What a Girl Wants (11 page)

He heard the subtext: It was a special place and he’d have to earn it. Fair enough. Leaning closer, he inhaled discreetly. He wondered if her garden would smell as amazing as she did.

She frowned at him. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” He cleared the lust from his throat. “Do people often ask for custom scents?”

“Not often. I think they don’t realize they can.” Ariana filled the jar carefully and capped it. “This client told me about her grandmother during a facial, so I thought I’d try the lavender on her. She loved it, so now she requests it because she knows I’m happy to make whatever she’ll enjoy.”

He picked up the jar and looked at the handwritten label.
Exfoliating Scrub ~ Summer with Grandmère.

“I gave the name a personal touch,” Ariana said.

Like she’d done with his shaving cream. She gave everything a personal touch. He set the jar down and crossed his arms as he studied her. That was the thing about Ariana’s business: It was the main reason she was so successful, and scaling it wasn’t going to preserve that aspect of what she did.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Your business is, in large part, you. Expanding it the way your father envisions is going to dilute the specialness of what you offer.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying.” She sighed in relief. “So you agree that Dad’s plan isn’t in my best interest?”

“No, I didn’t say that. It’s just going to be tricky.”

“I—” Her phone rang, distracting her. Wiping her hands on a towel, she picked it up and looked at the screen. Her lips pursed and then she silenced her phone and set it aside.

Who didn’t she want to talk to? “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

“No.”

“Is it your father?”

“No.” She set the bowl in the sink and reached for a sponge. “But if it were him, I wouldn’t answer it either.”

Sebastian leaned against the counter, next to her. “Aren’t you being unfair to Edward?”

She arched her brow. “Aren’t you concerning yourself in something that’s none of your business?”

“That’s the thing,” he said. “I’m in the middle of it. It kind of is my business.”

“Just tell him you couldn’t help me.” Rinsing the bowl, she set it aside and faced him. “He’ll believe that I was too stubborn to let you.”

But then it’d mean having no excuse to see her, and he didn’t like that. Plus, he knew better—he could help her. The more he got to know her and her objectives, the better he could help align that with what Edward wanted. It was a challenge he liked.

“Besides, no one would believe you’d stick around and endure my abuse,” she added.

“I used to get paid a lot of money to put up with abuse,” he said wryly.

She shook her head. “I just don’t get why you’re doing this. No favor to my father is worth it.”

But seeing her happy and fulfilled was. It’d become very important to him, he realized with sudden clarity. He stood up straight. “This is about more than a favor.”

“Aren’t you all about living your life to the fullest? This seems like it’d be a waste of your time. Like you’re hitting your head against a wall.”

“Maybe.” Stepping closer, he looked into her eyes. “But at least I’m not avoiding the walls.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you have incredible potential, and you don’t see it. People love your products. Have you thought more about Marjorie’s offer?”

“Not really,” she murmured, looking away.

She had—he could tell even if Annabelle hadn’t told him. He picked up one of the handcrafted jars and studied it. “What are you scared of, Ariana? Failing, or succeeding?”

“Do you know what it’s like to grow up in a family of successful, talented people?” She folded her arms, hugging herself. “My mom started painting a few years ago and is in demand by art galleries. My sister decided she wanted to be in fashion and five years later she has one of the top yoga lines out there. My dad ruled the world. It’s a lot to live up to.”

“The only person you have to live up to is yourself.” He set the jar down. “You’re the only one who thinks you aren’t accomplished.”

“I don’t think that.” She didn’t sound convinced. “Having a conglomerate isn’t what I want.”

He mirrored her pose. “Bullshit.”

“What do you want from life, Sebastian?”

He recoiled, startled by the intensity of her question. “What is it with you Warrens and reverse psychology?”

“What?”

He shook his head. “Never mind.”

“I want to know, Sebastian. What do you want from life?” She put her hands on her hips. “Why are you here instead of pursuing your dreams?”

He suspected they were tied together. He thought about what Viola had said, about him helping small businesses flourish. It felt good. It felt right.

But Ariana continued, unaware. “Because it seems like maybe you should think about what you want instead of what my dad wants.”

“What do you want?” he asked, curious.

“What any girl wants. A purpose. Love. Happiness.” She stared at him. “So what do you want?”

“Family.” The word practically exploded from his lips. Frowning, he thought about the rest. “Love and happiness, too.”

“Do you mean that, or are you just borrowing them from me?”

“I mean it.”

She gave him a disbelieving look. “Pestering me isn’t going to get you those things.”

He took a breath and inhaled her spicy Christmas smell. He wouldn’t be too sure about that.

‡

E
dward stepped out of the master bathroom and ran into Lillian.

“Oh. Edward.” His wife put a hand to her neck, as though he were the last person she expected to see in the hallway of their home.

Not that he could argue a counterpoint. They never ran into each other. The house was too big for two people, that was true, but he wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that she was avoiding him.

“I—” He blinked, noticing what she had on.

Or, rather, what she didn’t have on. She wore one of his old white dress shirts; the sleeves rolled up with paint splatters on it.

That was it.

Her legs were bare except for the chain circling her ankle.

He tried not to think about whether or not she had anything on under the shirt, but—damn it—she was
his
. He was supposed to be allowed those thoughts about her.

“I’m glad I ran into you, Edward,” she said with a direct look.

His chest lightened, happy, too. “I—”

“Tell me about Sebastian Tate,” she interrupted.

The joy he felt dissolved into envy. He glanced down at the anklet. It seemed to mock him. “What do you know about Sebastian Tate?”

“I met him the other day. I want to know about him.”

He’s too young for you, he wanted to retort, but he realized it was a lie. Lillian didn’t look much older than the girls. Only a foolish man wouldn’t be interested in her, and Sebastian was no fool. “He did a campaign for the company a number of years ago. I asked him to look at Ariana’s business.”

“Yes, but what sort of man is he?” she asked, twisting her ring.

“A businessman,” he replied, annoyed. Why couldn’t she show him this kind of interest?

She huffed a sigh and stalked away, shaking her head.

“What?” he called after her. What did he do?

“That’s it,” he muttered, striding downstairs to his study. He took a seat at his desk and took out a notebook and a pen.

He’d been a successful CEO because he’d known his own limitations and knew to hire the best people to complement his weak points. He knew he was excellent at coming up with a vision; carrying it through was a different thing. He had soldiers to make his visions reality.

Unfortunately, with Lillian, he didn’t have anyone to help. There was only himself.

So it was time to come up with a day-by-day plan, because he was getting nowhere floundering the way he was.

He made a short list: one thing a day he’d do to win his way back into her arms. Setting the pen down, he studied what he came up with. It was good. It’d work.

It had to work.

*

On today’s agenda to win Lillian’s attention back: buy her flowers.

When they’d first started out, he used to buy her flowers every week, even though they couldn’t afford the expense. She’d loved them, so he’d skipped lunch once a week to have money to take some home.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bought her flowers, now that he thought about it. Once a year his assistant used to send Lillian flowers for Valentine’s Day.

The thought made him wince.

Not that Lillian had ever complained.

But why hadn’t she? It made him wonder if she cared, and that she might not terrified him.

He pulled into their driveway and parked in the garage. Her car was there, which made him both relieved and nervous.

Picking up the bouquet from the seat next to him, he walked into the house. He’d had the woman put together a bouquet that was bright and colorful, with blue the color of Lillian’s eyes and pink like her skin and yellow and orange like her disposition. It was a cheerful bouquet.

“Lillian,” he called out as he stepped inside.

There was no answer.

Frowning, he did a quick sweep of the first floor. She wasn’t anywhere, not even in her studio or the kitchen.

Walking up the stairs, he went to their bedroom and heard a watery splash from the attached bathroom. When he walked in, he stopped abruptly, shocked to see Lillian in the bathtub, soaking. Her hair was up, and a thick layer of bubbles covered her completely, leaving nothing to view but everything to imagination.

Her toes peeked out from the other end, propped on the edge of the tub, and she had her phone in her hand, elbow propped on a towel at the edge. She looked sexy and alluring, someone he wished he knew but knew was too elusive.

Completely unlike his wife.

She even had a mysterious smile on her face like she had a secret, or like she was reading a text from a lover.

He scowled. She wouldn’t.

What did he know? And, frankly, he wasn’t one to judge.

Still, he wasn’t going to stand for it. He rushed into the bathroom and glared at her.

She glanced over the top of her phone without lowering it. “Did you need something, Edward?”

He hated when she called him that. He shoved the flowers away from himself. “I got these for you.”

“Thank you,” she said politely, as if he’d offered her a napkin instead of his heart. “Just set them on the counter. I’ll put them in water later.”

He laid them on the counter gingerly, as if they were breakable. When he turned around, she was engrossed in her phone again. “What are you reading?” he asked, mentally wincing when he heard how abrupt his tone was.

“A book,” she replied.

“On your phone?”

She glanced up. “I love reading on my phone. I use it exclusively these days.”

He hadn’t noticed, and the accusation was loud and clear in her statement. He knew he should say something but wasn’t sure what that was.

“Did you need something, Edward?” she asked with exaggerated patience.

Yes, but he couldn’t put it in words—not words that didn’t make him sound weak. “I just brought you flowers.”

She nodded. “Yes, you did. And now you’re looming.”

“Are you dismissing me?” She acted like she didn’t want him there—he was invading her private time.

“Did you want to say something to me?” she asked in a careful tone.

Why should he say anything? He crossed his arms. Why should he try like this when she wasn’t going to make any effort?

Her expression fell as though she were disappointed. “I guess I am saying you can go then.”

Cursing under his breath, he strode out of the bathroom, straight to his office. He slammed the door and paced.

Once he cooled down he realized he’d taken the wrong approach. Conflicts needed to be settled on neutral turf. Taking people offsite had always been the way he’d dealt with interpersonal issues in business. He needed to take Lillian away.

The problem was he wasn’t sure she’d go.

He had to try. He made a reservation for dinner and a suite at the Ritz in Half Moon Bay for the night. Then he texted her to be ready at six to go out.