Immersed: Book 6 in The Ripple Effect Romance Series (A Ripple Effect Romance Novella)

by Jennifer Griffith

“I’ve missed riding.” The jumps had taken her mind off her big dilemma. Until now. “You really think I should go to this thing? I mean, I told him yes, but I shouldn’t have. And even if I did make good on my promise, what do I have to wear that’s both formal and frump-ola? I can’t be both.”

  “Whoa.” Aunt Corky shook her reins then leaned up in Old Paint’s ear. “Not you. Keep walking, like the Tennessee Walker you are, Paint.” The horse shook its mane, like it understood her, which who knew—it might have. “I meant you whoa, Lisette. In no universe should you go to a formal event like the Miro Awards as your underwhelming self.”

  “What? Go looking normal? That would totally blow my cover.” Erik couldn’t see her as herself. “Other businessmen and women are going to be there. Probably people I’ll recognize.”

  “All the more reason to just be yourself. Your professional reputation is on the line. Think about that.”

  Sigh. But both sides of the argument presented themselves to her. Going looking like her real self, sans wig, sans fluffy sweaters, she’d blow her cover for future potential clients. Her business could totally croak. Once Erik described the event, though, she knew it wasn’t in any way, shape or form a fuzzy sweater affair. It would be the who’s who of Colorado philanthropists and moguls. The business kind—not the ski slope kind.

  “But Erik will be shocked.” Or would he? He had made the “unblemished” comment and laughed. “He won’t trust me.” Lisette needed him to trust her. Why, she didn’t know, but she deeply needed that.

  “Um, I don’t think there’s a guy in the world who’d be concerned about trust when the girl he’s just asked to dinner shows up looking like a blond bombshell. It’s going to be a dream come true for him, not a faith breaker.”

  Truthfully, though, this situation could shake Lisette’s trust in Erik. With some difficulty she expressed that worry to Aunt Corky.

  “How he reacts to me in my normal appearance—it could really rattle my faith in him. In all mankind.”

  “Don’t go getting jaded on me now.” Aunt Corky took Paint into a canter, and Quasar sped up to keep pace. “Let’s beat out all the possibilities. If he sees you and doesn’t even recognize you, then it means he didn’t know about your real look.”

  “But what about those cracks after the snow washed my face?”

  “At that point he was just reacting to your clean face that day.”

  Lisette wasn’t sure that made sense, but she forged on. “Okay, but if he sees me and goes all ‘hubba-hubba,’ I think it also means he didn’t know, and I’m just some delicious surprise. I’m kind of afraid I’ll like him less then.”

  Aunt Corky looked at her and rolled her eyes, as if Lisette expressed some warped view of life. “He’s going to go all ‘hubba-hubba’ regardless. Count on it. Be not offended. But let’s think of the best scenario. What if he just sweeps you into his arms and kisses you?”

  Lisette choked. “In what universe would that be the best scenario?”

  “The universe where we’re telling ourselves the truth.”

  Lisette frowned, not wanting to admit anything. “Well, if that were to happen, I’ll think he knew and was just waiting for me to clean up before he admitted it. I mean, he could’ve found some stray picture of me, stalked me on Facebook or something. But I did make sure I untagged all photos of myself…”

  Aunt Corky admitted to that possibility, and Lisette considered how much it would bother her if he’d refused to give her any sign of affection until she got cute again. She put her heels into Quasar’s side and sped him up at the thought. He took a hedge with good flight, and she gripped the saddle horn as he landed. Erik couldn’t be that cruel. Or improper. She shouldn’t even be considering this scenario. It was wholly unprofessional.

  “But how about if he frowns, like he doesn’t like the change?” Lisette drew up beside Corky again and threw this out, evidence of her greatest insecurity.

  “Get real.” Aunt Corky turned Paint around the curve in the fence line.

  No. This whole thing was a resounding no. She couldn’t. Lisette wasn’t going to ruin months of working incognito just for one dinner date.

  “What about not dating clients? I should call him and remind him about the clause.”

  “It’s not a date. You’ll be on the clock. This is just you, his tutor, accompanying him to a business event, the final of the six week contract. You’ve done dozens of non-dates with him, if I recall.”

  Lisette resisted putting her heels into Quasar. This conversation made her want to run him again, just to get away. “Oh, Aunt Corky. I’m making rookie mistakes right and left. It’s all I can do to think about my job when I’m around him. He’s so… nice.”

  “I’ve seen him. Nice isn’t all he is.”

  “You’ve seen him?”

  “I may have looked him up.”

  Weird. Lisette hadn’t done that herself. Maybe she should have. Maybe she would. “But he is nice.”

  “That shouldn’t be your problem, Z. Nice guys always finish last with you.”

  “What?” But Lisette knew it was true. At least in the past it had been—without exception.

  “What I meant is that you ought to just let go of all these weird hang-ups and go out with the guy. You like him. He’s nice. He’s asking you out. Take a leap. Have a little faith in yourself, in love, in him. He’s got the Villa in Aspen, for heaven’s sake.”

  They reached the gate, and Lisette dismounted to open it.

  “Um, yeah. That’s another thing.”

  “What?”

  “When I saw the Aspen ‘facility?’ I had a Pemberley moment.”

  “Oh. You were like Elizabeth Bennet and saw his beautiful mansion and realized you were in love with him?”

  Lisette buried her face in the crook of her arm against the horse and moaned.

  “Does this make me a shameless gold-digger?” A groan crawled up from the base of her lungs and out her mouth. “I am my mother. I have become her!”

  Aunt Corky rode over and dismounted to pat Lisette on the back. “It’s not that, dear. You’d decided you liked him long before you saw the place.”

  Lisette took a minute to dial back the drama and think it over as she walked her horse to the stable.

  “He did show interest in me despite how I looked.” Lisette didn’t mention the phone call she’d overheard when he’d accidentally dialed her. Now that she knew that Danika wasn’t the subject of the phone call, it complicated things all the more.

  “Exactly.” Aunt Corky sounded vindicated. “And unless I’m mistaken, that’s the very guy you’ve been looking for all this time. Put your hooks into him and don’t let go, Leesey dear. Now, do you still have that deep green vintage gown from your grandmother’s trunk?”

  Lisette stood waiting for him at the outer entrance of the Colorado Chautauqua. Built in the Arts and Crafts style, its huge wraparound porch overlooked Boulder from a mountaintop perch. It pampered and hosted the elite from all over the world. Lisette had only been here once or twice before, for concerts in the Grand Assembly hall, but she’d always dreamed of being here for a formal party.

  Nerves made her knees jiggle.

  The green gown contrasted starkly with Lisette’s golden hair. Because it was spring, she kept her jewelry simple, just gold filigree and a delicate brooch. Why was she so nervous? This was a working dinner. A client’s needs, and she was meeting them, earning her final day’s pay—which, she reminded herself, she needed to earn, or else. She’d settle into this role, servant of her client, crank up her bored, working-girl stare, and ignore the posh surroundings. Cool. Calm. Not affected by Erik or his crowd.

  Soft strains of the orchestra wafted from inside, and she smoothed her dress at her stomach. Did she look okay? Like Aunt Corky had said, she was giving the guy a break because he’d been so nice. He deserved a pretty date to the Miro Awards—they were a big deal.

  It was nearly eight. She’d insisted on meeting him here at the coat
-check—not riding together to the event—for too many reasons to enumerate. Call her neurotic. Or just plain scared.

  Lisette bent to adjust the buckle on her shoe, which had slipped. Without it she’d wobble off the shoe—potential image decimation. Her heart raced with worry—first, that Erik might not show up, then about what he’d do when he saw her. Which of the many scenarios she and Aunt Corky had delineated would it be? Fear tangled her fingers as she fiddled with the buckle.

  “Oh, Mr. Gunnarson!” The coat check girl spoke, and Lisette popped back up. “Welcome. Our guest of honor tonight. Congratulations.”

  He was being congratulated? Oh, dear. Lisette hadn’t even asked what the event meant for him. She thought he attended merely as a guest. Roger, the plow driver, did say something, but she’d been too busy in “boyfriend tangent land” to focus.

  Lisette spun to greet him. The shoe sent her off her balance, and she stumbled a bit. Erik caught her elbow to steady her. Their eyes met.

  “Thank you,” she breathed. Just when she thought he couldn’t be more mindblowingly handsome than he was in that Henley shirt or the ski parka, there he stood in a tuxedo. He smiled at her, and she had to grasp those biceps for support because her knees turned to water. Again. Oh, if he had any idea how beautiful he was, he’d be such a jerk.

  “Lisette. Nice to see you. Let’s go in. Sorry I’m late.” All these words tumbled from his mouth without even a breath, almost without even an accent. Most of all, without a comment on her transformation. Not even a double take! In movies, when the girl descended the stairs to meet her prom date, the guy either dropped his jaw or opened his eyes wider at her beauty. Erik? Nothing.

  Rather, he took her by that elbow, which he’d never released from her earlier wobble, and steered her up the stairs to the Grand Assembly room. How was she supposed to predict that his reaction to her un-make-under would be no reaction? How was she supposed to read that? Great.

  Tables laden with china and gilt-covered flatware, gold-rimmed crystal goblets, and linen napkins filled nearly half of what had become the ballroom. Lisette had attended meetings and a concert at The Chautauqua before, but tonight the staff had transformed it. The wraparound balcony’s wood spindles glowed with wrapping of twinkle lights. Everything glittered. Chandeliers hung, each prism sprinkling down stars and rainbows onto the floor and tables and guests below, reminding Lisette of the sun on each snow crystal of the mountainside yesterday. Instead of being the homey Arts and Crafts style setting, it felt like opulence. The guests in full glamorous attire did nothing to detract from the gilding of the scene.

  A dozen or more people stopped their progress to shake Erik’s hand and pat his back, making their progress sporadic at best.

  Erik leaned toward her ear to speak, his breath cool on her bare neck. “I wish I could be droll and dismissive and say that the room is full of boring people, but it’s not.” He led her weaving through the tables and toward the dance floor, where a dozen or so couples spun and waltzed—not expertly, but not poorly either.

  “You know them?” She was still reeling from his complete lack of reaction to her. However, maybe no reaction was the best reaction. He took her as she was… That, or he gave her so little thought, he wouldn’t care if she showed up eleven feet tall with the measles.

  “Not all of them. But these are the people who make things happen. I think fifteen percent of the people in the world do eighty-five percent of the good.” He let his hand slide from her elbow to her wrist to her hand, where his fingertips held hers and guided her into some kind of dance she didn’t recognize. All she knew was how to follow his lead. “These are the fifteen percent.”

  Oh. They were? Suddenly, she looked around. Faces came into focus. She saw corporate giants she’d never expected to meet in a lifetime, people she’d read about in her textbooks. There was Jim Rivershire from the campus lecture, again. Back in Colorado twice in six weeks. Wowza. Tonight he had a Latina beauty on his arm, and my, was she caliente. Erik waved, and Rivershire waved back.

  “Is that Zero Miro?” Lisette pointed as casually as she could to the big man whose voice boomed from the open bar. His black hair slicked to the top of his head—she’d recognize it anywhere. “I read about him during Business school.”

  Erik turned to see. “It looks like him. It’s his night. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to see him here.” He pulled her close and brought a hand to her face, guiding her to look only at him. “But it’s our night too. Let’s cut a rug.” Great. Who taught him that idiom? Not Lisette.

  The music got louder, and the crowd’s din waned as blood rushed in Lisette’s ears. All she could see was Erik, all she could feel was the whirl of the dance, the closeness of his hold, the strength of his arms. She got lost in it.

  Too soon, the hosts called for everyone to be seated. Dinner arrived, one of those plates where the food looked like art and tasted like it too—canvas, with a hint of oil and turpentine. It didn’t matter. Lisette’s appetite completely jumped ship, despite any growls her stomach might have made in protest.

  All through dinner, an emcee lavished them with inside jokes from the business world, mostly about events that had happened over the past year, but Lisette fixated on Erik. When he smiled at the jokes, she got all melty inside. He was too beautiful for her to think about food. Or anything else.

  Six or seven people spoke as they received awards, then the emcee asked for a drum roll.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the reason we’re all here tonight. The highest Miro Awards honor goes to Erik Gunnarson of Gunnarson Dynamics. Please put your hands together for the Miro Entrepreneur of the Year.”

  The whole audience rose to their feet, with a thunder of sliding chairs and applause and calls of “hear, hear!” and “bravo!”

  In confusion, Lisette rose too, clapping. In an automatic gesture, she reached out and rested a hand on his upper arm. He looked at her and beamed. That smile had a special light in it—a lovelight, unless she was mistaken. She couldn’t be mistaken.

  Oh, of course she could. He was getting the year’s highest award. Those beams were for the moment, not for the girl.

  He went to the front amid the applause and graciously accepted his award. His accent only graced his speech like a thin layer of butter on a slice of bread, and his vocabulary was stellar. What excellent advertising for Immerse. What a brilliant date.

  Conscious that she’d bent all her rules for him, she blushed. But Erik Gunnarson was worth bending rules for. She’d dressed as his date, taken his arm as his date, sat beside him as his date at dinner, and danced with him. None of the other clients of Immerse ever got such treatment.

  It was a breach of contract.

  And she basked in every moment of it. If only it didn’t have to end at midnight—or at least later tonight when the term of her employment would end, and he’d jet off to Florence, likely never to need her or even see her again.

  They’d stay in touch, though. Wouldn’t they? He wouldn’t be gone forever from her life. Not after he’d filled that hollow inside her, empty for so long.

  He returned and set his waterfall-shaped glass trophy in front of his plate. When he sat, he scooted closer to her.

  “Entrepreneur of the Year, huh?” She raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t mention.”

  Waiters in full tuxedoes brought dessert. It looked like yellow plastic sponges with red goop drizzled atop. Twitterpation referred to something going on in the head, but an equal amount went on in the stomach.

  “Yeah, one of those overnight successes that’s a decade in the making.” He snorted. “Let’s dance again.”

  They ignored the petroleum-based dessert and returned to the parquet floor. “Bolero” was already playing. Erik led. Lisette followed. The orchestra moved their feet through a tango and a Viennese waltz.

  A tap on her shoulder made her turn the other direction, and Erik stopped their dance.

  “Well, if it isn’t the lying little vixen.”

&nbs
p; Lisette squinted her eyes, then had to choke down her bile. Mr. Garrett—the businessman who’d thought she was his personal geisha teaching him Japanese.

  “Whatever happened to ‘sawaranaide kudasai?’ It looks like you’re letting Mr. High Net Worth sawaru you all over that luscious body of yours.” He’d had too much to drink already, and it was only nine thirty. “I thought your contract was explicit—no dating the clients.” His hot, alcohol-laden breath blew a stench into Lisette’s face. Erik tightened his grip on her hand.

  “Erik Gunnarson is—”

  “Oh, I know exactly what Erik Gunnarson is. He’s the man of the hour. The big shot. The guy every girl will change the rules for. Come on. I heard he hired you. I even saw you riding in his car. Passed you in Aspen yesterday. You can’t lie and get away with it with me.” He grabbed Lisette’s arm, pulling her away from Erik and close to him. “I was a client. I paid you handsomely. But you don’t date clients. Unless they’re Erik Gunnarson. Wasn’t that what you said when I fired your pretty—”

  Before the pervert could finish his bad word, Erik’s fist stopped his mouth with a fierce blow. Garrett staggered backward, his hand clutching his jaw. Slowly, as a tree being felled, he toppled to the ground, where an oblivious waltzing guest stumbled against him, stepping her spiked heel right into his hand. He yowled in pain, then lost consciousness, more likely from drink than from the punch in the jaw.

  The orchestra stopped playing. The lights came on. In a whir, there were paramedics and police on the scene—since Garrett called them to press charges as soon as he came to—and, dang it, the whole evening’s magic had been ruined in a moment.

  “I guess they won’t be giving me any Nobel Peace Prize as a follow up award.”

  “Maybe not.” Lisette cringed for a second then gazed at him again. Being around him, his impetuousness, his verve, it almost dazed her. Erik had stopped a man from demeaning her honor—defending her, even to the point of blows. Her heart thudded like Quasar’s hooves on the dirt.

  They couldn’t leave yet, but they could slip out of the bustle, since the police rolled their eyes at Garrett’s ranting. They knew the guy.