In the Land of Milk and Honey

by Nell E S Douglas

  “Head’s up. Sharks in the water.”

  I laughed like he’d made a personal joke, and he smiled genuinely at my role-playing skill. I casually perused the room. Maybe the gesture looked staged, but in a room so full of façade it went unnoticed. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, despite tension being the palpable undertone of the night. I watched as the crowd parted towards the entrance for a tall couple, a shimmer of coral, and an entourage of tuxedoed men following quickly behind.

  A man I recognized as John—August’s assistant—rushed towards us, quietly conveying a message to August.

  “Fitch is at the bar, again. I need to go handle this,” August whispered quickly, and I nodded before he finished.

  I mingled aimlessly, chatting on water-cooler level, when my Spidey-sense began to tingle. I spun my head, my hair slithering on my shoulders as I sought out my seeker, but saw no one in particular. It remained a vague ocean of tuxes, until Morris approached.

  “My cherrie,” he cooed, quickly taking my hand. He surprised me when he whirled me around. I cringed as the sweaty hand gripping my fingers pulled it towards his lips. “You are a vision.”

  “Thank you,” I replied tightly. Morris smiled in a way that could make a girl uneasy.

  “You look positively edible tonight,” he complimented, leaning in and placing a hand on my back. I stiffened, craning away. He smelled like he’d been hanging out at the bar with Fitch. In fact, he smelled liked he’d spent the night inside a whiskey cask. He kissed the tips of my fingers, adding, “And I wouldn’t waste one morsel.”

  “Uh, that’s flattering, Morris, but August will be back any moment,” I reminded him, as he leaned further in and I did the opposite.

  “I don’t understand why we don’t get together sometime for—”

  “Mr. Werp,” a controlled, gorgeous voice broke in.

  Morris dropped my hand and stepped back immediately. I recognized the source.

  Danny glared down with narrowed eyes. Morris took another step back, and that seemed like a good idea; Danny was not happy. I almost hadn’t recognized him—he was without his glasses and the stubble was gone. “Is this how the head analyst for Goldfarb & Fitch behaves around taken ladies?” he said, dripping contempt. He crowded Morris further, who visibly withered. Several partygoers watched the interaction intently, which didn’t seem called for.

  “Mr. Baird,” I heard August’s calming voice before I saw him. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Likewise,” he replied, turning to August, letting his eyes graze over me as he did.

  They were standing side by side in identical tuxes and though I’d never thought it possible to consider another man handsome in August’s presence, in that moment, Danny eclipsed him completely. He was beyond dashing, and with a chin and features like that, I thought that he should never wear scruff again. His shoulders were broad but not bulky, and he was noticeably taller than August. He looked powerful and confident—indestructible.

  Wait, why did August address him as Mr. Baird?

  “Morris, why don’t you join Mr. Fitch at the tapas table? I hear they’re delicious,” August commanded. Morris was flush as a beet and slunk away.

  August smiled, moving towards me, looping an arm around my waist. “Mr. Baird, let me introduce my companion, Ms. Gabrielle Valentine.”

  Daniel’s eyes flickered at the introduction. “We’ve met,” he clipped.

  “You look beautiful, as always, Ms. Valentine,” he said slowly, meaningfully, staring at me intensely and extended his open hand. Too many seconds passed until August nudge me and I placed my hand in Danny’s. His hand was large and warm, and I am ashamed to say that even though I’d believed the gesture was outdated, I truly enjoyed the warmth and moisture of his lips as they pressed into my skin, his deep green eyes looking up at me through dark lashes, never breaking away. Morris should take notes.

  I felt a whisper of an inhaled breath against my skin and his thumb brush smoothly across the sensitive skin above my knuckles. His lips broke away slowly, and he lowered my hand like it was made of glass. My hand twitched involuntarily, squeezing his just before he let go. No one noticed but us. I offered him a sheepish expression in apology, but something flashed in Danny’s eyes, a glimmer of something close to…hope? I had to be mistaken.

  I felt like time was standing still, the silence unnerving, so I spoke.

  “Thank you. You look nice this evening, Danny,” I understated by a mile, and I felt August’s arm stiffen around me. I tore my eyes away and finally noticed Blondie was now at his side in a beaded coral gown and white fur stole. A few tuxedoed men stood around them. Her eyes, and a few others, were widened at my use of his moniker.

  Blondie cleared her throat delicately and extended her hand. “August.”

  “Ms. Hearst.” He kissed her hand and then smiled warmly.

  “Kate, please,” she permitted.

  August smiled. “It’s an honor, Kate. I believe dinner is ready. Shall we?” August extended an arm out inviting them to pass.

  “Yes, Daniel, shall we?” Kate said pointedly, looping her arm through his; his stony expression quickly returning.

  “We’re right behind you,” August assured them, as they passed with entourage in tow. I stepped to follow, but August spun us towards the entry door and whisked me out and around the corner until we stopped near the elevators.

  “What’s going on, August?” I asked, confused.

  “Bree,” he started and peered at me curiously. “How do you know Mr. Baird?”

  “I met him at the restaurant last night and today at lunch. He sat at my table,” I answered honestly. He looked at me for a moment and then nodded.

  “Why did you call him Danny?” he probed, tilting his head.

  “That’s his name, isn’t it? It’s what Mr. Fitch called him last night,” I explained. “Why are you calling him Mr. Baird?”

  August sighed. “Bree, Mr. Baird is CEO of BarclayBaird. Actually, Daniel Baird is BarclayBaird. His mother’s a Barclay and his father’s a Baird. His blood is probably the original color swatch for blue. I’m telling you this because BarclayBaird is the company that is somewhat hostilely taking us over.” He’d said it calmly, but my mouth gaped open.

  August smiled bleakly, absently scratching the back of his neck. “Did Mr. Fitch really call him Danny?”

  “Yes,” I recalled. “But Danny didn’t seem to mind.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t,” August murmured, and I was taken aback. August wasn’t sarcastic. “Apparently, last night Mr. Baird invited Mr. Fitch and the entire board out for dinner and drinks—a bars’ worth. Mr. Fitch ended up missing every meeting today, but Mr. Baird was somehow there and ran the meetings alone. It was an embarrassment.”

  “That’s because he didn’t drink,” I shook my head. “He was pretending to drink. It was just water.”

  He looked startled. “How do you know this?” he quizzed.

  “He told me,” I shrugged. August stared at me then frowned.

  “He’s more cunning than I was made to understand. Mr. Fitch drinks, but he knew better than to go overboard last night. What else did you talk about?” August probed, and I clapped my hand over my mouth.

  “I told him Mr. Fitch was a drunk!” I exclaimed. “And I made a comment about them drinking while you were saving the ship.”

  August took that revelation in stride. “Mr. Baird offered me Chairman of the U.S. holdings today. He has to leave someone in charge here once he leaves for London tomorrow to head International. He found me after lunch, and that’s why I was late to the room this evening,” he mused vacantly, staring at the wall behind me.

  “My gosh. Did you take it? Wait, doesn’t that mean…?”

  “That Mr. Fitch gets fired? Yes,” he answered, seriously. “I told him I needed to think about it. It feels like a stab in the back to Mr. Fitch. I certainly wasn’t angling for it, but he’ll probably think that, and my schedule is hectic enough as it is. I wou
ldn’t have any time for family.”

  I smiled knowing whom he meant by family—then frowned.

  “I owe you an apology. I only spoke freely because I thought he was a Fitch guy. I asked him if you worked together and he said yes. Do you think what I said was what made him decide to fire him? I sort of implied his excessive drinking was, well, commonplace,” I confessed guiltily.

  “I’ll be frank. You’re an outsider with no agenda. He probably trusted your opinion to a degree. But Mr. Baird doesn’t seem to trust anyone. The offer he made me may be a test of my Fitch loyalty. He’s completely unreadable,” he said, mildly frustrated, looking back in the direction of the party.

  I nodded in agreement and then felt my phone buzzing in my clutch. I told August I’d meet him back at the dinner table. I opened the text from Jill.

  J: How’s it going, chica?

  G: I think I’m in Bizarro World. What are you guys doing?

  J: Heading to dinner. The kid wants calamari!

  I laughed at my son’s strange appetite.

  J: Hold on…special message coming.

  J: Mommy!

  G: Hello! I miss you so, so much!

  I wondered how much Jill was helping him with texting.

  J: I miss u too,

  J: I’m sad ur away. Please come back to me soon.

  I guess she was transcribing for him. My heart broke a little.

  G: It won’t be long and I’m always with you in your heart. Have a good night, my love. xoxo

  J: I love you, too.

  J: Have fun with your little charade. Wink. Nite-nite sexy mama.

  I snorted. That must be Jill again.

  “Who was that?” I jumped out of my skin and bumped in to something solid right behind me and then leaped away, the train of my gown swishing around me as I faced a very suspicious Daniel.

  “Jesus Christ, how do you do that?” I gasped, clutching my chest.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he replied firmly, folding his arms.

  “Are you stalking me?” I peered at him.

  He peered back. “Was it another man?” He said it like, ‘you naughty girl’, and then there was that glimmer in his eye again.

  “I’m feeling very stalked right now.” I shook my head and tried to walk to past him, but he blocked me.

  “Excuse me,” I said indignantly.

  “You’re not excused.”

  “That’s not up to you,” I countered.

  “Oh, I think it is,” he replied confidently and his lip twitched upward, but he resisted the smile.

  “No. It isn’t, and I don’t like being deceived,” I challenged, lifting a brow. He unfolded his arms, letting them rest at his sides.

  “I didn’t deceive you.” He arched one brow back. “You perceived.”

  “And you did nothing to stop it. That is called deception.”

  “Is it?” he replied, his eyes searching mine like he knew I thought differently.

  “The distinction is obvious,” I retorted, eluding a judgment just shy of an edict. August and I were currently perpetrating a deception much bigger than his, but he couldn’t know that.

  “I am not a man of many words,” Daniel replied laconically, in the tone of one who doesn’t explain himself to anyone and didn’t intend to start tonight.

  “More the ‘speak softly, and carry a big stick’ type? The only reason you talked to me was to use me. You were just fishing for intel,” I accused but gulped down hard admitting my words were etched into the club that he’d used to swat down Mr. Fitch.

  It looked like his patience had snapped. I may have said too much, but the self-doubt he’d created in me triggered my defenses.

  “That’s not why I talked to you,” he explained finally. I narrowed my eyes.

  “Then why did you?”

  He just stared at me for a while. I don’t know what was running through his mind—a lot of things it seemed—but most of all, it looked like he was deciding something. And after moments of consideration, I watched resolve form in his tightened jaw.

  “We should be friends,” he said in decision, not offer—but that’s not what surprised me.

  “Friends?” I repeated back dumbly. Then I thought of his cohort with the ring on his finger handing out his number to help “shave her legs”, and the unsurprised look on Daniel’s face, the compliment about my appearance, and the slow kiss to my hand. I realized this banter he’d suddenly decided to engage me in could be interpreted as a caveman form of flirtation. Men like this always had women on the side…I was appalled.

  “I don’t believe I’m the type of ‘friend’ you’re looking for,” I replied tartly, trying to pass him again, but he captured my wrist.

  “Just friends.” He bit out each word, as if he disliked the taste of them, and slowly raised his eyes to mine. He wore the same look as Ian that first day at lunch when he asked me not to leave. I still wasn’t convinced, but pragmatism tipped the scales. I needed to play along, for August’s sake.

  I exhaled.

  “Just friends,” I repeated firmly, drilling it into his eyes.

  “Excellent,” Daniel said satisfactorily, releasing me. I clasped my hand around the wrist he’d released, not because it hurt, because it had stirred something. My face flushed.

  “And next time you want my attention, call me by name,” I instructed.

  He wasn’t insulted. “Accept my apology. It’s not my habit to touch a lady who doesn’t want to be touched.”

  Needing to get away, I nodded. I began walking off and he took one stride and caught my ear.

  “But I wouldn’t waste one morsel, either,” he whispered to me. I watched him stride forward, disappearing through the doors, my heart pounding in my chest.

  Chapter 6 - Everything Is Illuminated

  I waited a few extra minutes before I walked into the dining hall to look for August, whom I found seated at a long table in the center of the room surrounded by many circular ones. Illuminated by ambient candlelight, the room buzzed with chatter and the clinking of silverware on plates. I stealthily approached the table and began to pull out my chair, but August reacted instantly and stood.

  “Welcome back,” he murmured, but there was a question in his eyes.

  He pulled the chair out for me and I shook my head minutely, letting him know I’d explain my tardiness later. No one else stood because of my quiet approach, but two chairs down from August’s, at the head of the table, I saw Daniel eyeing August in a whole new way. Gone was the disinterested civility; the superiority and contempt. His eyes were alert and taking in everything. There was something predatory in his observation of August, but Daniel seemed natural in this element. He was sizing him up.

  Kate alluringly chatted with the man beside her. Then she slid her view to Daniel, sensing the new charge in the air. She turned to give me the same sharp look Daniel was giving August.

  Everyone chatted politely between courses, but I stayed silent, busying myself with how fine the white woven tablecloth was. Kate was running the conversation, discussing fine art and how much of it she owned, when she caught my attention.

  “I’ve never known why they call it a classic. It’s immature and amateurish,” she explained regarding a painting called The Son of Man, and a few people politely agreed.

  “I can see why it’s a classic,” I responded, unthinking. I knew the painting from the art museum flip-book August had gifted to Tristan. Tristan thought the painting was cool—I guess I did, too.

  A few heads turned, including an unpleasantly surprised Kate. Daniel, who had been only communicated in nods all night, looked up with interest.

  “Art can be trying to the pedestrian eye, so as a collector, allow me to translate. It’s an ordinary man with an apple over his face. The work is average and overrated,” she sniped. A few more eyes fell on me, expectant, including August’s. I straightened in my chair.

  “The palette isn’t complex, no,” I started. “But it is interesting. If a
ll you see is a guy behind an apple, then I see why you don’t like it. You have to be interested in what’s hiding beneath a plain apple. Maybe that’s the most important part. The best part.” I hesitated, before adding, “Art dans l’entre les deux.”

  Everyone looked fearful to speak at the risk of taking sides, except the bold, and drunk, Mr. Fitch. “Very good, Ms. Valentine!” he exclaimed, tilting his highball towards me cheerfully, completely unaware he was a goner. August’s eyes shined proudly, then clouded with worry. I was just pleased my rusty French came out so well.

  Kate’s slim nostrils flared. “Or the worst,” she replied darkly. “That was lovely, Miss Valentine, and I’m sure with enough time anyone could make my fork sound interesting. It remains a ridiculous painting and not classic fine art.”

  I made no attempt to reply because I was silently sending up a prayer of thanks that I never had to see this woman again. And an extra one for August, who was going to need all the help he could get. Then Daniel’s voice sliced through.

  “Art belongs in the eye of the beholder, Kate,” Daniel said. “Perhaps Ms. Valentine finds beauty in unusual places.”

  His eyes were burning with intensity when he looked at me, and I smiled in thanks for the defense, although it had sounded personal to him. I was floored when he actually smiled back. Just a little. His lips stayed closed, and he was still very controlled but something about the way that muscle moved in his cheek was very familiar, but my mind would not place it. I studied his face harder because he wasn’t turning away. I knew other people were watching but I couldn’t stop. It was like a compulsion.

  I heard someone clear their throat and a drink glass thud in interruption. I rationalized that Daniel could have turned away if he was uncomfortable, but he didn’t. In fact it seemed like he was allowing me to stare, giving me consent, urging me on. He tilted his head with a look of wonder, and I just kept searching for whatever it was I’d just found. August took my hand under the table and squeezed hard.

  “Bree is an artist in her own right. She designs furniture for a living,” August announced, frantic to get the conversational ball rolling. It worked. I fielded a few inquiries about my work and made polite conversation with people on the opposite side of the table from Kate, who was seething. My phone buzzed inside my clutch. August’s was buzzing as well. He showed me his screen under the table.