by Claire Adams
He beat me to the stairs, and my knuckles went white trying to resist the urge to throw the tray down after him. Not only had I made more out of my connection to Corsica than was true, but I knew exactly what would happen when she met my father. All women swooned over Xavier Templeton, but with Corsica's social climbing drive, she would turn into a drooling mess.
"Is she singing?" my father whispered at the door to the music room. "My God, her voice really ignites the blood."
I scowled, but said nothing. I thought the silver hair fanning out at my father's temples was the only change I would see, but now there was something different in his face. Something faraway and wistful. My father had never wanted for anything, so to see that expression in his eyes was enough to steal my voice.
Then he stepped into the music room.
"Wait, she doesn't-"
"Please, don't let me interrupt you. This is one of my favorite songs."
Corsica's laugh had the same lusty tone of her singing voice until I walked in and she realized the situation. "I'm sorry," she said. "I really didn't mean to trespass, sir. I'll just be on my… Oh, my, God, you're Xavier Templeton!"
She dropped the microphone and clapped both hands over her mouth. My father chuckled and held out a hand to her. I dropped the silver tray onto a side table with a crash and cut him off.
"She's right. We'll get out of your way, boss," I said.
My father politely declined to move and held out his hand to Corsica. "Yes, I am Xavier Templeton. And, who do I have the pleasure of meeting?"
"Corsica Allen," she said. "I read the interview you did for The Guardian and I'm impressed with the holistic view you have of technology."
My jaw dropped, and Corsica's chin went up a notch when she noticed. She shook my father's hand and allowed him to escort her to the white, leather seats by the window. There was nothing I could do but watch. He had always been the picture of gallantry and, while Corsica's reaction to him had been one of the more coherent I had seen, she blushed at his attention.
"I truly believe technology can better our lives, but only if it benefits all," my father said. "When tools are kept out of the hands of some, we as a people miss out on incredible talent. Like yours."
"Mine?"
"You were singing one of my favorite songs and now I will never prefer the old rendition."
I cleared my throat and joined them to lay a hand on Corsica's shoulder. "It's late, and we really should be heading up," I said.
My father shook his head and winked at Corsica. "He's always so secretive. I never get to meet any of the women he's dating, much less the special ones."
Corsica's blush deepened and for a moment, I was caught by the storm of flattery and confusion in her eyes. Then her sky blue gaze cleared and she said, "I'm sure he did not intend for us to meet. You must have high standards for your staff, and I wouldn't want you to think he bent the rules for me."
"Rules?" my father glanced up at me. "The last time I disciplined Penn for an infraction of the rules he must have been-"
"Trying to get fired," I snapped.
Corsica jumped to her feet, her face a mask of worry. "Why would you do that?" she squeaked. "You work for the most innovative and forward-thinking man in Silicon Valley. It would be crazy to throw that away."
If only she knew how much I had thrown away, I thought.
My father measured me with an arched eyebrow. "Penn, unfortunately, has the supreme confidence that he is irreplaceable. It often mars his manners."
He knew. Xavier knew I had lied to Corsica about our connection. He also knew he held the balance of the room in his hand. Corsica thought I was nothing but his employee, perhaps nothing more than a groundskeeper, and I was certain my father weighed out what that information was worth as he strolled casually across the music room floor.
Then, to my shock, he sat down at the piano and played a few flawless bars of the song Corsica had been singing. "Penn, pop that champagne before I fire you. Now, dear Corsica, how about a song? Even trade: I get to hear your heavenly voice, and you can ask me anything about my wayward employee here."
She shook her head, and I thanked her shyness. Now all I had to do was maneuver her away from my father before his charm boosted her confidence. I was caught between two lies, and it was more important that Corsica was on my side than it was for her to know I was a Templeton.
"We'll let you warm up," I told my father.
I steered Corsica towards the silver tray where we could have a moment of whispered conversation.
"You work for Xavier Templeton," she leaned close to me so he wouldn't hear us. "And, you didn't that was important enough to mention?"
"No. We have an, um, contentious business arrangement. Long story." I took a deep breath and dove in. "The vital part of the story is that he now thinks we're a couple. Is there any way you could just go with that and save me?"
Corsica's blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "I don't know," she sighed as I popped the champagne cork. "You're really not my type. No one's going to believe it."
I shoved a full champagne flute into her hand. "Pretty please?"
She took the glass with one hand as the other trailed up my arm and squeezed my shoulder. "Well, since you asked so nicely, darling."
My stomach was still kicking from the electricity of her touch when I turned to my father. "One for you?"
"No, thank you."
Then, Corsica slipped her arm around my waist and I lost the ability to think straight.
My father smiled at us. "I know I am terribly out of practice," he said, his fingers still dancing over the ivory keys, "but I'm still hoping to tempt another song out of you."
Corsica gave a breathy giggle and took a sip of her champagne. "Your playing is beautiful. I never learned to play piano."
The tinkling music stopped. "You never learned piano? But you have such perfect pitch."
She shook her head. "Shameless flattery. My mother pushed for piano lessons when I was young, but my father thought it was a waste of time."
"A shame," Xavier said. "Children should be encouraged to follow their talents."
I snorted. My father had never once encouraged me to pursue my passions or my talents. If my interests didn't align with the vision of his future empire, then he made certain they were cut off.
Xavier cut off my slip-up with a dramatic crescendo. Corsica forgot my strange reaction and smiled at my father's impressive piano playing. She moved in to lean against the side of the baby grand piano.
I took a few steps back and felt a heavy weight drop into my chest. I never knew my father could play piano. My last memories of him were as a weaving snake of a drunk that could strike at any moment. He had shown no interest in the piano other than a convenient resting place for his always full drink.
As I stood there watching my father charm Corsica with his nimble playing, the weight in my chest turned to resentment. Everything was effortless for Xavier Templeton. The only thing he had ever failed at was having a family, and now that was swept so far under the rug that no one would ever connect us.
I moved forward and snagged Corsica's tight waist. "I'm sure my boss has an early morning meeting. I know he's a charming host, but we should be going."
"Did you know he could play like that?" Corsica asked.
"No," I said more forcefully than I intended. "I had no idea he could play the piano, and you would think that would be something that he would have shared with me."
Her delicate eyebrows knitted together. "Sorry, I guess it is silly to think he'd share that with an employee."
"Corsica, why don't you indulge me just a moment more and tell me how you and Penn met? I find I'm becoming quite the romantic in my old age," Xavier said.
"We ran into each other at a dance club, then I heard her sing, and the rest is history," I barked over Corsica's head at my father.
Xavier looked hurt. "Not a very romantic telling, but it must have been because you two look very good together."<
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"And all you care about are appearances, isn't that right?"
My father flashed a tactical smile. "You're right, son, appearances make a difference. See, I employ him because he badgers me like the son I never had. It's good. It keeps me real."
I wrapped one hand into a tight fist. My father might have saved me from revealing my origins to Corsica, but that would not make me beholden to him. "Real is relative. He taught me that," I said.
Corsica leaned nervously from foot to foot, then finished her glass of champagne. "How about a song?" she asked to clear the tension.
My father grinned. "Wonderful! I may be rusty, but you can name any song and I'll do my best."
I drank from the champagne flute I was holding to hide my irritation. Then, the first lilting notes poured from Corsica's lips. I was frozen with the champagne fizz tickling my nose, but her voice was hypnotic. Despite the late hour and the strange, opulent setting, her voice flowed with ease.
She was different when she sang. Gone was the perfectly groomed image, the poise, and the eager to advance set to her chin. Corsica sang from somewhere deep inside and the notes drew out the version of herself that she kept hidden.
I set the crystal flute down with a shaky hand. I was not accustomed to wishful thinking. I knew that love was a farce, a contract of mutual benefit, but when Corsica sang, even my own thoughts were drowned out.
My father, for his part, accompanied her beautifully. For a moment, I was almost able to forget who he was and what I had seen him do. For just a moment, I saw a true, easy joy on his face and the weight in my chest shifted.
Maybe he had changed. Maybe some epiphany had hit or the remorse of older age, but for a second, I was filled with the wild hope that my father had summoned me to town to reconcile.
Then the song ended and I felt the cold quiet of his trophy home seep back into me. Only Corsica's radiant smile kept my feelings from hardening again. She smiled so shyly as my father and I clapped, then she applauded him for his playing.
"That was wonderful. Thank you," Corsica said. She trailed a hand lovingly along the curve of the piano. "Now I really wish I had pushed harder for those piano lessons."
"Well…" my father began in what I knew was his negotiating tone.
"Well, that was shocking, amazing, and it's late enough that for a moment there, I thought I was dreaming," I said. "We'll get out of your way and let you get some sleep."
My father stood up and buttoned his tailored suit coat despite being in his own home. "Yes, I understand it's late, but, Penn, I would like to have a word with you in private."
I snaked my arm around Corsica's waist. "No need to bother tonight on my account. Meeting in the morning will be just fine."
"It's important, Penn," Xavier said.
I nuzzled Corsica's neck and whispered into her hair. "Please, save me. Don't let tonight end on a sour note."
"Why?" she whispered back. "Because you think he has every right to fire you for your behavior?"
"Pretty please," I kissed the side of her neck.
Corsica shivered and leaned into me. "Well, since you asked so nicely… It was wonderful to meet you, Mr. Templeton."
"Please, feel free to call me Xavier," my father said.
"Goodnight, Xavier. Thank you for your hospitality."
My father caught my arm as Corsica and I walked towards the door. True to her word, she pretended not to see the grip he had on my bicep. She snuggled her head against my chest and sighed dreamily.
Xavier gazed at her soft, honeyed hair against my shirt and sighed himself. "First thing in the morning, we need to talk," he said. "And, Penn. Don't take that for granted. It's worth more than you know."
His words chafed at me all the way up the steps and out the front doors of the mansion. Corsica eased up her protective hold on me, and I felt the chill of the bay breeze as we crossed the driveway. I wanted to pull her back against me, feel her warmth and comfort, but I resisted. The worst part was that my father was right. I was taking advantage of Corsica, but her comfort suddenly far outweighed avoiding my father.
I ran up the steps to the garage apartment ahead of her. It gave me just enough time to fight my conscience. I wanted her to stay; I almost needed her to spend the night. The only problem was she deserved more. Corsica deserved a man who would charm her, lavish gifts on her, and tell her how he felt. Those were things I had never managed to do, even if I wanted to.
"You don't have to stay," I said as I opened the apartment door. "I can call a cab or my driver and they'll be here in five minutes. I understand if this all seems a little too crazy."
"What kind of savior would I be if I let your boss fire you in the morning?" Corsica asked. She laid a hand on my chest as she slipped by me into the darkened apartment.
"I know, I know, he's a charming guy. Next to him, I look and sound like an ungrateful Neanderthal."
Corsica squinted at me as I turned on the soft glow of a lamp. "I don't know, maybe in the right light you could look a little bit like Mr. Templeton. Though, you could be hiding any number of things under that beard."
"I'll have you know my beard is very well maintained and I've never had a woman complain. In fact, lots of women like the feel of it."
Corsica tipped her head and gave my beard a doubtful glance. "I don't know, I guess it looks soft. What does the rest of you do while your beard is charming women?"
I laughed. "Obviously repelling them with my sub-par conversation."
Corsica followed me to the bedroom and lingered in the hallway as I flipped on the lights for her. When I stepped back into the hallway, we bumped into each other and got caught in the doorframe.
"The sheets are fresh, there's an en suite bathroom through that door, and extra blankets in the closet if you get cold."
"Your beard won't be keeping me warm?" She put both hands on my chest as we both eased out of the tight doorway.
I caught one hand and kissed the back of it. "Thank you for saving me. Goodnight."
It wasn't until I flipped off the living room lights and settled down on the couch that I realized she had been hitting on me. She had wanted me to keep her warm. After everything, after seeing me in direct contrast to Xavier Templeton, Corsica still wanted me.
The effect was more than warming. I tossed off my blanket and sat up to punch my pillows. I leaned forward and glanced down the hallway just in time to see Corsica's light turn off. If it had stayed on just seconds longer, I would have found a reason to walk back down that hallway. Now, in the dark, all I could do was toss and turn all night thinking about what I had missed.
CHAPTER FIVE
Corsica - 5
I hesitated to open my eyes. If I woke up in Santa Cruz, in the small apartment that Ginny and I rented together, I would be crushed. The views I had seen last night of golden lights across the shimmering San Francisco Bay could have been a dream. And, a dream was the only explanation for meeting Xavier Templeton and singing while he accompanied me on piano.
I squeezed my eyes shut and thought back to what had really happened. I met Penn. He was tall, dark, bushy-bearded, and tattooed. And handsome.
I didn't want to admit it, but Penn attracted me with a magnetism I had never felt before. I should have been repelled, but instead, I had been drawn into his arms more times than I could count. I buried my blushing face in the soft pillow and remembered throwing myself at him.
He'd been nothing but polite, and I had misread the entire situation—except for when he lied and let his employer think we'd been dating for a while.
My eyes popped open. Why would Penn do that unless he actually felt something for me?
I felt a wave of dizziness crash over me as I sat up. I hadn't dreamt up the views or the mansion.
What I hadn't seen last night and now blinked at in shock was the garage apartment. It was a simple A-frame loft with a wall of windows dedicated to the bay views. The master bedroom shared a section of that window. The ceiling sloped down to a cl
ever built-in closet. Everything was custom-framed redwood. The apartment exuded elegant simplicity. It must have cost a fortune.
This was where Penn lived?
I scrambled out of bed and realized the simple but high-quality furnishings all spoke to Penn's rugged, outdoors style. Every book on the custom-made shelves, every photograph on the wood-paneled walls, and every treasure displayed spoke of adventure, minimalism, and rebellion against the opulent luxury that resided directly across the driveway.
Standing in Penn's apartment, I felt an affinity for the man I hardly knew. I knew I had expensive taste, but I wanted to earn everything for myself. The only problem was the sudden stone wall that stood between me and the job I had so carefully planned to have.
There was definitely an uncompromising way about Penn and I wished I could be the same. I wanted to sing and settle for nothing less than the joy it brought me, but I had a dwindling bank account to consider.
Just a quick cup of coffee, I'll leave, and I'll send that resume over for Joshua to edit, I promised myself.
Last night hadn't been a dream, but I had to treat it like one. Now that it was morning, it was time to get back to real life. With my shoulders squared, I dragged on my little black dress, smoothed it down as best I could, and wandered into the main room.
I half-expected Penn to be gone to an early morning meeting with his employer, so when I spotted him still sprawled out on the couch, I froze. My heart thumped hard in my chest, and I pressed a hand against it, worried that my galloping pulse would wake him. How was it possible for him to look better in the bright sunlight?
I had been certain that by the sober light of day, I would be horrified. The magnetic attraction had to be a heady mix of alcohol and rebellion. The night before, in a fit of childish refusal, I had ignored my ex-boyfriend's practical suggestions and purposefully made a bad choice. Just for fun; just to get it out of my system. Except the effect had not worn off; it had grown stronger.
Penn's long, strong legs dangled over the end of the couch. The blanket was tangled around his waist and revealed the hard contours of his washboard stomach and wide chest. One muscled arm was thrown carelessly over his head, and I could not help but study the intricate tattoos that covered his tan skin. They continued up his arm to encase his shoulder and reach heavily designed tendrils over his chest. Where the tattoos ended, a mat of dark hair began.