by Karen Booth
“I thought I talked too much about me. That’s basically what you said ten minutes ago.”
“But what about your childhood? Your upbringing? You don’t talk much about that at all. What were you like as a child?” He could imagine Astrid as the ingenue, sweet and girly, wearing pink dresses and dreaming up fantastical ideas in her head.
“I don’t really like to talk about myself as a little girl. I did not have an easy childhood.”
This was not something he’d anticipated. Astrid’s generosity had made him assume that she’d had an easy upbringing and a nurturing home life. Where else could that have come from? And to think he’d always assumed they had little to nothing in common. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
She turned to him and he stole a quick glance, then returned his eyes to the road. Even in that split second, he saw an ocean of vulnerability in her eyes. It only made him want to save her from whatever hurt was bottled up inside her. “No. I will tell you. It’s only fair, since you told me about Delia.” She cleared her throat and wrapped her arms around her waist. “I am the youngest of six kids and the only girl in the family. I spent my entire childhood trying to get the attention of my father and brothers, but all they wanted to do was to push me aside to keep me safe.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad. It’s natural for anyone to want to protect the most vulnerable member of the family. As the youngest and the only girl, I’m sure they saw you that way.”
“I didn’t want to spend my life on a high shelf, like a china teacup. All I ever wanted was to be included.” She went on to explain that she used to dress like her brothers, in jeans and sweatshirts, and she begged them to let her play football with them. Her mother, who had wanted a sixth child only so they could try for a girl, had been hoping she could finally have a heavy dose of feminine trappings in the household after years of being the only woman, but Astrid wanted nothing to do with it. It caused friction with all members of the family.
“A lot of times, I felt like an intruder in my own home. I never belonged,” she said, again shifting in her seat. “And that extended to school. The boys thought I was ugly and only a few of the girls wanted to be my friend.”
“Ugly? You have got to be kidding.” There wasn’t an un-beautiful bone in Astrid’s body. She was nothing less than pure grace and refinement, like she’d walked out of a portrait in a museum. “You must have just gone through an awkward phase. That happens to everyone.”
“Until I was eighteen? That’s a long time.”
“What happened when you turned eighteen?”
“I went to university and figured out that if I stopped hiding under bulky sweaters, boys would pay attention to me.”
Clay swallowed, finding it hard to get past the tightness in his throat. The thought of her revealing herself in the interest of drawing the male gaze did something to him. “But you became a model. You walked runways and were on the covers of magazines, right? That must have felt like a triumph. You showed them all that they were wrong.”
She sucked in a deep breath and cast her sights out the window. “Maybe. But it didn’t change who I was for all of the years before that happened. I still feel like that awkward girl a lot of the time.”
“Even now?” If only she could see the way he saw her—flawless and composed. A woman to be admired, and quite possibly reckoned with.
“Even now.” Astrid shifted in her seat again. “Honestly, your sister made me feel like that at first. It was hard to be around her and know that she was ultimately what my ex-husband wanted, all because I had fallen short of his expectations.”
“Miranda was also robbed of her future with Johnathon, so I don’t know how much there is in her situation to envy.”
“She has his baby. That’s no small thing.” Astrid’s voice cracked, and Clay felt as though the earth had shifted beneath him. The heartache Miranda had told him about was very real. And against his better judgment, there was a big part of him that wanted nothing more than to take all of it away.
* * *
Astrid swallowed back the emotion of her admission. Being vulnerable with Clay was far more difficult than it was with any other person she’d ever known. His tough outer shell was not only familiar, it was impenetrable. She knew the way he dismissed weakness and feelings as nothing more than a nuisance. She hoped he didn’t think any less of her because she’d been willing to open up. The desire to keep him thinking the best of her was a strong one, with a fiercely beating heart and a need to survive. “We don’t need to talk about me anymore. I want to know how you’re feeling about tonight.”
He noticeably tightened his grip on the steering wheel. It was another chance to admire his hands, just like she often found herself doing when they were in the office together. She especially loved to watch them in motion when he sketched up ideas before working them out on the computer. He openly admitted to being old-school and preferring paper and pencil to a mouse and a monitor. Just the thought of him employing some of that artistry and brilliance when putting his hands on her body was enough to make Astrid shudder. She couldn’t imagine him ever wanting her like that.
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a little bit nervous. But I already told you that I would be.”
“You must feel some certainty that you’re going to win.”
“I know nothing of the sort. The field of nominees is exceptionally talented. Men and women I deeply admire.”
“I still think you’ll win. And I think you know that, too.” She didn’t believe for a moment that he didn’t know his own excellence.
“I don’t.”
“You’re so confident. Everything you do at work is exact and deliberate. I often wonder how you can spend your whole day being so sure of yourself.” It was the absolute truth and it amazed her that he might not actually see it. Astrid would have done anything to have one-tenth of the confidence he did.
“I am sure of my work. But that doesn’t make it the best. It’s only my best.” He shrugged and exited the highway. Soon they were on Hollywood Boulevard, and then in the thick of Beverly Hills, with its wide boulevards and endless stream of luxury cars. This was a familiar landscape for Astrid. She had moved to Los Angeles after the grind of living in New York got to her. She’d yearned for wide open spaces and sunshine. Little had she known that she should have gone to San Diego for that. In LA, she’d mostly gotten bad traffic and fewer modeling jobs. But it was also where she met Johnathon, so she couldn’t regret the move she’d made. It not only led her to the romance she’d never thought she would have, he opened up her whole world. Johnathon was fantastic at showing her the possibilities in life.
Clay pulled up in front of the Essex Beverly Hills Hotel. The bellman rushed to open Astrid’s door as the valet rounded to Clay’s side of the car. Astrid waited while he handed over the keys, then joined him as they walked inside. Astrid had stayed at five-star hotels all over the world, but it didn’t make the lobby any less glamorous or beautiful, with a true old Hollywood feel. She loved being here with Clay, although what she really wanted to know was what it might be like to arrive with him, holding hands, as his partner. Instead, she was the tagalong, the woman who had been instructed by the company to attend.
They were greeted at the check-in desk by a female clerk who was, in Astrid’s estimation, exceptionally pretty. Astrid couldn’t help but notice that this didn’t seem to register on Clay’s radar. The realization made her feel a bit better about her own failure to capture his attention. Perhaps he was so focused on everything else in his life that women weren’t even a passing thought. Was that because of his daughter’s mother? Despite not knowing the full story of Clay’s past, she thought there seemed to be considerable pain in that part of his life.
She wanted to know more. She longed to know it all, to at least have all of the pieces of the puzzle that was Clay Morgan so s
he could try to assemble them. The next twenty-four hours might be the only true chance she had to crack open his hard exterior and get to the root of what made him tick. She knew what he was like in the office—all business. And at most social events, at least back in San Diego, he was as distant from her as she could imagine. This was her window. If only he would let her in.
The clerk clacked away at her keyboard, then cocked her head to one side. “Mr. Morgan, I see you have a two-bedroom suite on your reservation. Is that correct?”
“No. It should be two rooms. Separate rooms.”
The clerk returned to her computer, shaking her head from side to side. “I’m sorry, but I only see one room on your reservation, sir. It’s a beautiful suite with two separate bedrooms and bathrooms. Will that be suitable? I’m afraid the rest of the hotel is booked for the state architecture commission’s annual awards.”
“Yes, I know that. That’s why I’m here.” He blew out an exasperated breath.
He was frustrated and Astrid saw no reason for it, other than his regular requests to be far away from Astrid. “It’s fine, Clay. Really. It’s fine. I’ll stay on my side of the suite. You won’t have to worry about me.”
He turned to her with a pained expression on his face. “That’s not what I’m saying. This just isn’t what I expected.”
“I’m very sorry, sir. The hotel will send up a bottle of champagne as a way of apologizing,” the clerk said, offering two key cards.
“I don’t think we need champagne.”
“We do need the champagne. Thank you very much.” Astrid took the cards from the woman. “Can you point us to the elevators?”
“Opposite side of the lobby.”
“Thank you.”
Astrid wasn’t about to wait for Clay so he could further tell her why he was so disappointed to learn they’d been booked in the same room. He caught up with her at the elevator bank.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just don’t do well with surprises. And I guess the stress of the award show feels more real now that we’re here.”
Astrid slowly drew a breath through her nose, silently begging the universe for strength. “I understand. It’ll all be fine.” The elevator dinged and she stepped on board.
Clay and Astrid rode up to the top floor of the hotel. They wound their way around to their room, which was tucked away at the far end of the hall. Clay waved the key in front of the electronic lock and the light shined green. He opened the door, but held it for Astrid to enter first. She gladly accepted the chivalrous act from him. It felt like one of the few times he’d admitted that she was a woman and he was a man.
The room was just as elegant as the lobby downstairs, with a generous living area decorated in a color scheme of warm gold and cool gray with accents of black and white. “They’ve done a lovely job with the Hollywood Regency decor,” she said. “It’s all quite accurate to the period, as near as I can tell. Of course, I’m no expert. What do you think?”
“Do you know about Regency from when you lived in Los Angeles?”
Astrid set down her purse and padded over to the window to take in the view of the pool area below, ringed by palm trees, the water a pure blue. Now that it was fall, there were only a few guests sunning themselves in the slightly cooler temperatures. “I’ve been studying at night. I want to understand the art and architecture side of what we do at Sterling.”
“Really?”
“Why? Does that surprise you?”
“To be honest, it does.”
Astrid shot him a pointed glance. He looked so perfect, standing there with his hands stuffed into his pockets. All she wanted to do was to kiss him, if only to gather a few more pieces of the Clay Morgan puzzle. What would it be like? Would he want the same things she did? The questions sometimes kept her up at night. “I can’t always get to sleep. So I spend time researching these things. And I am truly interested. I know that you do more than design buildings to make money. I know you put a lot of attention into the process. I just want to understand how much.”
He nodded, and Astrid scanned his face for some sign that she was softening him, but there was no real indication things were moving in that direction. “Well, good. I’m glad you’re taking things at work so seriously.”
“Does that make you feel like we might be better suited to work together than you previously thought?”
He pressed his lips together tightly. “The jury is still out on that. We’re very different people.”
Astrid felt as though everything with Clay was two steps forward, two steps back—the world’s most frustrating cha-cha. “Sometimes different is good. It helps to see more than one point of view.”
There was a knock at the door, giving Clay his excuse to take a break from their conversation. It was one bellman with their bags, and another wheeling a room service cart with champagne on ice, two glasses, and a plate of strawberries. If only she and Clay were there for romantic reasons...the mood would have been perfectly set.
Clay tipped the bellmen, then went to take their two hanging bags.
“Let me hang these for you,” the bellman said. “The longer one is quite heavy.”
“Heavy?” Clay asked.
Astrid waved the man in her direction, deciding she would take the bedroom on the farthest side of the suite. “Gowns are not light.”
“I hope you didn’t bring anything too extravagant,” Clay called after her.
As if she needed more confirmation that he wanted her to stay buttoned up, professional, and platonic. “Trust me,” she answered. “It’s the exact right amount of extravagant.”
The bellman snickered as he hung the garment bag in the closet for her. “Anything else I can do for you, ma’am?”
“Not unless you can figure out how to get my roommate to loosen up.”
“The champagne?”
“Not a bad idea.” Astrid led the way back into the living room and the bellmen departed, leaving Astrid and Clay all alone in their exquisite surroundings. She beelined for the bubbly. “A drink to take the edge off before we get dressed and head downstairs?”
Clay nearly lunged for the bottle, grasping her hand to stop her from peeling back the foil. “No. It’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?” She peered up at his handsome face, trying not to fixate on the tempting slack in his lower lip as he tried to stop her or the way the warmth from his hand was sending shockwaves through her.
“Champagne is for celebrating. I’d rather save it for later.”
Astrid waited for a heartbeat or two, then plunged the bottle back into the ice bucket. “Fine.” She would not let this development ruin her evening. Later sounded vaguely promising. She’d cling to whatever hope she could.
Five
Clay didn’t like to worry. It was a waste of time and energy, especially when he found himself doing it over things he couldn’t control, like the Architect of the Year awards. “You can’t do a thing about it. Relax,” he said to himself in the mirror as he straightened his bowtie.
But I care about this. Thus he was stuck in what felt like an endless cycle of unease. As much as he didn’t care about other people’s opinions, and was confident in his work, there was this part of him that needed the validation of the award. With little to no parental guidance as a kid, he’d spent his entire life without a stamp of approval from anyone, except perhaps Miranda. Their grandmother certainly hadn’t provided it. If anything, she’d treated the two of them as a burden. He wanted this accolade. He’d worked so hard to get it.
He took a cleansing breath, determined to shake off his unsettled feelings. He just needed to get through the next few hours until they announced the winner. Then he’d deal with whatever had happened. And for now, perhaps it was best to focus on his next challenge: facing Astrid and whatever maddening dress she’d chosen for tonight.
He opene
d the door to his room and strode out into the central living area of their suite. He wasn’t the type to pace, but he found himself doing exactly that, thinking about Astrid in her room...wondering what state of dress, or undress, she might be in. He swallowed hard, realizing what an additional test this would be, spending the evening with Astrid when he was admittedly already weak. It was creating a whole new layer of trepidation within him, one that he felt physically. Yes, she was there for moral support. Nothing else. But if he was being honest, he wanted more.
For the time being, he needed a drink to soothe his ragged edges. He should have taken Astrid’s suggestion that they open the champagne an hour ago, but he hadn’t. He’d made the excuse that it was for celebrating, when in reality he saw it as too romantic. Now, he could easily imagine the repercussions of opening it without her. She’d be mad. So instead, he went for a bottle of good bourbon from the well-stocked bar. Clay unscrewed the top and poured a healthy dose into a cut crystal glass. It was nearly to his lips when he heard Astrid’s door open behind him. He turned, and the instant he saw her, the only logical reaction was to toss back his drink. The whole thing. One gulp.
“Thirsty?” Astrid asked.
He nodded eagerly, unable to peel his eyes from the vision of her. She was nothing short of pure elegance in a deep blue dress that showed off her beauty in a way that nothing she’d ever worn to work could possibly do. The gown clung to her upper arms, flaunting her sculpted shoulders and dewy skin. The neckline was understated, but dipped low enough to drive him crazy, accentuating the swell of her bust. It took too little effort for his mind to sketch in the hidden details of her breasts, the fullness and what they might feel like in his hands. Her long and graceful neck was adorned with a single gleaming gem in a square cut hanging from a chain.
“Is that a diamond?” he asked, fighting for his voice to reach full volume.
Her slender fingers found the stone. Something about seeing her touch herself made the tension in his hips grow even tighter. “It is. It was a gift from Johnathon. I couldn’t bear to part with it, even after the divorce.”
