by Raine Miller
The house was still solid, with a strong foundation laid high on the cliffside overlooking Massachusetts Bay. It had been created by my family for my family. The value had to be in excess of thirty million dollars, but that part didn’t concern me at all. The legacy was much more valuable.
My mother was dreaming if she thought I would ever let Blackwater go to strangers.
Brooke
The black clouds screamed their intent to release angry rain at some point in my near future as the ferry pulled into its berth in Boston Harbor.
Monday morning.
It felt as if the weekend had passed in a complete blur after Nan and Herman’s big announcement. Eduardo had shown up on Saturday and stayed with me until Sunday afternoon to help plan the wedding. We’d gone to the hospital and consulted with Nan, talked through all of the major points, and managed to decide on the venue, the flowers, and even a dress. She found exactly what she wanted, so I placed the order online with a bridal shop in Boston. Her friend Sylvie would do the alterations if any were needed after I picked it up later in the week. My grandmother would be a beautiful bride when she said her vows in Stone Church with Herman. The wedding might be small with an intimate guest list but that would only make it more romantic in my opinion.
So, after only one little weekend of planning, I felt accomplished as I left Starbucks with a latte warming my cold hands before the start of my workweek. I stepped through the tiny alley that separated Starbucks from my building and saw the alcove where Caleb had paused to take a call out of the way of the streaming street traffic. He’d seen me that morning, he’d said.
I was having dinner with him tonight.
That fact alone surprised me. Because I had absolutely no intention of dating anybody right now. It was a date, right? Handsome man who flirts mercilessly asks girl to dinner who accepts his invitation. That qualified as a date in my book. I didn’t know Caleb at all, but in some unbelievably weird way, it very much felt like I did. He didn’t push me the way ninety percent of the men I might meet would, but he didn’t give up easily, either. I really hadn’t expected him to ask me out after I’d been so obnoxious about the division of wealth on the island. So, Caleb goes one further by accepting my apology point-blank—on the condition I go to dinner with him. How could I say no to him? And if I was honest, I wanted to go. He was really charming and very polite—a true gentleman. I didn’t have a lot of experience with men, but I recognized something trustworthy in him. I recalled how he’d been almost tongue-tied with me at the cocktail party, which was ridiculous really, especially given the sophisticated world he came from. But he’d stood up for me gallantly and offered his help. And then he sent me flowers. So very thoughtful. Could I trust him? I felt I could.
Don’t measure every man to him. Caleb was nothing like that.
For the first time since I’d left LA, I wasn’t fearful to be alone with a heterosexual male who clearly appeared to be showing the usual signs of pursuing me.
I’d just have to see how it went with him at dinner tonight. After he’d asked me the customary questions tested out on a first date and heard my story, I was certain his curiosity would be swiftly, but politely, satisfied. My past was so very untidy in so many ways, the recent past a literal slag heap of a mess that had nearly ended me.
When Caleb Blackstone heard that bit?—and I would answer truthfully so that nothing was left out.
I couldn’t imagine he, or any man, would want to be involved with me. No. Happiness with a man is not in the cards for you at the moment. Someday, but not right now.
EDUARDO showed up after me, which hardly ever happened. “Ay Dios mío, my head hurts, condesa.”
“Too much partying to get in and not enough weekend, huh?” I had taken up the majority of his “lifestyle” time. “Sorry you don’t feel well, but that pumpkin button-down you’re wearing this morning is very autumn-festive. Do you want me to go next door and get you a pumpkin latte to go with it?”
He groaned dramatically and waved me off. He would go lie down on the sofa in the back for a bit and then reappear later as a new man. Eduardo cracked me up continually.
“Brooke, good morning. Do you have a minute?” Jon asked from my doorway.
“For you, Jon? At least two or three, and good morning to you as well.” I usually didn’t see him first thing because Jon was not a morning person. He needed to be plied with coffee and a pastry before he came ’round to the land of the coherent any time before 10:00 a.m. I think he suffered from the same condition Eduardo did—a very busy social life after hours, which I suppose applied to most single people. The only person at work who wasn’t single was Carlisle. He was married to a heart surgeon at Massachusetts General named Colin. Colin and Carlisle were shortened to CC whenever they were discussed as a couple. Absolutely adorably in love with each other.
Jon eased himself into my pink velvet slipper chair, causing it to give out a small squeak of protest, which I politely ignored. “What’s up, Jon?”
“We have a new client with a 1920s Back Bay penthouse undergoing a complete renovation. It’s quite a job, Brooke, because of the scope and also the impressive budget. In excess of five million to be exact.” He smiled hugely. “It’s three floors, six thousand square feet with four bedrooms and four and a half baths. There are five fireplaces, a media room, home gym, two home offices—the owner’s an international businessman—five deeded parking spaces, and a landscaped roof deck with unobstructed views across the Charles River to the Boston skyline.”
“Wow. It sounds incredible. And you’re here to give me the good news that I get to do one of the rooms,” I said. “I hope . . .” I added, a bit more humbly.
“Not exactly, my dear.” He tilted his head meaningfully before dropping the bomb on me. “You are in charge of the whole project. He asked for a woman designer—and only a woman will do for him apparently. He made sure of it when he paid the retainer fee directly to you.” Jon pulled what looked like a check out of the folder he’d brought in with him. He laid both on my desk, the check facing up. “Five percent of the total budget is our retainer fee. Your client paid ten percent—a fifty-fifty split between you, the lead designer, and the shop. Congratulations, Brooke. Please come to me for anything you need help with, or Carlisle obviously. You have a magnificent budget, and the opportunity to make your design career right here.” He poked his finger onto the file folder. “Clients like him bring in more business if they are happy with the experience because they talk to their friends.”
I swallowed deeply and said nothing. The city of Boston, and everything and everyone in it, had certainly just been sucked into a swirling vortex of space and time. I think.
I stared down at the amount written on the check. Unbelievable fucking hell?
My name was written clearly on the line. That is your name, idiot.
Last Friday’s date at the top. He said he’d come here and had a consultation with Jon.
And along the bottom right, the signature of one Caleb J. W. Blackstone, written in the same bold handwriting I had on the card that accompanied my flowers, sitting not more than two feet from me at this very moment. The same Caleb who is taking me to dinner tonight. Surreal.
“Make Mr. Blackstone happy with his design experience, Brooke.”
“Yes, Jon. I will make sure of it,” I managed to croak out, despite the fact I was fighting for my sanity in the swirling vortex of time and space which had swallowed up the city of Boston about ten minutes ago.
MARTIN was the last person I expected to see walking through the door, his pleasant demeanor even more of a surprise. He handed me an envelope, which I accepted stiffly.
“Is this my final pay, Martin? Why didn’t you just send it here instead of coming in person? I won’t be returning to work for you in any case.”
“Yes, I know that. I wanted to come and thank you in person, Brooke.”
“Thank me?” Poor Martin was seriously deficient in the brains department. “Whatever
for?”
“For having your boyfriend pay for the damages of the eight ruined designer suits. The cocktail sauce . . .” He trailed off.
“I don’t have a boyfriend. Who paid for it?” I couldn’t imagine who—
“Your friend, Caleb, then. He gave me his card after you quit and said he’d take care of any damages. He paid close to fifty grand for all those suits. Designer threads are expensive.” He shrugged. “Anyway, thanks for your help with everything. Good luck, Brooke.”
He waved once as he went out the door, to which I lifted my hand in response.
I think.
For the second time today, I’d been rendered completely speechless by the covert activities of Caleb Blackstone in regards to me.
What in the hell was he doing? And more importantly, why?
“MR. BLACKSTONE is here.” Eduardo wore a telling smirk on his face as he leaned into my doorway, an extra sparkle in his dark eyes. It was easy to see he was clearly enjoying the spectacle caused by Caleb’s visit today, along with everyone else. The man was definitely worthy of a head turn from what I remembered, and the pictures on the Internet were helpful in jogging my memory as well. His good looks had a bit of a harsh edge to them, but my God, it only made him more attractive. Google had his personal net worth between one and two billion dollars, mostly in oil and sustainable energy. Caleb Blackstone was a legitimate billionaire. What he wanted with me was much more of a mystery. I’d have Eduardo breathing down my neck for that very information as soon as the solemnly hot Mr. Blackstone put me in the know.
“I still don’t understand why he’s asked for me specifically. Why didn’t he request Jon or Carlisle? His budget is bloody huge and I am a junior designer.”
Eduardo cocked his head to the right and his hip to the left in artful unison and rolled his eyes at me. His flair for the dramatic was as expected as it was ridiculously funny. “I can safely say it’s because Jon and Carlisle don’t have a rack as nice as yours, condesa.” He crinkled his nose in distaste. “Although Jon is catching up—he must be a solid B cup by now. All of those midmorning runs for French pastry aren’t helping,” he whispered loudly.
I cut him off before he could lapse into a tirade that I didn’t want to hear right now. “Yes, thank you, Eduardo, for that scintillating assessment of Jon’s developing breasts. What does Mr. Blackstone want from me?” Panic was starting to settle in.
“I think he wants to play hide the sausage with you, but that’s just me.”
“You are so unhelpful right now it’s scary. I know why Jon and Carlisle offered me a part-time assistant. They had absolutely no idea what else to do with you.”
“But I am always honest and that’s a valuable trait to have in an employee,” he told me with a sassy grin.
“Right.” I sighed heavily and realized there was no point making Caleb wait on me. He owned five million dollars of the company’s design services—from me personally—and so I suppose that made him my new boss. I couldn’t put him off for another second. “Eduardo, please show Mr. Blackstone in.”
I listened for Eduardo’s flamboyant announcement and cringed. “Miss Casterley is ready for you, Mr. Blackstone.”
I stood and held out my hand in greeting as he walked inside my office, his tall frame filling the small space immediately with a presence that made my heart take a sharp dive. “Caleb . . .”
He took my hand but not to shake, rather to pull me in toward him so he could kiss me on the cheek. “Brooke,” he whispered below my ear. The brush of his beard stubble and soft lips to my skin brought an instant heat that threatened to burn me. He held me just an instant too long before he released me. I stumbled slightly as I stepped back, utterly rattled. His arm came out to steady me, and his eyes locked on to mine. I could see the color of them as they blazed at me—dark blue with a thick golden ring around the pupil.
Unusual but beautiful eyes held me overlong for what they should have.
It dawned on me that I was not in control of the situation, and that helped to snap me out of my hypnotic episode.
Bloody hell . . . Caleb Blackstone. Those pictures I’d looked at earlier on Google Images didn’t even come close to the actual man in the flesh. I hadn’t really taken a serious look at him that night we’d met. Yes, I’d thought him handsome, but there had been so many men hitting on me I’d been too distracted to focus on the details. Wow.
I separated my arm from his touch and moved toward my own chair, praying my legs wouldn’t fail me. “P-please have a seat.” I indicated the chair for him before I remembered to ask, “Shall I take your c-coat?”
“No, thank you, I’ll keep it.” He flicked open the buttons before lowering his big masculine body to sit in my pink velvet slipper chair. It was quite the contradiction of image, and I had the freakish urge to take a picture of him sitting in it. I wanted to kiss the damn chair when it didn’t creak as Caleb leaned back and relaxed into the seat as if he owned it. He did own it now actually, I reminded myself. His long legs encased in dark-gray silk trousers, showing the cut definition of his thigh muscles, seemed to take up all the space between the chair and my table desk. I didn’t know where to push myself in without being practically on top of him. Now that was an image . . .
Stop it. Stop looking him over like a piece of meat, tit-head.
I managed to get my arse into my own chair and give him my attention. Just barely.
“I’ve surprised you, haven’t I?” He gave me a half grin turned up on only one side, both charming and wicked at the same time. I was in very deep trouble here. As in Marianas Trench depth level of trouble.
“Caleb—please help me understand why you requested me as lead designer on your renovation. Surely you want a designer with more experience—”
“Brooke, I want you,” he said, cutting me off neatly. “That is all you need to know about my reasons.”
In what way do you want me? Because I’m getting all kinds of mixed messages here, Caleb Blackstone, with the beautiful and unusual eyes. “Well, it would help me to feel more comfortable with the situation if you might share a bit more with me. I’m—I am a junior designer and I’ve not the years of experience Mr. Harris or Mr. Goode could give to your project.”
“I told Mr. Harris I wanted a woman’s touch in the elements of the overarching theme for the penthouse. Didn’t he tell you?”
“No. He only said to make you happy in your design experience.” He smirked at that comment, and weirdly it didn’t appear cocky or arrogant—just rather mischievous.
“Well, you can start making me happy by accepting the project, Brooke.” His thumb tapped his knee where he’d rested his hand. It felt like he was waiting me out, playing his hand at a game of cards, all while keeping that cheeky smirk on his face.
I would never get a chance like this again. Renovating a billionaire’s Back Bay penthouse would be the making of my whole career. Jon agreed. If I turned it down, I would be a moron who didn’t deserve to be an interior designer and might as well go back to working for arseholes like Martin.
“Right. I accept the very generous offer of your job, Caleb.”
His smirk turned into a smile that made his blue-and-golden eyes twinkle. “This makes me very happy, Brooke.”
Caleb had a way of making a suggestive comment come off innocent and sweet. I could sense the double entendre in his answers, but they didn’t cross the lines of propriety, or make me uncomfortable to be around him.
He checked his watch, which probably cost the amount written on my retainer fee check, and rose from the chair. “It’s after five, and I promised you an early dinner. Shall we get going?”
Just like that he took charge. It was done smoothly and effortlessly on his part. The next thing I knew was the weight of his hands on my shoulders as he helped me into my coat. A minute later he was guiding me out the door with his strong fingers pressing solidly to my back. There was a strange mix of dominance and deference emanating from everything he did, whether I like
d it or not.
“I’m afraid it’s raining pretty hard at the moment, but Isaac will take care of you,” he said as we stepped outside.
A distinguished gentleman with graying hair ushered me under a huge umbrella and into a black stretch Mercedes without one drop of water catching me.
Caleb slid into the seat beside me.
The door was shut behind him, instantly silencing the noise of the pounding rain drenching the city. We both turned our heads and studied each other. No words were exchanged, just looking.
Physical space had been used up by our bodies sitting very close on the seat together, so there was nothing left to do but experience it. I felt his body heat and smelled whatever scent he’d used. Spicy and masculine—drugging my senses from his closeness.
As his driver eased into traffic, Caleb took my hand in his and held it.
I didn’t pull away. I didn’t want to pull my hand from his because I liked very much how it felt, so warm and protective.
He sighed just slightly, but I caught it. It reminded me of an expression of relief from him.
I didn’t understand why or what his interest could be in choosing me for his five-million-dollar penthouse renovation, but now I was well past caring.
Because I very much liked that feeling as well. Peaceful. Excited. Distinctly different, yet equally describing what it felt like to have my hand claimed by Caleb’s hand. It maybe should have felt presumptuous of him, a tad rude even. Yet strangely it only felt right.
Caleb
She smelled so good and looked so pretty it took some restraint not to crowd her. I wanted to. I wanted to do a lot of things with Brooke.
Once I had her beside me in the backseat of the car, I felt myself relax—immense relief, which was fucking unbelievable, but exactly how I felt. It made no sense because the whole experience was unfamiliar to me. I had to process everything from scratch. Brooke was a step-by-step exploration of territory I’d never ventured into before. I wanted to stake my claim on her—to her—with her. I wanted more than I could have of her right now. I instinctively knew I’d have to take it slow in order to have any chance at all with the girl who had worked her way so deeply under my skin I barely recognized myself anymore. Was this love like Lucas said?