by Dara Girard
Corinne rose to her feet startled. “I thought we had an appointment.”
“Of course we do,” Brett said softening his tone. “I’m talking to him.”
She rushed forward and said in a low voice, “Be nice. He’s a little nervous.”
Brett sighed. “Dad, what have you been telling her?”
She turned to the other man stunned. “Dad?” They looked nothing alike. Like a bear claiming a giraffe as its offspring.
“Nothing,” the older man said, rising to his feet. “And why shouldn’t I be here? I’m only an hour early.”
“You were supposed to come tomorrow,” Brett said.
His father shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, the journey was worth it. I got to meet your delightful event planner.” He rocked on his heels. “And just what kind of event are you two planning, hmm?”
His eyes danced with amusement. He made their relationship sound more intimate than it was. She couldn’t believe how easily he’d been able to trick her and how she’d gushed about his son. He was probably used to it.
“Go home, Dad.”
“You’re sure I can’t help?”
“I’m sure.”
He grinned at Corinne. “That personal thing you were wondering about?” he said, reminding her of their conversation about Brett’s marital status. “He’s not.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Sorry about that,” Brett said in a tone she’d never heard before. He didn’t seem the type who was easily embarrassed, but something about seeing his father had bothered him.
Not as sorry as I am, she wanted to say, her cheeks burning. How could she have been so open about her curiosity about whether Brett was single or not? What if his father told him what she’d said? What if…?
Brett snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes. Sorry.”
He closed the door and motioned to one of the plush seats. For a moment she didn’t move. His office was nothing like she’d expected. Aside from the size, it was a lot larger than she would have guessed, and the desk, which reminded her it was a room used for work, it was designed like an elegant lounge with two bold, colorful abstract paintings hanging on the wood paneled walls, a large potted plant in the corner, a stylish couch and two muted colored, red armchairs. It was a shocking departure from the cool greys, browns and blues of the conference room where she was used to seeing him. This setting seemed more intimate and personal. As if she were seeing another side to him. A man who took pleasure in surprise, aesthetics and design.
He wore the same ice blue suit that he had at their first meeting. But this time she didn’t see a cold unfeeling man who inspired thoughts of glaciers and icecaps. Instead she thought of starlight and cloudless blue skies, things both wondrous and out of reach.
“Take a seat,” he said, “but mind the cats.”
She stared at him not ready to sit down yet. “You have cats?”
He held up two fingers.
“Two?”
He nodded.
“I dreamt that you had two pets.”
He blinked. “You dreamt about me?”
Corinne froze, realizing her mistake. Again?! What was wrong with her today? “No, no of course not. Why would I dream about you?” she said with a laugh. She opened her portfolio and pulled out some papers as an excuse not to look at him. “What I meant was I thought about you having pets because…” She searched her mind for a reason, setting the papers on the armrest on the nearest chair. “Because you asked if I was allergic to cats.”
“Okay.”
She looked around the room and scanned the ground to make sure she wouldn’t step on the cats, but they seemed to be hiding. “What are their names?”
“Martha and Alvin. I have to take one to the vet later and they like coming with me here so...”
She carefully sat down then felt something furry brush against her leg. Before she could look down to see what it was, she heard something land on the wide armrest beside her. She turned and saw two yellowish-green eyes sniffing the air before the cat sat and stared at her. The way the cat studied her reminded her of its owner, she couldn’t guess what it was thinking. Did it want to play? Jump on her? Be petted?
“Sorry about that,” Brett said not sounding very apologetic, “Alvin’s always curious.”
Corinne held out her hand slowly, not wanting to frighten the animal with any sudden moves, so that the cat could smell it. Once he did, the cat seemed satisfied, curled up into a ball and closed its eyes.
“Did you train him to do that?”
Brett sat in a seat facing her. “To sleep? No cats do that on their own.”
She opened her mouth to clarify then decided against it. He really could be aggravating sometimes. She crossed her legs. “Where’s the other one?”
“Somewhere hiding. Martha’s more shy.”
“I’d say she was more polite.” She looked at the sleeping cat, “You’re sleeping on my papers you know.” The indolent cat opened one eye with feline disinterest before it closed it again. She tried to slide the papers out from under it with little success.
Brett snapped his fingers and the cat’s ears twitched. “Come.”
The cat made a disgruntled sound before it stretched its front legs; open its mouth in a wide yawn then stepped down and walked across Corinne’s lap before it jumped to the floor. Alvin sauntered over to Brett and brushed against his leg before disappearing under the desk.
Brett turned his attention to her and said, “Shall we start?”
“Yes,” she said impressed he had managed to train the cat somehow.
She handed him the mockups. “There are two types. Tell me which one you prefer.”
He looked down at the paper choices, placed one on his lap and ran his hand over the front of the other before rubbing the corner between his forefinger and thumb to assess the weight. He did the same with the other paper. “Are you always this attentive to detail?” He lifted his gaze to capture hers. “Or is it just me?”
She’d been caught. He knew. He knew. But he couldn’t know. This had to be business. Professional only. At least until the event was over. “No. I try to make sure that every client is happy with the event I help organize for them.”
He studied her for a moment and she waited to see if he’d let her lie slide. He nodded. “Okay.” He handed her the lighter weighted sample. “I like this one.”
“Great.” She took the papers from him and quickly shoved them in her portfolio. She’d wasted enough of his time and her own. It was time to stop acting on her school girl crush. It would be even worse if his father said anything…No she wouldn’t think about that. The next time she saw Brett would be at the workshop then she’d disappear from his life. “Then that’s everything. Leave the rest to me.”
“That’s it?”
Did he think she’d wasted his time? “Well, yes, I realize you’re a busy man but I thought it was important that you saw the quality of the paper first hand instead of—”
“What are you doing after this?”
“Uh... I will be meeting with the manager at the Cameron Mansion to finalize details.”
“Great.” He stood. “I’ll join you.”
She was supposed to be creating distance not taking him along. “No, you can’t.”
He paused. “Why not?”
“Because...because I sent you a link so that you can take a 3D tour of the mansion online when you have a chance. It’s like your practically there.”
“But it’s not the same as actually being there, is it? A 3D visual does not give me the sights, smells and sounds that I need to really understand what a place is about. How my employees will experience it. I want to see what it’s like firsthand. We’ll take your car since you know where the mansion is.” Brett pulled out his cell phone and then said to the person on the other side, “I’m going out for no more than two hours. Alvin and Martha are in my office. You know what to do. Yes. Yes. Th
anks.” He put the phone away. “Okay, let’s go.”
Chapter Nineteen
He belonged there.
Corinne watched Brett as he walked underneath the large chandelier in one of the expansive ballroom inside the Cameron Mansion with the manager, the manager’s assistant close at hand, to answer any question as they provided a private tour.
But while Corinne found the surroundings spectacular, from the crystal vases to the vast expanse of windows, her gaze never strayed far from him. Brett had not been carefully crafted by human hands like the objects in the mansion, but there was still a remarkable beauty about him. About how he walked, spoke; as if he were always in command even when it didn’t seem like he needed to be. He had presence. She couldn’t understand why a man who was so fascinating to look at would choose to take pictures that hid him in the shadows.
She continued to be completely intrigued and transfixed by the way he moved. Sometimes she even tried to imitate the tilt of his chin and found herself walking straighter; she would modulate her gait and find that she’d become more sure-footed. It was like he had a secret to movement she’d never been taught. Then a thought came to her mind and she finally understood what had captured her. The way he moved wasn’t ordinary. It wasn’t accidental. He moved... “Like a dancer. Were you a dancer?”
It was only when Brett stopped walking halfway across the ballroom that she realized she’d posed her question aloud without meaning to, cutting into the manager’s eloquently verbose speech about the mansion’s amenities.
Brett slowly spun around, it felt like an eternity, and for a moment Corinne could picture him on a stage commanding an audience with that one powerful move.
“Excuse me?”
She waved her hands. “Nothing. It was nothing.” She nodded to the manager. “I’m sorry, please continue.”
The manager sent Brett a nervous glance then hesitantly did so. Brett kept his gaze on her for a long, painful moment before he turned back around and continued walking. Corinne grabbed the front of her blouse and reminded herself to breathe.
This was why she had to stay away from him. Vivian had warned her. He wasn’t someone she could get close to. He had a past. He had boundaries one didn’t cross lightly.
Even if she’d been curious she should have asked him privately not in front of others. Not that there was anything wrong with dancing…
She set the idea aside and listened to the rest of the tour hoping Brett would agree that the mansion was an ideal location and not change his mind like some of her other clients did.
To her relief he didn’t say anything as they walked back to her car. She tried to hurry, but he set the pace, walking with a slow, steadied gait. She didn’t care. She’d survived their final meeting. She’d drop him back at his office. Take a cold shower…
“I heard what you said,” he said in a low voice that seemed to be carried along by the warm April breeze, sending goosebumps skittering along her skin.
“What?”
“In the mansion. I heard what you said. I want to know why you said it.”
She feigned innocence. “I said a lot of things. I don’t know—”
“About dance.”
She sighed defeated. She was caught. She might as well admit it. “I just...wondered if you were a dancer.”
“Why?”
“I think dancers are—”
He slowly blinked and repeated his question with more force. “Why?”
She bit her lip. He was upset and that was the last thing she wanted. “I asked if you danced because I like the way...” She let her words trail off. She couldn’t say “I like the way you move”, that would be inappropriate. “You move so beautifully,” she finished feeling ridiculous. She shouldn’t be watching him that closely anyway. She unlocked her car with the press of her key fob. “I’m sorry, never mind.”
He blinked. “Yes.” He got into the passenger’s side and closed the door.
Yes? Yes, what? Yes, that he used to dance? or Yes, that they should forget she even asked? She bit her lip and got into the driver’s seat.
She stole glances at him on their quiet ride back. He was more composed than usual. Usually he was constantly in motion. Drumming his fingers against his thigh, moving his shoulders, shifting his foot, but now he sat still—stock still—and stared out the window with a fixed expression. Like a wooden statue. Since she’d already come this far she might as well hazard a guess. “Tap, jazz, street dance, ballet?”
He sent her a long look, it wasn’t the scorpion stare Vivian had warned her about, but it had the similar warning as the shake of a rattlesnake’s tail that said Stay Away, before he returned his gaze to the road ahead of them.
She got the message. It had to be the later ‘yes’, the ‘yes’ that meant he wanted her to forget she’d mentioned dancing. His past was off-limits.
“Just for the record, I think dancers are amazing. The discipline and skill; how they push their bodies to the limit.”
“I’m not a dancer,” he said. But somehow she also heard ‘anymore’ and that intrigued her more than if he hadn’t said anything at all, but she knew this was as far as she’d get with him. It wasn’t her place. He was only a client and soon he wouldn’t be. He’d been a nice fantasy.
That’s all her life had been right now. The society had been fun, but it had hardly brought a new man in her life. But after the Quest workshop she hoped she’d get a few good referrals from him.
Brett pulled out his cell phone and began to quickly type something.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said.
He rested the phone down. “Don’t be.”
But she was. She’d broken some fragile bond that they’d had. She’d ruined something good. She pulled in front of his building and parked. “Right. Well...see you next month.”
He looked at her surprised. “Next month?”
“At the workshop.”
He blinked once, then twice before he said, “We don’t need to meet for any...reason?”
“No, this is it. My schedule’s gotten busier and I’m sure yours has too.”
He sent her one of his long, considering looks before he nodded and said, “Okay.”
“Right. Bye.” She waved and drove away, wishing she could leave her feelings of attraction behind just as easily as she could him.
Chapter Twenty
She’d guessed.
How could she have guessed?
Instead of taking the elevator Brett walked up the stairs to his office welcoming the exercise. His body hummed with...damn what was this strange new sensation? Fear? Dread? Shock?
How could she have guessed?!! He’d been very careful in how he separated his past from his present life. He’d lived the life of a civilian, which was how dancers thought of non-dancers.
But somehow she’d seen who he used to be and that terrified him. He’d buried that man years ago. Covered him up with all his dark regrets and secrets and forced himself to forget. He’d changed. He wasn’t that man anymore. He’d created a new image. There was nothing of the passionate, adventurer he used to be. Now his life was about stability, investment, planning for the future.
For nearly a decade his past had been his shadow realm, a place only few people knew about, a place he rarely visited. He’d grown comfortable with the split he’d devised, but Corinne, with one statement, had shoved his two worlds together threatening an explosion.
It was her lack of surprise that troubled him the most. She spoke as if being a dancer and business owner were completely compatible. As if she were sewing up two halves of a man and making him whole. But he wasn’t whole. He knew that more than anyone. She certainly couldn’t know that. But she’d guessed anyway.
That made him feel exposed, vulnerable. He hated that. He wondered if she hated that too. If that was why she hadn’t come up with another reason to see him again. If she’d realized he wasn’t the man she’d thought he was. It had been a risk to show her his office and the cats.
Had he unknowingly revealed hints of his past...?
He reached the fourth floor, turned down the hall and headed towards his office.
He’d miss her, but it was best they parted ways now before he grew too attached. She’d amused him. He’d found her comfortable and refreshing in a world of pretense. But getting attached was dangerous.
“I like her.”
Brett jumped and spun around at the sound of his father’s voice.
His father laughed. “I haven’t been able to startle you like that since you were a kid.”
He scowled, feeling his face burn with both embarrassment and resentment. “What are you still doing here?”
“I have nowhere else to go.”
That was a lie, but he let it pass. He’d managed to come up with a way to put his father’s favorite hobby—knitting—to good use. He now knitted baby booties, caps and blankets for preemies and newborns for two area hospitals and scarves and gloves for a local homeless shelter. Crafting and delivering his creations kept his father busy enough to keep his mother happy, but Brett still invited his father to lunch every now and then just to make sure. Brett headed to his office.
His father followed. “Did you hear what I said?”
“No.”
“I like her.”
“I’m glad for you. She seemed to like you too.”
“That’s interesting.”
Brett opened his office door and walked inside. “What is?”
“That you knew to whom I was referring.”
Brett smirked, remembering his father had been a professor of etymology, a branch of linguistic studies focused on the origin of words. “Is thou sure I knew to whom thou so referred?” he teased him.
His father frowned. “Whom is a real word.”
“Used last century. Few use it that way anymore.”
