by Cat Carmine
Trent doesn’t answer at first. He lifts Libby out of the tub, wraps her in a towel, and cradles her against his chest. He rubs her face gently with the edge of the towel, but he looks lost in thought. Finally, he shrugs.
“Sometimes. I don’t miss the sleepless nights or the ramen noodles, but yeah, I miss the hands-on aspect of the business.”
I gnaw at my lip. “So this IPO...” I trail off for a second, trying to gather my thoughts. “I know we discussed it for ages, but are we still sure it’s the right move?”
Trent’s brow furrows. “We can’t go back now, Luke.”
“We could, though. The prospectus hasn’t even been submitted yet.”
He’s already shaking his head though. “This is what we’ve been working towards. It’s the natural evolution for our business.”
“I know.” I sigh and shove my hand in my pockets.
“This is what we always wanted, isn’t it?” Trent asks. “When we were in that office on Clark ... Didn’t we talk about what it would be like when we saw Loft & Barn on the New York Stock Exchange? We always said that’s when we’d know we’d made it.”
He’s right. And I hate that he’s right. Maybe my feelings about Bree are starting to cloud my judgement. And that’s something I can’t have. My first priority has always been and always will be our company. It’s my life’s work — and some day it’ll be my legacy.
I sigh as I watch Trent finish toweling off Libby.
“We’re good, right Luke?” he asks, without looking up. “We’re still on the same page?”
“Yeah, we’re still on the same page.”
“Good. It looks like the prospectus will go through before I’m back, so you’ll have to continue shepherding this through.” He still hasn’t looked up at me. “George talked to you about the risks, right? We run things absolutely, a hundred percent clean until that happens. No rumors, no bad press — hell, no good press. All we need to do right now is just tick along like clockwork.”
“Of course. Yeah. You got it.” I shrug like it’s no big deal, but I’m gnawing at the inside of my cheek. Because I know what this means — and I hate it.
It means I have to stop seeing Bree Bailey.
25
Bree
A slick of lipstick. A quick spritz of perfume. A discreet pit sniff.
Ready.
I slip out of the Bailey Living offices. On the street, Clifford is already waiting for me with the town car, and we quickly head over to Michigan Avenue. I have another home to visit with Tomas and the bloggers tonight, a gorgeous new penthouse with a view of the lake. But I’ll be honest — it’s Luke that I’m most looking forward to seeing. I haven’t seen him since the weekend, and it’s amazing how fast that damn man has gotten under my skin. Despite all my best intentions, he’s all I think about these days.
The concierge in the lobby has a list of attendees, and he lets me through to the elevators once he’s checked my identification. The whole ride up to the forty-fourth floor, I bite my lip, trying not to grin like an idiot. Luke and I barely ever get to see each other during the week, but these events make the perfect cover.
When the elevator doors open, I make my way down the hallway. I can hear voices already coming from the unit, so I turn the handle, push the door open and step inside. I see Luke and Tomas right away, deep in conversation with each other and a couple of designers. They both glance up and smile, but then fall back into conversation.
I drop my coat on the kitchen island and make my way over to join them.
“Bree, so glad you could make it,” Tomas says, touching my arm gently in welcome. Luke just smiles, but his face looks tight.
“Just look at these wonderful designs the ladies have been showing us,” Tomas says, handing me the tablet as he nods at the bloggers. I can’t help but notice that one of them is Kelsey Braeburn, the perky blonde who was trying to hit on Luke at Jace and Celia’s bar the other day. I fight back a smile — maybe that’s why he looks so tense.
I flip through the designs Tomas shows me, and I feel myself start to get excited again. Just like in the brownstone the other day, I’m blown away by the level of talent in their designs. These bloggers, for the most part, aren’t professionals — they’re stay-at-home-moms or young career women like me, and most of them do this as a hobby — and they kick ass at it. And like last time, I’m glad to see Bailey Living pieces included in some of the designs. Our roll-top desk is featured prominently in the office, and a couple of our flowered wingback chairs flank a deep blue velvet sofa in the living room.
I make a mental note to talk to Tomas about getting some photos of the rooms once they’re finished — they’ll be great for our social media and maybe even next year’s catalog.
We make our way from room to room, going over shopping needs, to-do lists, and product orders. I keep trying to catch Luke’s eye, but he keeps his attention on Tomas and the conversation at hand.
When I finally find myself alone with him in the empty room that will soon be an office, I grab his arm.
“Hey.” I try to smile, hoping he’ll warm up now that we’re alone. Instead he extracts his arm from mine and runs his hand through his hair. His face still looks tense.
“Hi,” he says. He looks out the door nervously.
“How’s your week going?”
“Oh, the usual.” He shrugs. “We should get back to the group. I don’t want anyone to notice our absence.”
“Okayyyyy,” I say, folding my arms as I follow him out of the room. My mind is reeling. I just saw him on Sunday, and everything was as wonderful as it always is. Now he’s acting like we barely know each other.
I join Luke and the rest of the group in the master bedroom and try to pay attention to the conversation, but all I can do is sneak glances at Luke. I keep hoping I’m just imagining this sudden coldness, but he doesn’t look at me the rest of the evening, except when I ask him a direct question.
My stomach is starting to get that queazy nervous feeling. I keep thinking about what I’ll say to him when we’re alone together, but as the evening winds down, I decide to try to push away my nerves and just be cool. Maybe I’m reading too much into this — after all, he could have had a bad day at work, or maybe it’s family stuff. I’ve never been the girl to freak out about guy stuff, and I have no intention of starting now.
Even if the way Luke is avoiding my gaze is giving me a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach.
As the evening wraps up, we all find ourselves in the kitchen, and I wrap my coat over my arm, pretending like I’m getting ready to leave with everyone else.
“After you, Bree,” Tomas says, holding the door open for me.
I smile, but then pause. “Darn — you know what? I think I left my phone in the bathroom. You go on without me.”
“Sure. We’ll see you next week then.”
Tomas and the bloggers filter out, leaving Luke and I alone in the kitchen. Now he’s finally looking at me, and I feel my entire body start to relax. Maybe I’ve just been imagining this whole thing after all.
I take a step towards him and run my fingers along his muscular arm. His scent envelops me, so woodsy and masculine. I already feel a million times better, just being close to him again.
Then he takes a step backwards. Out of my reach.
My stomach bottoms out. Sometimes you just know, don’t you? That something’s wrong. And right now, every part of me is screaming at me to retreat. That I don’t want to hear what Luke’s going to say.
He runs his hands through his hair. I know the gesture well — he does it when he’s nervous or when he doesn’t know quite what to say.
“No,” I whisper.
His brow furrows. “No what?”
I shake my head. “Whatever you’re going to say, don’t say it? Okay, Luke? Please. Just don’t say it.”
His shoulders slump. “Bree…”
Tears are welling up in my eyes, and I flick them away in irritation. “No.”
“No.”
“We both know why we shouldn’t …”
“No.” I pause. Take a deep breath. “I know. But don’t say it, okay?”
I don’t know what’s changed for Luke since the last time I saw him, but something clearly has. I should be mad, but the truth is, I know he’s right. We both know why we shouldn’t do this. We’ve known it since that day we met in Tomas’s boardroom, each finally understanding who the other was.
This has always been a bad idea, and now it’s apparently a bad idea that’s run its course.
Luke hesitates, then nods. “I won’t say it.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. “Luke…”
I don’t know what I’m about to say and I don’t have time to finish my thought, before Luke suddenly takes me in his arms.
His mouth finds mine, hungrily. Despite everything we’ve just said — or not said — I let him. His mouth on mine feels as warm and natural as a tropical breeze, and I let it lick across my skin. His kiss is frantic, passionate, and yet there’s a sadness to it too.
It feels like the last time. The last time I’ll get to kiss him, to be held by him.
I choke back a sob as I keep kissing him. I wind my arms around his neck, pulling him as close to me as I can. I don’t want this to be the last time I kiss him, but if it is, I’m damn sure going to savor every moment of it.
I’m dimly aware of a soft clicking noise coming from somewhere behind us. It echoes through the empty apartment. I don’t even have time to process it, though, before a loud coughing sound follows it.
Luke and I pull abruptly apart. I whip around to face the direction of the cough and then groan.
Kelsey. She slips something into her coat pocket and then crosses her arms.
“Isn’t that cute?” she says sarcastically. Then she wags her finger at us. “Looks like I caught you.”
Luke takes a step away from me. I can see the stress in his face.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” I say to Kelsey, stepping in front of Luke.
She barks out a laugh. “Really? Cause it looks like you guys were about to get it on right on this marble island.”
I pretend to laugh. “Not at all. Luke is an old friend; he was just giving me a hug.”
“With his tongue?”
I glance back at Luke. He looks paler than the row of white kitchen cupboards him.
“That’s just silly,” I insist. “I don’t know what you think you saw but it wasn’t …”
“Look, I have nothing against you, Bree. You can kiss who ever you want. So can Luke, for that matter. All I care about is winning this design contest. Do you know how long I’ve been trying to get my blog off the ground? I put so much work into it, into a perfectly curated Instagram feed, and yet nothing takes off. All I need is one good photo … something that will really grab people. You know?”
The reality of what she’s saying sinks in. I take a deep breath. “Kelsey … it’s really important that you don’t tell anyone about this.”
“Oh?” She raises one eyebrow. “How important?”
“We can help you,” Luke says. “If you want to win the contest, we can help you.”
“Luke,” I hiss. I don’t like the idea of Kelsey knowing about us, but I also don’t like the idea of rigging a charity contest. But Luke just gives me a small shrug. He turns back to Kelsey.
“Why don’t you just take a couple of days to think it over?” I jump in, before he can say anything. “Don’t do anything rash. Okay?”
Kelsey studies both of us for a minute, then uncrosses her arms. “Fine,” she says. She even smiles. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you guys out.”
I laugh nervously. “It’s okay. Look, why don’t we all get out of here?”
She nods. Luke locks up the apartment and the three of us head downstairs in the elevator together. Once we’re out on the street, Luke puts Kelsey in a cab with one more promise that we’ll talk to her again soon. We watch the car until it’s completely out of sight and then I slump back against the building.
“That was way too close for comfort,” I say.
Luke doesn’t smile. “Yeah. It was. Bree…”
My own smile disappears. “I know.”
“The thing I didn’t say upstairs …”
“I know, Luke.” Please God, don’t let him say it.
“The thing is, Loft & Barn is about to go public. If this gets out, it could really hurt us. Our underwriter has already warned us that even a whiff of rumor…”
I don’t say anything. I just stand there on the street corner and watch him scrub his hands over his face.
“We can’t see each other anymore, Bree.”
The words hang between us. His face is as still as stone, but his eyes look sad.
I want to protest, but I don’t have it in me.
“You’re right,” I say. I turn away as I fish through my purse. I can’t look at him anymore, not at the sad way he’s gazing at me, not at the way his hands clench into fists at his side. I call Clifford to come pick me up.
When I get home, I throw myself down on one of my three couches and I cry. I’d managed to hold it together until Clifford arrived, and then I’d mostly held it together on the car ride, but now that I’m in the privacy of my own home, the tears flow like water.
I should have known better. Luke Whittaker. I scoff at his name. What a stupid name. Then again, it goes perfectly with his stupid face. And his stupid body. And his stupid furniture.
But deep down, I know that I’m the one who’s stupid. I never should have fallen for Luke. I’d tried so hard to stay away from him, but somehow he’d always managed to lure me back in. Or I had let myself be lured.
I throw my arm over my eyes and moan dramatically. Is it possible to want to punch someone and kiss them at the same time? Because if so, that’s exactly how I feel about Luke.
I click on Dad’s old ancient television. I’ve barely turned it on since I’ve been here, but tonight seems like the perfect time to catch up on some cheesy television. Especially since I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep any time soon.
Except the lull of the television must work some kind of magic on me, because the next thing I know, light is streaming in through the living room windows. It’s morning, and I slept the entire night out here on the couch, still in the clothes I was wearing last night.
I shake my head groggily and reach for my phone. I hope against hope that maybe Luke has reached out, that he’s changed his mind, but there’s only a single text from Margaux. I click it open.
“Is that the hot American? If so, I approve. Glad to see you took my advice.”
My heart races as I read her words. What is she talking about?
The text came less than twenty minutes ago, so I fire off a quick response — just a series of question marks.
Her response comes almost immediately, but instead of words it’s just a link. An Instagram link. Somehow I know exactly what it is before I even click on it.
I still click on it though. I have to. I have to see it for myself.
The photo loads almost immediately on my phone. The stupid picture doesn’t even have the decency to be blurry or grainy.
No, there it is, full color and sharp as a tack — me and Luke kissing at the penthouse last night, my arms wound around his neck like I’m drowning and he’s saving me with his tongue.
26
Luke
I stare down at the long pieces of wood, propped up against the wall of my workshop. It’s a beautiful stack, all pieces of weathered maple from an old farm a few towns over. The place was being torn down, but I’d arranged to get in a few months ago and salvage some of the wood. I’ve had it in mind to make something special for Libby’s birth, but things have been a blur ever since Trent had announced he’d be taking a paternity leave. The wood has been sitting out here in my shop since then, taunting me every time I walked out here.
&nb
sp; Now I have plenty of time and no inspiration of what to do with it. Libby already has a crib and a changing table, and they have all her tiny little clothes folded into one of our Loft & Barn dressers. What else does a baby need? I thought about making her a playhouse but it would be awhile before she’d be able to use something like that.
I grab one of the planks and throw it on the workbench. I eye it from every end, trying to get it to send me a message of some kind. I know it sounds hokey, but when you work with wood enough, you can sometimes get a feel of what it wants to be. Half of my best designs have come from just listening to the materials in front of me, feeling the shapes that were already writ inside of them.
This one though — I’m getting nothing. I flip it over, examine it from end to end, but it stays stubbornly silent.
I suppose it’s my fault for being distracted — ever since last night, I haven’t been able to think of anything but Bree. Of the way her face broke when I told her we had to stop seeing each other. Of the way it had felt to kiss her, knowing it would be the last time.
And of the breath of cold fear in my stomach when Kelsey had walked in on us.
When I’d kissed Bree, I’d allowed myself a moment to think that I was making a mistake. That things weren’t as dire as I was making them out to be, that we could just go on the way we had been, keeping our relationship quiet and spending stolen weekends out here at the farmhouse. Then Kelsey had surprised us, and I realized exactly why ending it with Bree was the right decision. It was just too risky. There was too much at stake.
I shake my head. Kelsey had promised not to say anything — I had to trust that she would keep her word. There was nothing else to do.
I’m just about to flip the plank over a second time when my phone rings. I keep it on the far end of the workshop so that it doesn’t get too dusty while I’m working, so I jog over to grab it before it goes to voicemail. As soon as I pick up the phone, my stomach clenches.
It’s Bree.
