adrian-run-to-you-v1 Page 4

  “Inside one of the lingerie drawers just outside the dressing rooms.”

  “What? That’s impossible.” I’m stunned. More than that, I’m confused as hell. “How on earth did it end up there?” I ask, keeping my voice quiet. “Someone must’ve taken it out of my office. Is this someone’s idea of a joke?”

  “I’m sorry, Evelyn, I don’t know anything more. All I can tell you is I was straightening bras in the everyday collection to get ready for closing in another hour, and when I opened one of the drawers, there it was.”

  I shake my head, trying to make sense of what I’m hearing. I don’t want to think that one of my coworkers could be responsible--or any of our customers who’d been in the boutique today--but I know damn well that’s the only way the clutch could have ended up anywhere outside my private office.

  “What about my wallet? Is it still there? Does it look like anything’s missing?” I ask Megan, my mind churning as fast as my words. “What about my phone?”

  “I can check for you if you’d like,” she offers. “Hang on a sec.”

  I wait, glancing over my shoulder to where Andrew is watching me while conversing with Avery and Nick. Megan comes back on the line a moment later.

  “Your wallet and phone are both here. I can’t tell for sure, but it doesn’t seem like anything’s been taken.”

  “All right. I’m heading back in a few minutes. Will you do me a favor and hold it for me until I get there?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Thanks, Meg.”

  My brother walks over to me while I’m handing the phone back to Lily and thanking her for intercepting the call for me. “Everything okay?”

  I nod. “Everything’s good.” I step away from the desk and glance at my watch if only to avoid his searching gaze. “Listen, I need to take off. Meg’s alone at the shop and I told her I’d swing by before we close up.”

  “That’s too bad. The three of us were talking about going out to grab a bite. We were hoping you might like to join us.”

  I catch my lip on a groan, because there’s nothing I’d like better than to continue the high from my meeting with Avery. “I’m sorry, I can’t tonight. I really do need to get back to the boutique.”

  “You’re putting in a lot of time at work lately.”

  “I know. But honestly, I don’t mind all of the crazy hours because I love what I’m doing. I’ve never been happier.”

  “The shop’s growing fast, Evie. I just don’t want you to take on more than you can handle.”

  “I’m not.” My reply carries an edge of defensiveness I don’t intend.

  “You sure about that?” His eyes hold me with concern, his deep voice taking on the serious big-brother tone that usually ends up with both of us locking horns before all is said and done. “What happened to your cell phone?”

  “It’s no big deal.” I give him a dismissing shrug. “I left it back at L’Opale.”

  “You never go anywhere without your phone on you. In fact, you promised me you wouldn’t.”

  “It’s fine, Andrew. I’m fine.” We’re out of earshot from anyone, and even though I know my brother means well--even though I know I’ve given him plenty of reason to worry about me in the past--it rankles me to hear his over-protectiveness here, in a public space, in front of a new client. “Please, stop treating me like I’m made of glass. I’m good. You don’t need to worry about me anymore. I promise.”

  He’s silent, scowling, but I see the stress lurking behind the skepticism in his eyes. I see the cold fear that had never been there until I caused it several years ago.

  “I have to go,” I murmur under my breath.

  I pivot away from him to say my goodbyes to Avery and Nick, then I head to the elevator and step inside alone.

  Andrew’s sober stare remains locked on me as the polished steel doors close between us.

  4

  ~ Gabriel ~

  I arrive at the Baine Building before six the next morning. Technically, I’m not on the clock for another hour, but I know Andrew Beckham starts his day at dawn--usually with a workout in the company fitness room before showering and heading down to his executive floor office across the hall from Dominic Baine’s.

  With real estate at an off-the-charts premium, few corporations provide complimentary in-house employee fitness centers. Even fewer reserve the fully windowed top floor of their company headquarters for weight training, scores of treadmills, ellipticals, and stationary bikes, plus an indoor running track--all with unmatched, 360-degree views of the city.

  Beck will have been finished with his training by now, but it’s still early enough to catch him before the administrative staff and other office workers show up for the day. His door is open, but I rap my knuckles on the panel anyway.

  “Hey, Gabe.” He looks up from a desk spread full of blueprints and stacks of contracts. “Haven’t seen you in this early in a while.”

  I nod, still standing outside the room. “Got a minute?”

  “Sure. Come on in.”

  As I step inside the large office, I realize we’re not alone. On the other side of the room to my left, Dominic Baine is seated on a club chair. He nods from where he’s working on another pile of papers and plans. “Morning, Gabe. What’s going on?”

  Damn. So much for any hopes of keeping my fuck-up with Evelyn Beckham on the down-low. Then again, I’ve never run from responsibility, and I’m not about to start now.

  “Something happened yesterday that I need to make you aware of,” I tell both men, keeping my attention mainly on Beck. “I was in the garage heading out for the day when I noticed someone parked in your spot down there. I went over and informed the female it was a reserved space and asked her to move her vehicle, but she was . . . uncooperative. You could say we clashed a bit. In the end, I don’t think I left her with a very good impression of me.”

  He makes an acknowledging noise and leans back in his chair. “So I heard.”

  Ah, fuck. Of course, he’s already heard all about it. I exhale and give a tight shake of my head. “I’m sorry, Beck. I didn’t realize you had a sister. I’m sure she gave you an earful about the way I handled things with her.”

  His mouth quirks. “She thinks you need to work on your people skills.”

  I grunt. “Not the first time I’ve been told that. I’m sure it won’t be the last. Anyway, I apologize. I didn’t realize Evelyn was your sister until after I’d confronted her and asked her for ID, which she didn’t have.”

  “What do you mean she didn’t have it?” He frowns, dropping forward and resting his elbows on the desk. “Or are you saying she dug in her heels and refused to show it to you?”

  For some reason, it feels like a betrayal to say anything more, but Beck is my friend. Both he and Nick are responsible not only for my livelihood but for saving my sanity as well when they hired me a year ago. Hell, they probably saved my life. I can’t keep information from either one of them, especially when I’m being asked directly to provide it.

  “Evelyn didn’t have her purse on her. She told me she lost it yesterday.”

  “Lost it?” Beck looks concerned, even troubled. He and Nick exchange a glance before he blows out a short sigh and shakes his head. “Never mind, that’s a conversation I’ll have with her at another time.”

  I nod, unsure what I’ve missed. “At any rate, I could’ve handled things better than I did. You hired me to be a professional, and I am. But yesterday I stepped over the line and I need you both to know it won’t happen again.”

  “Relax,” Beck says, a wry smile on his lips. “It probably did my little sister some good to meet a man who didn’t trip all over himself to impress her.”

  “Gabe’s possibly the first.” Nick strolls over to us, amusement in his eyes too. “Beck’s sister would attract attention even if she hadn’t once been the queen of the runways from New York to Paris.”

  “Queen of the what?”

  I’m frowning when I glance back at
Beck again. “Her career was short, but meteoric. It’s been five years since she left modeling behind, but Evie still can’t go anywhere without being recognized.”

  “Evie.” And just like that, my confusion is seared away, replaced with a dawning understanding that makes me feel like an even bigger jackass. “Ah, Christ. She’s your sister? That hot new supermodel everyone was talking about a few years ago . . . Eve.”

  “One and the same,” Nick confirms.

  “Was,” Beck adds. “As in, past tense. And thank God for that.”

  I curse again, muttering it under my breath. “Jesus, I’m a fucking idiot. I didn’t know.”

  What’s more, I would have never guessed. Not because Evelyn Beckham isn’t still a total knockout, easily the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. It’s just that I wasn’t paying much attention to shit like that when I was overseas. Still, you’d have to be living under a rock not to have at least heard the name Eve.

  Through the haze of my surprise, I register the subtle return of Andrew Beckham’s soberness where his sister is concerned. He worries about her. Part of me is intrigued to know why.

  But it’s not my business to wonder about Evelyn.

  I came here to deliver an apology and possibly grovel to keep my job. Fortunately, the latter doesn’t seem necessary, which is a damn relief because I’ve never been good at begging for forgiveness. God knows my father can attest to that. My ex-fiancée too.

  I clear my throat. “Anyway, Evelyn mentioned she was here for a meeting with Avery. I hope it went well for her in spite of me holding her up in the garage.”

  Nick grunts. “I’ll say it did. Last night I saw the invoice for the deposit on several pieces of custom lingerie Avery’s commissioned her to design. If the down payment is that impressive, I can’t wait to see the finished products.”

  “Evelyn’s boutique, L’Opale, is in one of Nick’s buildings on Madison,” Beck informs me.

  I nod in acknowledgment, but my thoughts are snagged on the uninvited mental image of Evelyn surrounded by corsets and G-strings and other lacy underthings. Is that what she wore beneath that body-hugging dress yesterday? I grit my teeth, trying to banish the curiosity--and the swift, hot streak of lust that ignites inside me at the same time.

  When I blink and meet Beck’s gaze, it’s almost as if he senses the inappropriate direction of my thoughts. I can’t fool myself that he doesn’t. Nor can I deny the dark warning in his eyes.

  She is not for you.

  He doesn’t have to say the words. I hear them in my own mind, in my own voice.

  Even if she didn’t hate me, I’d never consider laying a finger on Evelyn Beckham.

  If I did, I have no doubt her brother would hate me. And with good reason.

  Andrew Beckham and I met in passing a year and a half ago at a private club owned by an artist named Jared Rush. Rush’s gatherings cater to an exclusive, invitation-only crowd--men and women who either require or prefer to seek their pleasures outside the boundaries of convention. BDSM. Voyeurism. Role play, group play, and everything in between. There were rumors that a certain billionaire had once been a frequent attendee at Rush’s club, and while I don’t exactly doubt it, I don’t particularly care if it’s true, either.

  And as Beck stares at me now, I trust he knows that while I won’t apologize for the choices I make in my life, I am disciplined enough not to drift outside of my lane where his sister is concerned.

  I hold my friend’s unflinching gaze. “Like I said, I know what’s expected of me here, and I promise you I take it seriously.”

  “That’s never been in doubt yet,” Nick says. “In fact, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something, Gabe.”

  “Sir?”

  “Baine International has been growing this past year. With all the recent property acquisitions, it’s time we take a look at upgrading and streamlining our security systems across the board. We’re going to need someone in-house to lead the security teams and oversee the implementation of the new software and equipment. Ideally, someone who’s already familiar with our current staffs and protocols.”

  “It’s going to mean longer hours,” Beck says. “Some field work too. You’ll have to check in on the properties from time to time, help head off issues before they have a chance to become problems.”

  I glance between them. “Are you offering me the job?”

  Nick nods. “We know you’ve got the leadership skills. Over the past year you’ve been here, you’ve also demonstrated you have the stamina and the experience. The rest you’ll pick up as you go. The job isn’t going to be easy, though. You’ll be the first point of contact on all security matters, reporting directly to me. Of course, the pay will be commensurate with your new responsibilities.”

  He picks up a pen and writes something on a scrap of paper from Beck’s desktop. He hands it to me and I stare at the number that’s just north of mid-six figures.

  “That’s to start,” Nick adds. “There will also be quarterly bonuses for you based on the performance of the team as a whole. I estimate those could easily double that figure in time.”

  I can’t stop staring at the number he scrawled on the paper. I feel shell-shocked. And grateful beyond words.

  “If this sounds acceptable to you, Beck can draw up the necessary agreements and have them in your hands before the end of the day.”

  I nod. “Yeah, this sounds acceptable. Holy fucking shit.”

  Nick chuckles. “Don’t think you aren’t going to earn every dime of it.”

  “No, sir,” I answer by rote. “I mean, yes sir. Jesus Christ . . . I don’t know what to say.”

  I mean it too. Working for Baine International has been my lifeline this past year. Now, it’s the kind of life changer I never dreamed I’d have, especially after leaving the service.

  Beck comes around his desk and shakes my hand. “Congratulations. You’ve earned this.”

  “Thank you. Both of you.” I clear my throat, doing my damnedest to maintain some modicum of calm. “How soon do you want me to start?”

  Nick claps my shoulder. “You just did. Get some coffee and come back up. We’ll take you through the systems currently in place at our buildings around the city and you can tell us where you see immediate vulnerabilities. Then we can talk about finding someone to replace you at your former post.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  5

  ~ Evelyn ~

  I have spent the entire day poring over fabrics and measurement notes in my office at L’Opale, and I cannot recall a time when I’ve ever been happier. I’m so consumed with my work, I hardly notice someone standing in the doorway until Megan quietly clears her throat.

  “I hate to interrupt you,” she says, her freckle-dusted face scrunched in apology. “Katrina and I are taking off now.”

  “Okay, thanks, Meg.” Reluctantly, I pull myself away from my work, feeling the twinge of kinked muscles in my back and neck as I stand. “Come on, I’ll lock up behind you.”

  “Staying late again?” Katrina asks when I walk out to the main sales floor of the shop. Her straight, platinum-blond bob accentuates the lean slope of her cheeks and her shrewd blue eyes that always seem a little cold, a little cynical and mistrusting. Then again, being part of the cutthroat fashion industry can do that to a person. Among other things.

  “Work too many long hours and your creativity will suffer for it,” she says, a trace of criticism in her voice. “I’m sure you don’t want to disappoint our newest client.”

  It’s taken a while for me to warm up to Kat, even though she’s been with L’Opale from the beginning. She’s mercurial and impossible to read, an intensely private person. I’ve never heard her mention family or a significant other--hell, even a friend--in all of the five years we’ve worked together.

  Yet, while I’ve never considered us particularly chummy, we do make an excellent design team and I know her well enough that I can overlook her competitive tone now. “I should be rea
dy to hand off a few of the designs to Jane tomorrow so she can start sewing. Avery is so enthusiastic about all of the pieces, I can’t wait to have something for her to try on.”

  Megan’s eyes light with shared excitement. “I adore the sheer boned Basque with the tiny organza flowers on it. Ooh! And the demi-bra with the pearl accents.”

  “Thanks. Those are two of my personal favorites too.”

  Katrina gives me a nod. “You did a great job on the concepts. Congrats.”

  “Thank you, Kat. That means a lot coming from you.” I glance past her shoulder to the edge of our cashier station, where a potted miniature rosebush sits. “Where did that come from?”

  Megan lightly smacks her forehead. “Oh, God, I almost forgot. Mr. Hennings dropped it off for you earlier today. He grew it himself.”

  I smile at the mention of the wealthy, sixty-something gentleman who’s one of L’Opale’s more eccentric, but charming, clients. “What a sweet thing for him to do. It’s beautiful.”

  “He’s a romantic, that’s for sure,” Meg says. “I hope when I’m old and gray I’ve found a man like him who takes the time to tend his own roses and still woos his ladylove with pretty, handmade lingerie.”

  Kat scoffs. “Walter Hennings isn’t buying handmade lingerie for an old lady, Meg. He’s buying it for a woman in Latvia who’s almost young enough to be his granddaughter.”

  I sigh and shake my head, even though she’s right. Not that any of us have met the widowed, retired executive’s girlfriend. He’s sadly relayed that Ilona refuses to relocate to the States until she’s able to bring her mother along with her. While Mr. Hennings wrestles with the paperwork to make that happen, he’s been sending his long-distance love dozens of bespoke lingerie gifts, which I’ve designed to his exacting specifications--even using myself as a sizing model for our seamstress at times, since Ilona and I share a similar build.

  “If you ask me, he’s pathetic,” Kat mutters. “I won’t be the least surprised to find out she’s only using him for his money. And more power to her, if she is.”