by Bethany-Kris
As though she were haunted.
He bet she was.
One wouldn’t soon forget burying their husband—the father of their child. He seriously doubted this woman’s life had been an easy road for the last few years, but unless she offered to talk about it, he knew better than to ask.
Rude, and all.
When she smiled, it made the bow-shape of her lips even more prominent and set off her features in the best kind of way. She looked delicate—yes, that was the best word for her. From the line of her shoulders to the peek of her collarbones that her low-cut dress allowed him. Even the way her cheekbones caught the lights up above, and ...
Yeah.
He noticed way too much.
Not that it was a bad thing. He wasn’t sure if the woman had moved on after her husband’s death years ago, though. Had she remarried, or was she currently with someone now?
Those things weren’t his business.
And he didn’t intend to ask.
For now.
“I’m not sure that I need you,” Cella said, laughing quietly.
Nervously, he thought.
Even her cheeks pinked, coloring that dusky olive-tone of her smooth skin a sweet color that had this throat tightening in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long while. Not to mention that strange weight that had come to rest in the middle of his chest, determined to keep his breathing short and sharp.
Christ.
What was wrong with him, anyway?
“Wrong choice of words,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “I meant to say, my father tells me you’re going to need me on and off for the next little while. Redesigning the penthouse, hmm?”
Cella nodded, seemingly happy to take the chance to look away from him so that she could stare around at the space they currently stood in. Tiffany had gone back to playing with the few toys that she found in a box set to the side in the living room. His parents always kept them there for the grandkids, and sometimes, the kids brought more that just seemed to ... well, stay.
So was the way of little ones, he’d learned.
“That is the plan, apparently,” Cella finally said, her attention coming back to him. “And you’re to be my ... what?”
“Assistant?”
She laughed. “Don’t think so.”
Yeah, him either.
“If you need anything, I am here,” he said, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. “Whatever makes this job easier on you, then I am here to make that happen. I can give you my number, so when you’re in town or whatever, you can easily contact me. Mostly, I think my father just wants as much distance as he can get from this project so that Ma doesn’t find out. She acts like she isn’t, but she’s very nosy. Especially when it comes to her husband or boys. If she thinks we’re up to something, she digs until she finds it, and then denies that’s what she did.”
That had Cella smiling.
And shit ...
Marcus liked the sight of that.
Probably more than he should.
It’d been a long while since he found damn near an instant attraction to a woman. Usually, it took a conversation or more, a few drinks, or a need he just couldn’t fucking scratch alone, and then he was gone before morning because he didn’t have time to indulge his interest in someone else. So was his life, and given how busy he always seemed to be, the lifestyle suited him just fine. He didn’t lead people on, and anyone who went into a one-time thing with him knew exactly what they were getting.
Right now, though?
Well, a part of Marcus found it all too interesting—and perfect—that Cella would be around to do this job for his father, not to mention he would be on her contact list as a go-between for it all. That meant she was going to be coming back, and well ...
Marcus shook the thought off.
Not now.
It was not the time.
Tiffany saved Marcus from making the situation awkward when he couldn’t find his words to speak when she stood from the toys and asked her mother, “Where is my water, Ma?”
“In my purse—I left it down the hall.”
“Okay!”
Tiffany darted past Marcus, giving him a smile that he returned as she went. Such a sweet child, really. She had been willing to talk to him, though she was quick to explain she wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers.
“I hadn’t realized who she was until you came in,” he said.
Cella’s brow furrowed. “Pardon?”
“That she was your daughter. I didn’t know who would be here to do this today. So, yeah, I only realized she was your daughter when you came in. God, she’s gotten big since I saw her last, huh? And smart as hell, too.”
Ten feet away, Cella seemed to quiet as she stilled on the spot. “Yeah, I mean ... she was eight months or so when we met at the funeral.”
Shit.
Yeah.
“Sorry,” Marcus said quickly, “I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s okay. I know you didn’t mean anything by it. Sometimes, I get used to not having to talk about it or whatever, and then I do have to, so it takes me by surprise.”
“You look like you’re .... doing better. Happier.”
Cella nodded, a stark honesty reflecting in her gaze when she replied, “Most of the time, I am.”
“Good.”
“I did go back to my maiden name, by the way.”
Marcus instantly felt slightly less guilt about his not-so-innocent thoughts regarding this woman. If she used her maiden name, she hadn’t remarried. He wasn’t overstepping a line in his mind even if he didn’t say those thoughts out loud.
“Did it help?”
Cella shook her head. “Not in the slightest—I thought I wanted to do it so that I wouldn’t have to explain as much about my married name. Turns out having a kid on your hip with no father beside you makes it even more awkward to explain why that is.”
He swore under his breath.
She brushed it off.
“So back to this, yes?”
With a wave at the space around them, she effectively changed the conversation. In a way, he was grateful, but at the same time ... he wanted to ask her more. She said she was doing better, and that was great, but part of him just wanted to know everything.
And since he couldn’t explain why, Marcus chose to shut the fuck up.
Seemed like the way to go.
“Did you have an idea you wanted to work with?” he asked.
Cella laughed. “Well, that usually depends on the client, and this is an unusual job for me considering your father intends for this to be a surprise. Makes it a little harder.”
“Why’s that?”
He enjoyed the sight of her admiring the space with a keen eye. He bet if he could see inside her mind that he would find it was an amazing thing to witness. It was almost as if he could see the wheels turning as she spun a circle, her sharp stare not missing one single thing in the room.
He couldn’t imagine that. Looking at a space and changing it in his mind. He wasn’t that good with designs. Didn’t have the eye for it, really.
“I kind of got the impression from your father that this is a place your mother really likes—they hold it dear, don’t they?”
“Absolutely. It’s been her escape for ... well, longer than I have been alive.”
Truly.
His mother lived here when he was born.
A long damn time ago.
“So, he probably intends for it to stay the same in that way. A place she can sneak away to, or whatever.”
“She brings the grandkids here, too. Or they stay here with her when one of my brothers that live in the states come home for a visit. It’s got a lot of purpose for her and us.”
“And potential,” Cella murmured, turning back to him with a grin. “See, this would be easier if I knew your mom, I guess. When I design a space for a person, and not the people, then I often incorporate them into it as much as I can.”
“Oh?”
“Try, anyway.”
“And you don’t know my ma, huh?”
“I know of her,” Cella returned, “but not who she is—not what she likes the most or loves the deepest. Those are things I can do something with, you know?”
“And what if I could do that for you?”
Cella’s eyes widened. “Pardon?”
“Let you have some time with my mom. Well, you know, without her knowing about this whole thing, and whatnot.”
“Sounds like you’re adding more to your plate than was intended.”
Marcus chuckled. “You would be surprised to know it’s nothing new for me to be busier than I can usually handle. Not that I mind—I tend to like it. But would that help?”
“Depends on what you had in mind.”
“Give me some time. I am sure I can figure something out.”
“All right.”
Before the two of them could say anything further, Tiffany came back through the entryway. In one hand, she carried her mother’s purse with the water bottle sticking out of the top that she’d asked about earlier. In her other hand, she held tight to a small brown bear with a blue bow tied around the neck.
Marcus grinned. “Hey, you found him.”
Tiffany beamed back. “It was in a cupboard in the hallway.”
Ah.
So, that’s where one of the kids hid it.
“He’s very soft,” she added.
“He’s mine.” Marcus quickly corrected that with, “Well, he was mine when I was a baby. He’s never left this penthouse; my mom just kept him in her bedroom, but one of the kids must have taken him out to play with, and he went missing.”
With her big, blue eyes, Tiffany looked between him and the bear. “Oh.”
He heard the sadness.
She looked at that bear like she loved it.
“You could have him, if you’d like,” he said.
That smile was back.
So was her happiness.
Like her mother, she was so much more beautiful when she was smiling and happy. How could Marcus possibly tell her no for anything? Hell, she hadn’t even asked for the bear, and he was more than willing to just give it to her, even if its history in this penthouse was as old as the place itself. Not to mention what it meant to his mother.
He didn’t think Cara would mind, though.
“Really?” Tiffany asked.
He looked to Cella. “If it’s fine with your mom, of course.”
Cella sighed. “She has a million stuffies already.”
“But not a brown bear with a blue bow,” the girl pointed out.
Quite smartly, he had to admit.
Marcus hid his grin by looking down. He’d learned with his own nieces and nephews that it was not very smart to make kids think their quick mouths were amusing because that only notched up the attitude, and the adults in the room tended not to appreciate it.
“Yeah, not a brown bear with a blue bow,” Cella echoed. “I don’t see why you can’t take it. And thank you, Marcus.”
“Yes, thank you,” Tiffany whispered, hugging the bear.
Marcus only looked to Cella. “Not a problem at all. Should we exchange numbers, then?”
Cella nodded.
Her smile was back, too.
And he couldn’t look away.
Neither could she, it seemed.
“Absolutely, Marcus.”
• • •
“Three-hundred cases of the Quebec farm’s syrup went through the border last week. According to the driver, there were dogs at the crossing and they checked the trailer. Didn’t even sniff the sections of the trailer where we would use to smuggle, though.”
“Mmm.”
“You’re not even listening to me, are you?”
Marcus glanced up from his phone but couldn’t even be bothered to have the decency to seem ashamed about the fact his attention was not on this meeting with Chris at one of their many warehouses for the maple syrup farms. Today was mostly for updates which meant he didn’t give a shit about the mundane things—only when something went wrong, so he could fix it as soon as possible before it made a bigger mess.
So far, everything was on the up.
That’s what counted.
“This is kind of important.”
He met his brother’s stare overtop the dusty boxes in the back of the warehouse. For the most part, many of the workers at the syrup farms didn’t know about the illegal activities that happened because of the Guzzis’ ownership of the businesses. So, when they did show up to go over the usual, they tended to stay away.
Hence, the boxes.
And dust.
“Someone needs to clean up in this backroom,” he muttered, brushing off his blazer.
Jesus.
He hated dirt.
“That shipment, Marcus,” his brother said shortly, “proved we can export using the maple syrup farms, too. That’s good news. More money.”
“Right, right, except we have our usual ways, and we’ll take a far greater hit to our income—and probably freedom—if one of the shipments gets picked up on the maple syrup side of things, oui?”
Chris sighed, glancing down at the clipboard he held. “Probably, but—”
“Unless we can get someone at the border that we’re paying, I don’t want any of the maple syrup shipments to be used for that purpose. Any that get shipped out on the cargo boats—that’s different. We’ve got our contacts. Otherwise, we need a more foolproof plan for having shit on the roads, that’s all I am saying. Ever since Cross Donati had that gun shipment picked up in Maine ... well, I don’t want to play with fire.”
“Yeah, yeah. Got it.”
“And don’t fuck around like that again. I don’t want to find out after the fact that you’ve put something through the border as a test, Chris. Fuck.”
“If you were paying attention—”
“I paid attention. I heard you. It proved we could possibly do it. Don’t do it.”
“Fine.”
Chris went onto something else—the money going into the business accounts this month, by the sounds of it. More of the usual, which Marcus had little to no interest in hearing about. He knew how all that worked, and exactly how they would launder all that dirty money through the maple syrup farms to clean it before it came out the other side looking like profits on the books.
That’s what mattered the most.
Profits.
And with Chris distracted by the next topic of discussion about the farms, Marcus went back to his phone and the last text that he’d been sent.
From Cella.
A week after their penthouse meeting, and he still tried to check in with her once a day just in case something came up that she needed help with for his father’s surprise. Yes, that’s what he was going to tell himself. It was all about the penthouse, and not at all because he constantly found himself wondering when the next time would come that the two of them might be able to meet up.
Right.
Her text cleared that up, though.
Next weekend, it read, I can come into town.
That had been in response to his question outright asking, When are you coming into town next?
“You’re not listening again. What the fuck is so interesting on that phone of yours?”
Marcus didn’t even get the chance to hide the screen before Chris leaned over the boxes like the asshole he could be and grabbed the device straight out of his hand. That was a good way for his brother to get a punch in the throat. It didn’t matter that Marcus was almost thirty and Chris was a father to two kids, he’d still hurt his brother. Absolutely. But as soon as Chris saw it was a woman’s name on the contact for the text messages, he handed it right back to his brother.
“My bad.”
Chris put his hands up, and everything.
Marcus gave him a look. “Merci.”
“Cella, huh? Like Cella Marc—”
“She’s doing a thing for Dad.”
> “What kind of thing that requires you to ask her if she’s coming into town, or—”
“I will shoot you in the face.”
Chris grinned. “No, you won’t.”
Bastard.
“I’m her contact for Papa, that’s all. She’s redoing the penthouse as a gift to Ma. Interior design, and whatnot.”
“Ah.”
“Stop looking at me like that.”
Chris’s sly grin deepened as his eyes widened in fake innocence. “Like what, man?”
“Like you think you know something. Stop it.”
“Awful defensive, no?”
“It’s not a thing, Chris.”
“Right, right. Well—”
The phone ringing in Marcus’s hand stopped Chris from finishing his sentence. And lucky for him, too. The name on the contact said Cella, and he gave his brother a look as he turned his back to Chris to take the call.
“Hey,” he said, putting it to his ear.
“Any reason you’re asking me about my plans for next weekend?”
Her voice was still just as musical on the phone as it was in person. Not quite as effective in making him feel like he suddenly didn’t know how to breathe, but still fascinating. Not that he could afford to focus on that right now.
Marcus laughed. “Well, to help you, I guess.”
“And what does that mean?”
In the background of the call, someone shouted before a horn honked.
“You busy?” he asked.
“No, just heading to my car. How are you helping me by getting me into town?”
“My mother is having a dinner party. Pretty normal for her. She throws one or two a month. This one, though, is for a shelter she just helped to open in the city. It’ll be at the mansion, which will let you see the house where she lives, and you’ll get lots of time with her. I’m expected to bring someone with me, and I thought it could be you. It’ll look like a date to her.”
“Like a date?”
“Mmhmm, what’s the problem?”
“Sounds exactly like a date, Marcus.”
“Well—”
“Are we just saying it’s a date?”
“Does that word make you nervous? It’s for the penthouse, Cella. That’s all.”
