t come here for nothing.
I look over my shoulder at the windows and think out loud. “I suppose, if you tear this place down, Mr. Lenz’s ghost could move into the office building next door… I heard you own that building,” I say, turning to Mr. Weak Chin. “Is that right?”
The table erupts in laughter again, but it’s at Mr. Weak Chin’s expense.
“We wouldn’t want that,” Mr. Sharif says.
“Apparently,” says Mr. Comb-Over, “we have quite a lot to discuss, ladies and gentlemen.”
The waitstaff appears with a tray of dessert plates. Smaller conversation groups break out around the table, and I’m glad when the spotlight swings from me to the tiramisu.
“That was quite the speech,” Fenton says.
Now that I’ve replayed it in my head, I wonder what Jax is thinking. “I didn’t mean to make myself the center of attention.”
“You’ve been that all night.” He’s turned nearly halfway in his chair now. His knees press against the side of my leg, and I remember what I’m supposed to be doing.
“So…um…tell me, John. What is your part in all of this? Do you want to tear Mr. Lenz’s house down?”
Desserts are placed in front of us. I pick up my fork but do nothing with it because, as much as I want it, I’m supposed to be more interested in Fenton’s opinion.
“I’m an architect and an investor, so I could go either way on this old place. It’s all about the bottom line.”
“An architect? You design buildings?”
His eyes crinkle at the corners. He’d really be quite handsome if he wasn’t such a cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater. “That I do.”
“Are they the tall kind like here in the city?”
“Some of them.” His body sways toward mine.
“What is it with men and their obsession with the phallic?” I ask, keeping my voice low and suggestive, playing the part. Still, I cringe at my own forwardness. I’m being as subtle as a sledgehammer, but Fenton is an idiot. He takes the bait and leans in closer.
“Who wants to keep that kind of talent under wraps?” he asks, giving me a lewd smirk.
Well, that was easy. He picked up my suggestion like a penny off the sidewalk. Someone thinks he’s getting lucky. My eyes lock with Jax. He looks so tense I swear I can hear him growl in my head.
I swallow and turn toward Fenton, who’s taking a drink of water. “I wish I could see some of that talent. Do you have any pictures?”
Fenton chokes. “Of my talent?”
“Of your buildings,” I say, giving him a bit of a teasing eye roll.
He grins like he’s enjoying our game. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his phone. “Your wish, my command.”
I pull in close as he opens his photo files.
“This is the Holt Building.” He shows me a forty-or-so-story office tower with angular appendages that make it look like a giant insect. He flips to the next photo. “And this is called Twin Bridges. It’s inspired by London Bridge.”
“Oh. I’ve never been to London. Can I take a closer look?” He hands me his phone, and I zoom in on the photo.
Just then, there’s a crash of glass and china. Jax stands abruptly, making quite a commotion as his water goblet floods his dessert plate and splashes across the table. Everyone’s attention is on him. Mrs. Halderman and the woman on Jax’s other side grab napkins to soak up the mess. Without a second thought, I slip Fenton’s phone under my armpit. (Why didn’t I insist on a dress with pockets?)
“Would you excuse me?” I ask. “I got splashed. Ladies’ room.” I get up quickly and walk out of the dining room with my arms pinned to my sides while someone calls for a new tiramisu.
I hear Jax tell everyone, “Thank you, but I guess that’s the universe’s way of telling me I don’t need dessert. Sorry for the disruption, ladies.”
I slip into a tiny coat closet and keep the door cracked to watch for Jax. I assume he’s going to make some excuse and follow me out of the dining room. What does he expect me to do with Fenton’s phone?
Jax rounds the corner and, as he walks by, I reach out and grab his arm. He jerks in surprise, then moves us both back inside the closet while closing the door behind us. It’s dark; the only light is from Fenton’s phone until Jax reaches up and pulls the cord for the overhead bulb.
“Was that all right?” I ask. “Did I do okay?”
“Are you kidding? You’re a natural. Now be quiet.” Quick as a wink, Jax pulls something out of his pocket that looks like a tiny flash drive. It has several adapters coming out of its sides. He plugs it into Fenton’s phone, and a little red light starts blinking.
I try to ignore the fact that my body is practically flush with his for the second time today and that my nipples are pebbling through my dress.
“Is it working?”
He doesn’t answer.
“How long does it take?”
The red light goes solid, holds for three seconds, then goes off. Jax unplugs the device and slips Fenton’s phone into his jacket pocket.
“Good work. Now get back in there.”
When I return to my seat, Fenton is eyeing me in a way that makes me nervous.
“Do you still have my phone?”
“What?” I ask, hopefully sounding confused and slightly offended. I glance at Jax as he reenters the dining room. “No.”
“You were looking at the photos.” His words are slightly slurred. “Now I can’t find my phone.”
“Oh, really? That’s weird. I set it on the table by your plate when I left. I—”
Jax sits, then moves his chair closer to the table. As he does so, he pretends to notice something on the floor. He bends over and acts like he’s retrieving something. “Did anyone lose their phone in all the chaos I caused?”
Fenton and I look across the table at him. “He did,” I say to Jax, then I turn to Fenton. “I’m sorry, John. I must have knocked it onto the floor when I stood up.”
Fenton eyes the phone suspiciously. “I thought I—” Then he exhales, reaches across the table, and takes it from Jax. “Thanks. I can’t function these days without it.”
“Perhaps now is a good time to stretch our legs,” Mrs. Halderman says. “The staff is still setting up chairs in the drawing room. We can reconvene there in a few minutes for our video presentation on the restoration plans, as well as the revenue projections that have been compiled by the Maslon Jones firm.”
A young man enters the dining room and passes out glossy packets filled with spreadsheets and brochures.
Fenton pulls out my chair, and when I stand, he hooks his arm through mine. “Would you like an after-dinner drink?” He starts to walk me back to the bar in the other room.
“No, I…” Now that I don’t have a job to do, I’d like to put as much distance between him and me as possible. I sense Jax trying to extricate himself from the peop
le on the opposite side of the table.
“Come on,” Fenton says. “How do you say no to complimentary liquor?”
I yank back on his arm. “I’m suddenly feeling kind of tired, and I probably wouldn’t understand much of the presentation. Numbers aren’t my thing, and my head’s feeling fuzzy.”
“That’s the best kind of feeling,” he says.
“Yeah…not really.”
“You look beautiful in that dress,” he says.
Weird how Jax can say the same words and I want to rejoice. Fenton says them and I want to hurl.
“I’d like to get to know you a little better before the night is over. What room are you staying in?”
“How are you doing, cuz?” Jax is suddenly and thankfully right beside me. He slips his arm behind my back while he narrows his eyes at Fenton.
“Hey, J— Charlie. Pretty tired, actually,” I say, sagging into him for effect. “Must be all that wine.”
“Sit with me,” Fenton says. “I’ll let you rest your head on my shoulder.”
“My cousin will be sitting with me,” Jax says, ending any further discussion on the subject. His sharp tone takes me by surprise. Even Fenton looks a bit stunned before he turns to leave us.
Once he’s gone, I exhale.
Jax squeezes my waist. “Don’t worry. I won’t let that guy near you again.” Then his arm falls away.
Chapter Twenty
Jackson
After the presentation and another hour of back-slapping and plans for more meetings—meetings Charlie Ridgeway will never attend—I escort Natalie up to her room. I tell myself that it’s to make sure Fenton doesn’t follow her, but that’s only part of it. Every minute—every second—I’m with her reminds me of what we once had. Her daring, her sense of adventure, the way she makes me want to laugh…ghost habitats… Fuck. I fight another smile.
“Well,” she says, as we reach her door. Completely oblivious to how she affects me, she turns and gives me her back. “Unzip me, please?”
Thank God her back is turned so she doesn’t see my pained expression. I take a deep breath and slowly lower the zipper, following the line of her spine all the way to the top of her ass. My gut tightens in response to so much soft, creamy skin on display.
