Authors: Karen-Anne Stewart
“Beautiful, impossible woman,” he groans. “Let’s go.”
The rain has continued from last night, lasting through the day only to pour even harder this evening. At least we’re prepared this time. Breck’s driving the Italian sports car again, and he holds the umbrella over my head as he opens my door.
Going over the presentation again on the way, my stomach slowly twists into a million new knots when he pulls in front of the house that appears more like a mansion. We are ushered inside, out of the rain, as the valet parks Breck’s car. The foyer is larger than my bedroom. Technically, it’s larger than my living room as well, since the two are combined in the tiny flat. Meticulous dark marble covers the floor and stark white walls extend four stories high with a majestic stairway as the focal point that gently curves to the higher floors.
My attention is immediately diverted to the paintings lining the walls. Original works of art by Picasso, Matisse, and Degas make an awe-inspiring eclectic collection. I’m pulled to them as soon I as see them hanging on the walls.
Breck gently grabs my elbow, whispering in my ear, “I promise I will show you the entire collection before we leave, but they are expecting us at the moment.”
Reluctantly, I turn away, only to find myself staring at a living masterpiece. All air flees my lungs as I drink in the sight of Breck layered in a three piece tuxedo made of the finest threads. My pulse races as I finally remember how to breathe, “You look amazing.”
“Granddad’s tailor didn’t do half bad,” Breck’s eyes glint teasingly.
More like freaking marvelous. “No, not half bad, at all.”
“Let’s grease some wheels and get this done so we can get the hell out of here,” Breck mumbles under his breath.
A small pang stabs my heart, reminding me that we are here for one purpose only. That
I’m
here for one purpose only, then my role will be done, and I’ll no longer be needed. “Yeah, let’s get it over with,” I respond, hoping my voice doesn’t betray me.
Following Breck into a large living area full of mingling women dressed in elegant designer gowns and men in tuxedos, I muse at how none even remotely come close to how hot Breck looks in his. A warmth spreads against my lower back as Breck rests his hand against me. I find it amusing how the action comforts me now, the complete opposite to the first time he did it at the Dark Hole.
“This must be the lovely lady you were telling us about, Breck.” A nice looking middle-aged man with kind eyes greets us, smiling warmly at me.
“Luke, let me introduce you to Emma Jones, the artist who designed the logo she will be presenting to you and the others tonight,” Breck nods at me, his hand gently pushing me forward.
Hearing Breck refer to me as an artist is like the sweetest lullaby. With all my paintings that Justin saw, he never called me that, even when the paintings won awards.
Luke takes my hand, bringing it to his lips as he brushes a quick kiss across my knuckles, “Luke Hasting. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Jones.”
“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Hasting.”
I’m introduced to seven additional board members and I try to keep all of their names straight, being sure to smile assuredly and not fidget, which is much harder than anticipated. Breck stays by my side for the first few minutes of polite chit chat before gently nudging me and taking a few steps away. Running my tongue across my lips that have suddenly gone dry, Breck gives me a reassuring smile and a discreet shake of his head, reminding me about the importance of confidence.
“I don’t want to hinder you gentleman from the party any longer. I’m ready to show you my design whenever you’re ready,” I offer, a shot of pride lengthening my spine at how my words sound unbelievably more self-assured than how I really feel.
“Please begin, Ms. Jones,” Bryon Southerland, the youngest board member encourages, taking a seat while the others follow.
Breck hands me the iPad from the briefcase he brought.
“Being members of the most lucrative manufacturing industry in the East, you are aware of how Harrison Steele, and his grandson, Breck Steele, have launched the fully reconstructed green line to provide the same exemplary service as in prior years, but added the energy efficiency that will not only save your consumers money but Dur Acier as well, while propelling the new line to unprecedented earnings predicted to surpass the original estimates within six months.”
Glancing at Breck, his approving gaze builds my confidence as I continue, “Mr. Steele built Dur Acier with two things in mind; providing remarkably productive products in a simple, respectable design while keeping the lines updated to allow for contemporary adjustments as times and needs change. The new logo institutes both of these values.” Retrieving my design, I whisper a silent prayer, turning the logo towards the members.
My chest tightens and I feel sweat breaking out at the nape of my neck as I struggle to breathe, waiting, dreading, and anticipating their responses.
“May I take a closer look?” Luke asks.
“Absolutely,” I respond, my voice not quite as strong as before when I hand him the computer with the graphic design.
The eight men take their time passing the design from person to person before Larry Nelson, the longest serving board member, stands, “Young lady, you have a unique touch that I find refreshing. As far as I’m concerned, you have yourself a deal.”
Trying not to throw up, I thank Mr. Nelson before turning toward the others as they unanimously agree. Breck steps next to me, taking my elbow that is currently trembling and pulls me next to him as he places his hand on my back again, effectively calming the swarming butterflies in my stomach. After answering a few questions and thanking the members, Breck leads me to the hallway.
“You handled yourself well in there. Very good job, Ms. Jones,” Breck compliments, handing me a glass of champagne. “Congratulations on your first sale.”
My knees feel like rubber as I take a long sip of the bubbling pink champagne.
“As promised, I will now give you a tour of the house, showing you the art collection, before we join the rest of the party long enough to appease the partners so we can leave.”
“Breck, there you are!” a striking raven-haired woman who appears to be in her mid twenties calls to us as she approaches from across the room.
Breck leans towards me, whispering, “Rich bitch extraordinaire numero uno.”
I hide my smile behind my glass of champagne, taking another long sip as the woman takes Breck’s arm, pulling him away from me and planting a kiss on his cheek, way too close to the corner of his mouth for my liking. “We heard you were here and have been looking for you.”
“Elise, this is Emma Jones, the designer of the logo for the new line.”
“Pleasure,” Elise mumbles, her eyes barely leaving Breck to acknowledge my existence.
A strong dose of jealously slams into me out of nowhere, leaving me shocked with the emotion I’ve rarely experienced and never at this intensity. “Nice to meet you,” I reply politely, not meaning one single word.
“Father is looking for you,” Elise coos, pulling Breck further away.
Breck turns back, “Come on, Emma, I’ll introduce you to Elise’s father, Richard Jefferson, one of my grandfather’s partners.” His last word rolled off his tongue in a distasteful tone meant for only me to understand, and I bite back a laugh.
Elise cuts her eyes towards me, making it obvious I wasn’t invited.
Not sure of what to do, I follow Breck and Elise as she keeps his arm wrapped in hers possessively on the way to the adjoining room where more guests have congregated. Waiters with large trays of delicious looking hors d’-oeuvres pass by, causing my stomach to growl. I skipped lunch and dinner, too nervous about the presentation to be able to eat, at least to eat and keep the food down. Taking another sip of champagne, I make a mental note to not drink too much on an empty stomach, knowing that Jess is right about my being a lightweight.
“I missed you at Father’s fundraiser,” Elise pouts as she tightens her grip on Breck’s arm.
I want to pry her needy fingers off him.
“I wasn’t able to attend,” Breck replies vaguely.
At least it’s not just me who garners glib answers.
“You must come visit me again soon. I’ve redecorated the bedroom,” Elise looks directly at me with the implication, a smug smile spreading across her impeccable features.
Now, beautiful is a word that comes to mind when looking at her. Pompous, spoiled witch are a few more.
“Daddy, look who I found,” Elise gloats, shooting another pointed look my way.
“Breck, glad you could make it,” Mr. Jefferson says, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.
“Mr. Jefferson,” Breck gives a firm shake. Turning towards me, he steps away from Elise and takes my elbow, gently pulling me next to him, “This is Emma Jones.”
“He brought her to present the logo design,” Elise chimes in, her fake smile taunting.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Jefferson,” I smile, shaking his hand.
“Where are you from, Ms. Jones?” Mr. Jefferson asks, his smile a bit warmer with me than Breck, but not much.
“South Carolina.”
Elise lets out a little laugh, “Your accent is …adorable.”
“Thank you,” I reply, making sure to keep my tone amiable, not wanting to reduce myself to her snide attitude, but mostly because I don’t want to damage Breck’s relationship with one of the partners in his grandfather’s company, especially knowing they are already on unstable ground with each other.
Breck’s eyes hold an emotion I can’t detect when he looks at me. A warmth spreads through my veins, noticing that his hand is still resting just above my elbow. Elise notices, too, her red lips pressing tightly together at the sight.
“Did the members like your design?” Mr. Jefferson inquires.
“Um. Yes. They seemed to,” I respond, suddenly shy.
Breck gently squeezes my arm.
“They approved it,” I state with more confidence.
Breck’s grip eases, assumedly pleased with my correction.
“Congratulations,” Mr. Jefferson commends, “this will give you accreditation when the design is coupled with the product after it launches.”
My genuine surprise must register on my face because I feel Breck squeeze again, a little tighter this time. The thought of this possibly helping in launching my career never occurred to me. “Thank you,” I manage to say well enough.
“Emma, let me introduce you to some of my friends while Breck and Father talk,” Elise suggests.
I don’t want to go. I don’t like her. Forcing a smile, I step next to her, “That would be great.”
Elise leads me to a group of women dressed in perfection. Their hair and make-up is flawless. Expensive jewelry is wrapped around their slender, elegant necks, wrists, and fingers. I’m definitely not in my normal clique and I miss Jess, wishing she were here with me. A smile springs to my lips at the thought of Jess in a place like this. She’s as beautiful as the most stunning woman here, but she doesn’t hold their set of manners. It would be amusing to hear what she would say to the ice princess, Elise. That’s what I appreciate the most about my friendship with Jess, I always know where I stand, good or bad. I don’t have to guess what she really thinks, like I do with the people here, except with Elise; it’s obvious she hates me.
“Brittany, Jamelle, Lisa, Tonya, this is Emma,” Elise makes the introductions, waving her hand in a bored manner.
Polite greetings are exchanged as each one curiously glances between Breck and me.
Of course
, they are all trying to figure out if I’m Breck’s new sexual conquest. Anger flushes my cheeks as I realize the only reason Elise brought me over here was to humiliate me. Well, I won’t give her the satisfaction.
“How do you know Breck?” Jamelle asks, beginning the inquisition.
“We have a mutual friend,” I reply smoothly.
“So, you and he aren’t together?” Lisa asks.
“Lisa!” Tonya chastens.
“It’s not like the rest of you weren’t wondering?” Lisa proclaims.
“I’m here strictly for business,” I state truthfully. That piece of truth leaving me a bit raw.
Relief flashes on their faces. Why, I don’t know. If I were one of his conquests, he would be over me by tomorrow.
“You must be close. He’s never brought anyone to one of these parties before,” Brittany states, her eyes studying me.
Hearing that touches my heart and I glance Breck’s way before turning back to Elise when she puffs her lips into a pout, “She’s only here to show the little logo for their new line.”
Beautiful, witchy, and snarky.
“You’re an artist?” Tonya asks, turning her nose up slightly. “Where’s your worked displayed?”
Crap! The dreaded feeling of the inevitable ripping me to shreds is daunting. “I’m meeting with a gallery owner in a couple of weeks.”