by Noelle Adams
He’d already been rather foolish, he had to admit.
He’d seen Brie for the first time two days ago, sitting by herself in the café, gazing soulfully at the painting of the fishing pond. She’d caught his attention immediately, not only because she was so delicately pretty, but also because she was so clearly taken by the one painting that made the entire festival worth his visit.
She hadn’t noticed him, but Cyrus was used to that. Unless people knew he was the Cyrus Damon—business mogul and eccentric billionaire—they tended to overlook him.
So yesterday he’d ended up back by the painting, partly to see it again but partly because he wanted to see her again.
Just see her. She was far too young for him—probably younger than his nephews—even if Cyrus had any romantic dreams left in his soul.
He didn’t.
Some people just weren’t created for romance. He was one of those people.
He’d still felt his heart do a little jump when he’d spotted her at the same table and then again when she’d smiled at him.
He’d been in Savannah for eleven days, and that conversation with Brie was the only thing that had genuinely engaged him in all that time.
But he’d spent his life being wise and careful, which was why he’d tried very hard not to come back to the same corner today. In fact, he’d made a point of not doing so, and it was so strange and inexplicable that he’d ended up here anyway.
He couldn’t believe she’d asked him to lunch. He couldn’t believe she wanted to spend time with him. She was so much younger than him, and women were only ever interested in him for his money.
Brie didn’t know who he was. She had no idea he was Cyrus Damon. He’d gotten very good at recognizing the telltale signs of mercenary women, and he knew for sure she wasn’t one of them. Which meant it was him she wanted to spend time with.
He kept telling himself he had nothing else to do this month—since his family had forced this extended vacation on him—so he might as well enjoy himself. He wouldn’t do anything stupid, and he wouldn’t have unrealistic expectations about it turning into more than a lunch.
What could be the harm, after all?
So they went to the French restaurant he suggested, and they talked more about art, and about the history of Savannah, and about the food, and about various places that they’d traveled. She seemed completely wrapped up in the conversation, as if it was as interesting to her as it was to him, and she kept smiling at him as if she liked what she saw.
It was so strange. So unusual for him. For a beautiful young woman to gaze at him like that.
Women threw themselves at Cyrus all the time, for his name or his money or his power. He could always recognize it, and he found it decidedly distasteful.
There was nothing like that in Brie’s manner. No guile or artifice of any kind.
The whole thing was… intoxicating.
He didn’t want to be a dirty old man though. He’d never been that sort of person. So when his mind started to travel down certain exciting avenues, he rigorously controlled it.
That simply wasn’t who he was, no matter how lovely and mesmerizing Brie happened to be to him at the moment.
They were eating dessert when his phone vibrated for the third time. He’d ignored it previously, but he was starting to worry that something seriously was wrong. So he pulled it out and glanced down to see the caller was his nephew, Benjamin.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured to Brie. “He’s called three times now, and I’m afraid something might be wrong. Do you mind?”
“Of course not,” she said. “Please take it.”
When he answered the phone, Benjamin demanded, “Where are you? Is everything all right?”
His youngest nephew had warmed up quite a bit in the past few years, after falling in love and getting married, but he still tended toward the blunt and gruff, so his tone didn’t particularly trouble Cyrus. “Of course it is. What do you mean?”
“You were supposed to come over to Mom’s for lunch.”
Cyrus blinked. “I wasn’t aware of any plans.”
“She said she mentioned it, and you said you’d try to make it.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I completely forgot, and I hadn’t realized it was a firm commitment. Please apologize to her.”
“You better do it yourself.”
“I will.”
“You’re not working, are you?”
“No. I’m not working.” He narrowed his eyes. All four of his nephews had been pestering him for the past two weeks, making sure he was following their plan of giving up work for the entire month of December, which was one of the hardest things Cyrus had ever done.
“Then what are you doing?”
“I’m having lunch.”
“Alone?”
“No.”
There was a pause, as Ben took this in. “Who are you with?”
“I didn’t realize I needed to report all my comings and goings to you,” Cyrus said coolly.
Ben gave a huff that might have been amusement. “Right. Sorry. Okay. Have fun. Call up Mom later and apologize.”
“I will.”
Cyrus was shaking his head as he disconnected the call.
“Were you supposed to be somewhere else?” Brie asked, raising her eyes from her plate to his face.
“No. It was a misunderstanding.”
“You can leave if you need to.”
“I don’t need to. I don’t want to. I’ll visit my sister this afternoon. It will be fine.”
“So she lives in town?”
“Yes. That’s why I’m vacationing here. My family got together and had a kind of intervention for me because they believe I work too hard. They insisted I take a month off, and they arranged for me to come here so I could spend time with my sister.”
Brie’s eyes widened. “Did you really need an intervention?”
“I don’t believe so. I do work a lot, but I don’t think it’s unhealthy. But I also don’t want everyone to worry about me, so I agreed to their… plan.”
“Are you staying with your sister then?”
“No. I took a house. We both prefer to have our space.”
“I can definitely understand that. I’m living with my brother right now. He and his wife are great, but I can’t wait to have a place of my own again.”
He opened his mouth to ask a question but then closed it again. He was curious about why she was staying with her brother, about why she couldn’t live on her own at present, but it might be pushy or intrusive to ask on such short acquaintance.
“My work is all contract labor,” she explained as if she’d read his mind. “My last contract ended a few weeks ago, and I haven’t found anything else yet. My particular skill set has limited opportunities, and my apartment was expensive. Really it was too expensive for my income, even before. But it was so beautiful—in a converted Victorian. I loved it so much, and I just had to have it.”
Even on such short acquaintance, he could see why she would take an apartment she loved even if it was beyond her budget. She was clearly passionate and spontaneous and a lover of beauty.
Like him.
Like him in being a lover of beauty. He’d never been spontaneous in his life.
It was a real shame that the work she did was in such low demand. It was needed in the world—restoring the beautiful things of the past rather than throwing up more sterile, cookie-cutter structures.
Instead of saying that, he asked, “Are you looking beyond Savannah for work?”
“I’m going to have to, I think, if I want to keep doing what I’m doing. There’s actually a lot of potential here in Savannah—with all the historic buildings—but that doesn’t mean I’ll always be able to find something.” She sighed and leaned back in her seat. “What I really need is a city with a lot of crumbling churches.”
He chuckled. “I wonder if there’s research out there on the number of crumbling churches per capita.”
He actually reached for his phone to call Melissa Forester, who handled all that kind of research for him. She’d be able to find an answer for them in no time at all. But he didn’t complete the motion.
Brie would start to get curious if he showed her he had resources like that.
He didn’t want her to get curious about his identity.
He wanted to simply enjoy her company for the time being since obviously it would never go any further.
He cleared his throat and was completely shocked when he heard himself asking, “So do you have plans for tomorrow?”
Her eyes widened again in that particular look she had—as if he’d surprised and pleased her at the same time. The expression caused his chest to clench in a way he could hardly remember happening to him before.
“No.” She gave him a rueful smile. “I don’t have any plans at all until Christmas. I’m just… drifting.”
“I am too,” he admitted.
“Well, maybe we could keep each other company.” She looked momentarily self-conscious, as if she was a little embarrassed by her suggestion. The look was lovely, charming, irresistible.
What was wrong with him, that he was so wrapped up in one small expression from this woman?
“I would enjoy that,” Cyrus admitted. “I’m just wondering if it’s wise. I’m only going to be in town for another week or so.”
“I understand that. I’ve got my own life too. I would never expect… anything… but your company. We both have our own lives, and hanging out would have nothing to do with the rest of our lives. But I’ve been… I don’t know… kind of lost lately, and I’ve had such a good time with you. I completely understand if you’d rather do something else.”
She was trying so hard to explain her expectations without presuming too much, and he understood her completely.
She wasn’t looking for a relationship—not from him. They just matched each other in an utterly unpredictable way, so it would be a shame not to enjoy it for a little while longer.
“I’ve had a good time with you too,” he said at last. “And I think we’re in the same situation in terms of… lostness right now.” He smiled at her, his heart skipping in excitement despite his attempt to mentally talk some sense into it.
“So when are you planning to leave Savannah?” she asked.
“On Monday.” He and his nephew Harrison’s family were going to a bed and breakfast in north Georgia for some relaxing time before Christmas.
“Okay. So maybe we agree to just spend this week together—until Sunday. No expectations beyond that, no personal questions, no last names even. Just Brie and Cyrus—for this one week. What about that?”
He’d almost swear she looked excited at the thought—as if that kind of week with him was exactly what she wanted.
It would be foolish. No question. But he had to admit it was what he wanted too. “I agree to those terms,” he said after just a moment.
Her smile warmed even more.
Feeling happy in a way that wasn’t at all like him, he added, “I need to have dinner with my sister and nephew this evening, but may I show you a few of my favorite churches in Savannah tomorrow?”
The smile on her face, like the sun breaking out from the clouds, caused him to momentarily lose his breath. “I would love that.”
Cyrus Damon tried to remember the last time anyone had been so genuinely pleased to spend time with him—just time, no strategies or expectations.
And he honestly couldn’t remember if anyone ever had.
Two
“So who is this guy?” Deanna asked, splashing some cream in her coffee and coming over to sit across the kitchen table from Brie.
“I told you. He’s just a guy I met. It’s nothing important.” Brie didn’t know why she was so embarrassed. She’d gone out with plenty of men and had never had trouble talking about them. But this felt different, private.
“But who is he?” Deanna was lovely, small with thick dark hair and big eyes of an unusual pale green. She was smiling irrepressibly, despite the fact that it was just six thirty in the morning.
“Wait, there’s a guy? What guy?” Mitchell had just walked in, fully dressed in a suit for work. He owned a hotel in town—and had recently acquired a restaurant as well—and he always worked very hard.
“There’s not a guy!” Brie exclaimed.
“There is a guy,” Deanna said, her mouth twitching in amusement. “She’s going to spend the day with him.”
“Who is he?” Mitchell got his coffee and sat down too.
Brie was flushed and frustrated although it was perfectly natural that they’d be curious and interested. They both cared about her. They would be excited if she was.
She just didn’t know what to tell them about Cyrus.
“I just met him the other day,” she explained. “We talked about art and architecture and things like that. He’s going to show me some of his favorite churches today. It’s really nothing. He’s on vacation by himself, so we’re both just… killing time.”
“So there’s no potential for more?” Deanna asked.
Brie gave a half shrug. “I don’t think so. He’s a lot older than me, and he seems… He’s obviously not looking for romance. We just have a lot in common and have a good time together. Please don’t get all excited about it.”
“Okay,” Mitchell said. “Fair enough.” Then he frowned. “How much older?”
Brie almost groaned. “I don’t know. He’s like… middle-aged.” That was vague enough and could count for the ages of forty to sixty. She didn’t know how old Cyrus was, but it was surely somewhere in that range. She was sure he wasn’t yet at retirement age.
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Deanna said. “Mitchell is eight years older than me, and James is more than nine years older than Rose. This guy sounds doable to me.”
“Let’s not talk about my little sister doing some old guy,” Mitchell grumbled.
Torn between amusement and embarrassment, Brie replied, “Would you all stop! I’m not doing anyone! We’re just talking about art and stuff. He might be gay for all I know.”
Cyrus wasn’t gay. She was absolutely sure of it. But she wasn’t going to share this conviction with her brother and sister-in-law.
She was really excited about today, but she wasn’t going to tell them that either.
***
Cyrus glanced at the gilt-framed mirror in the entryway of his rented house, wondering if there was something else he should do about his appearance.
He looked as he always looked—which had never been particularly impressive, even when he was younger. It was silly to expect a miracle transformation now. Brie wasn’t going to be blown away by his appearance. The thought shouldn’t have even crossed his mind.
He’d always been cerebral, intentional, completely in control of his actions. He was capable of spending time with Brie without getting his hopes up about anything else.
“Do you need anything, sir?”
The quiet, eminently civilized voice broke through Cyrus’s reverie. He looked over his shoulder at Gordon, who had been his butler and manservant for decades. “No, thank you, Gordon.”
“We have fresh flowers in the vases here. I could arrange some in a bouquet for the young lady if you’d like.”
Cyrus’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m not going to bring her flowers.”
“I see, sir.”
Gordon was never anything less than completely professional, but he could still make his opinions more than clear. He looked vaguely disapproving now, as if Cyrus should have been making more of a romantic effort with Brie.
“This isn’t a date,” Cyrus said.
“I understand.”
“We are just… spending the day together.”
“Of course, sir.”
“She doesn’t want romance from me. She’s far too young. It would be completely inappropriate.”
“I agree, sir.”
Cyrus shot Gordon a quick look, immediately de
fensive of the other man’s agreement, when the sentiment was one he was trying to convince himself about.
Gordon’s expression was utterly bland. “So no flowers, sir?”
“No flowers.”
“I would be happy to prepare dinner for you both tonight if you’d like to bring her back to the house.”
Cyrus’s whole body gave a completely ridiculous clench of excitement at this suggestion. He prayed Gordon hadn’t been able to see his response. “I will not be bringing her back here.”
“As you wish, sir.”
Cyrus almost shook his head. What he wished for was never going to happen.
***
“This is the strangest church I’ve ever seen,” Brie said a few hours later, staring up at the vaulted ceiling of the small nave.
Cyrus had taken her to a few different churches so far in Savannah, and they’d both had a great time discussing the art and architecture. But this small, out-of-the-way church was his favorite in the city—and in fact one of his favorites in the world. So, despite himself, he was a little disappointed by her first comment on it. “It is rather unusual,” he admitted.
“It’s got multiple personalities,” she said, bringing her eyes down to his face. “This part looks pretty traditional, but that narthex was totally different.”
“The church was built in different stages over hundreds of years. So it reflects styles from multiple eras.”
Brie just kept staring around as if she couldn’t quite get a handle on it.
They walked around, Cyrus pointing out some highlights and explaining some of the history, doing his best not to defend the appeal of the building. He tried to read her expression as she gazed around at unusual stained glass and varied architecture.
He’d found this church almost twenty years ago on one of his visits to his sister. It was on the register of historic places, but it wasn’t one of the normal tourist spots. It still housed a dying Episcopal congregation, but the building was open to the public during the days—for the few visitors who wanted to admire the strange structures and decorations.
Cyrus was normally inclined toward classic symmetry—in architecture and in life—so he wasn’t sure why this old place held such an appeal for him.
