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Frances gave her a warm smile. “Mario, am I right?”
“You have a good eye.”
“Of course, darling.” She drawled out this last word until it was almost three whole syllables. “It’s a job requirement when you’re an antiquities dealer.”
“Your dress is stunning.” Serena couldn’t help but wonder how much it cost. Was she looking at several thousand dollars of red velvet and rubies? The one good thing was that, standing next to Frances Beaumont in that dress, no one was noticing Serena Chase.
Chadwick cleared his throat. She glanced up to find him smiling down at her. Well, no one but him would notice her, anyway.
He turned his attention back to his sister. “You said Phillip is already drunk?”
Frances batted away this question with manicured nails that perfectly matched the color of her dress. “Oh, not yet. But I’m sure before the evening is through he’ll have charmed the spirits right out of three or four bottles of the good stuff.” She leaned forward, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s just that charming, you know.”
Chadwick rolled his eyes. “I know.”
Serena giggled, feeling relieved. Frances wasn’t treating her like a bastard at a family picnic. Maybe she could do this.
Then Frances got serious, her smile dropping away. “Chadwick, have you thought more about putting up some money for my auction site?”
Chadwick made a huffing noise of disapproval, which caused a shadow to fall over Frances’s face. Serena heard herself ask, “What auction site?”
“Oh!” Frances turned the full power of her smile on Serena. “As an antiquities dealer, I work with a lot of people in this room who’d prefer not to pay the full commission to Christie’s auction house in New York, but who would never stoop to the level of eBay.”
Ouch. Serena had bought more than a few things off the online auction site.
“So,” Frances went on, unaware of the impact of her words on Serena, “I’m funding a new venture called Beaumont Antiquities that blends the cachet of a traditional art auction house with the power of social media. I have some partners who are handling the more technical aspects of building our platform, while I’m bringing the family name and my extensive connections to the deal.” She turned back to Chadwick. “It’s going to be a success. This is your chance to get in on the ground floor. And we could use the Chadwick Beaumont Seal of Approval. It’d go a long way to help secure additional funding. Think of it. A Beaumont business that has nothing to do with beer!”
“I like beer,” Chadwick said. His tone was probably supposed to be flat, but it actually came out sounding slightly wounded, as if Frances had just told him his life’s work was worthless.
“Oh, you know what I mean.”
“You always do this, Frannie—investing in the ‘next big idea’ without doing your homework. An exclusive art auction site? In this market? It’s not a good idea. If I were you, I’d get out now before you lose everything. Again.”
Frances stiffened. “I haven’t lost everything, thank you very much.”
Chadwick gave her a look that was surprisingly paternal. “And yet, I’ve had to bail you out how many times?” Frances glared at him. Serena braced for another cutting remark, but then Chadwick said, “I’m sorry. Maybe this one will be a success. I wish you the best of luck.”
“Of course you do. You’re a good brother.” Instantly, her droll humor was back, but Serena could see a shadow of disappointment in her eyes. “We’re Beaumonts. You’re the only one of us who behaves—well, you and maybe Matthew.” She waved her hand in his general direction. “All respectable, while the rest of us are desperately trying to be dissolute wastrels.” Her gaze cut between Chadwick and Serena. “Speaking of, there’s Phillip now.”
Before Serena could turn, she felt a touch slide down her bare arm. Then Phillip Beaumont walked around her, his fingers never leaving her skin. He was quite the golden boy. Only an inch shorter than his brother, he wore a tux without a bow tie. It made him look disheveled and carefree—which, according to all reports, he was. Where Chadwick was more of a sandy blond, Phillip’s coloring was brighter, as if he’d been born for people to look at him.
Phillip took her hand in his and bent low over it. “Mademoiselle,” he said as he held the back of her hand against his lips.
An uncontrollable shiver raced through her body. She did not particularly like Phillip—he caused Chadwick no end of grief—but Frances was one-hundred-percent right. He was exceedingly charming.
He looked up at Serena, his lips curled into the kind of grin that pronounced him fully aware of the effect he was having on her. “Where did you come from, enchantress? And, perhaps more importantly, why are you on his arm?”
Enchantress? That was a new one. And also a testament to Mario’s superpowers. Phillip stopped by the office on a semi-regular basis to have meetings with Chadwick and Matthew about his position as head of special promotions for the brewery. She’d talked to him face-to-face dozens, if not hundreds, of times.
Chadwick made a sound that was somewhere between clearing his throat and growling. “Phillip, you remember Serena Chase, my executive assistant.”
If Phillip was embarrassed that he hadn’t recognized her, he gave no sign of it. He didn’t even break eye contact with her. Instead, he favored her with the kind of smile that probably made the average woman melt into his bed. As it was, she was feeling a little dazzled by his sheer animal magnetism.
“How could I forget Ms. Chase? You are,” he went on, leaning into her, “unforgettable.”
Desperate, she looked at Frances, who gave a small shrug.
“That’s enough.” No mistaking it this time—that was nothing but a growl from Chadwick.
If Chadwick had growled at anyone else like that, he would have sent them diving for cover. But not Phillip. Good heavens, he didn’t even look ruffled. He did give her a sly little wink before he touched her hand to his lips again. Chadwick tensed next to her and she wondered if a brawl was about to break out.
But then he released his grip on her hand and turned his full attention to his brother. Serena heaved a sigh of relief. No wonder Phillip had such a reputation as a ladies’ man.
“So, news,” he said in a tone that was only slightly less sultry than the one he’d been using on her. “I bought a horse!”
“Another one?” Frances and Chadwick said at the same time. Clearly, this was something that happened often.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Chadwick looked...murderous. There really was no other way to describe it. He looked like he was going to throttle his brother in the middle of the Art Museum. “I don’t suppose this one was only a few thousand?”
“Chad—hear me out.” At this use of his shortened name, Chadwick flinched. Serena had never heard anyone call him that but Phillip. “This is an Akhal-Teke horse.”
“Gesundheit,” Frances murmured.
“A what?” Chadwick was now clutching her fingers against his arm in an almost desperate way. “How much?”
“This breed is extremely rare,” Phillip went on. “Only about five thousand in the world. From Turkmenistan!”
Serena felt like she was at a tennis match, her head was turning back and forth between the two brothers so quickly. “Isn’t that in Asia, next to Afghanistan?”
Phillip shot her another white-hot look and matching smile. “Beautiful and smart? Chadwick, you lucky dog.”
“I swear to God,” Chadwick growled.
“People are staring,” Frances added in a light, singsong tone. Then, looking at Serena for assistance, she laughed as if this were a great joke.
Serena laughed as well. She’d heard Chadwick and Phillip argue before, but that was usually behind Chadwick’s closed office door. Never in front of her. Or in front of anyone else, for that matter.
For once, Phillip seemed to register the threat. He took an easy step back and held out his hands in surrender. “Like I was saying—this Akhal-Teke. They’re most likely the breed that sired the Arabians. Very rare. Only about five hundred in this country, and most of those come from Russian stock. Kandar’s Golden Sun isn’t a Russian Akhal-Teke.”
“Gesundheit,” Frances murmured again. She looked at Serena with a touch of desperation, so they both laughed again.
“He’s from Turkmenistan. An incredible horse. One to truly found a stable on.”
Chadwick pinched the bridge of his nose. “How much?”
“Only seven.” Phillip stuck out his chest, as if he were proud of this number.
Chadwick cracked open one eye. “Thousand, or hundred thousand?”
Serena tried not to gape. Seven thousand for a horse wasn’t too much, she guessed. But seven hundred thousand? That was a lot of money.
Phillip didn’t say anything. He took a step back, though, and his smile seemed more...forced.
Chadwick took a step forward. “Seven what?”
“You know, one Akhal-Teke went for fifty million—and that was in 1986 dollars. The most expensive horse ever. Kandar’s Golden Sun—”
That was as far as he got. Chadwick cut him off with a shout. “You spent seven million on a horse while I’m working my ass off to keep the company from being sold to the wolves?”
Everything about the party stopped—the music, the conversations, the movement of waiters carrying trays of champagne.
Someone hurried toward them. It was Matthew Beaumont. “Gentlemen,” he hissed under his breath. “We are having a charity event here.”
Serena put her hand on Chadwick’s arm and gave it a gentle tug. “A very good joke, Phillip,” she said in a slightly too-loud voice.
Frances caught Serena’s eye and nodded in approval. “Chadwick, I’d like to introduce you to the director of the food bank, Miriam Young.” She didn’t know where, exactly, the director of the food bank was. But she was sure Ms. Young wanted to talk with Chadwick. Or, at least, had wanted to talk to him before he’d started yelling menacingly at his relatives.
“Phillip, did I introduce you to my friend Candy?” Frances added, taking her brother by the arm and pulling him in the opposite direction. “She’s dying to meet you.”
The two brothers held their poses for a moment longer, Chadwick glaring at Phillip, the look on Phillip’s face almost daring Chadwick to hit him in full view of the assembled upper crust of Denver society.
Then the men parted. Matthew walked on the other side of Chadwick, ostensibly to lead the way to the director. Serena got the feeling it was more to keep Chadwick from spinning and tackling his brother.
“Serena,” Matthew said simply. “Nicely done. Thus far,” he added in a heavy tone, “the evening has been a success. Now if we can just get through it without a brawl breaking out—”
“I’m fine,” Chadwick snapped, sounding anything but. “I’m just fine.”
“Not fine,” Matthew muttered, guiding them into a side gallery. “Why don’t I get you a drink? Wait here,” he said, parking Chadwick in front of a Remington statue. “Do not move.” He looked at Serena. “Okay?”
She nodded. “I’ve got him.”
She hoped.
Nine (#ulink_2d53c902-6d2a-599a-bf70-474f8c85054a)
Chadwick had never really believed the old cliché about being so mad one saw red. Turns out, he’d just never been mad enough, because right now, the world was drenched in red-hot anger.
“How could he?” he heard himself mutter. “How could he just buy a horse for that much money without even thinking about the consequences?”
“Because,” a soft, feminine voice said next to him, “he’s not you.”
The voice calmed him down, and some of the color bled back into the world. He realized Serena was standing next to him. They were in a nearly empty side gallery, in front of one of the Remington sculptures that made the backbreaking work of herding cattle look glorious.
She was right. Hardwick had never expected anything from Phillip. Never even noticed him, unless he did something outrageous.
Like buy a horse no one had ever heard of for seven million damn dollars.
“Remind me again why I work myself to death so that he can blow the family fortune on horses and women? So Frances can sink money into another venture that’s bound to fail before it gets off the ground? Is that all I’m good for? A never-ending supply of cash?”
Delicate fingers laced through his, holding him tightly. “Maybe,” Serena said, her voice gentle, “you don’t have to work yourself to death at all.”
He turned to her. She was staring at the statue as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.
Phillip had done whatever the hell he wanted since he was a kid. It hadn’t mattered what his grades were, who his friends were, how many sports cars he had wrecked. Hardwick just hadn’t cared. He’d been too focused on Chadwick.
“I...” He swallowed. “I don’t know how else to run this company.” The admission was even harder than what he’d shared over dinner. “This is what I was raised to do.”
She tilted her head to one side, really studying the bronze. “Your father died while working, didn’t he?”
“Yes.” Hardwick had keeled over at a board meeting, dead from the heart attack long before the ambulance had gotten there. Which was better, Chadwick had always figured, than him dying in the arms of a mistress.
She tilted her head in the other direction, not looking at him but still holding his hand. “I rather like you alive.”
“Do you?”
“Yes,” she answered slowly, like she really had to think about it. But then her thumb moved against the palm of his hand. “I do.”
Any remaining anger faded out of his vision as the room—the woman in it—came into sharp focus.
“You told me a few days ago,” she went on, her voice quiet in the gallery, “that you wanted to do something for yourself. Not for the family, not for the company. Then you spent God only knows how much on everything I’m wearing.” He saw the corner of her mouth curve up into a sly smile. “Except for a few zeros, this isn’t so different, is it?”
“I don’t need to spend money to be happy like he does.”
“Then why am I wearing a fortune’s worth of finery?”
“Because.” He hadn’t done it because it made him happy. He’d done it to see her look like this, to see that genuine smile she always wore when she was dressed to the nines. To know he could still make a woman smile.
He’d done it to make her happy. That was what made him happy.
She shot him a sidelong glance that didn’t convey annoyance so much as knowing—like that was exactly what she’d expected him to say. “You are an impossibly stubborn man when you want to be, Chadwick Beaumont.”
“It has been noted.”
“What do you want?”
Her.
He’d wanted her for years. But because he was not Hardwick Beaumont, he’d never once pursued her.
Except now he was. He was walking a fine line between acceptable actions and immoral, unethical behavior.
What he really wanted, more than anything, was to step over that line entirely.
She looked up at him through her thick lashes, waiting for an answer. When he didn’t give her one, she sighed. “The Beaumonts are an intelligent lot, you know. They’ll learn how to survive. You don’t have to protect them. Don’t work for them. They won’t ever appreciate it because they didn’t earn it themselves. Work for you.” She reached up and touched his cheek. “Do what makes you happy. Do what you want.”
She did realize what she was telling him, didn’t she? She had to—her fingers wrapped around his, her palm pressed against his cheek, her dark brown eyes looking into his with a kind of peace that he couldn’t remember ever feeling.
What he wanted was to leave this event behind, drive her home, and make love to her all night long. She had to know that was all he wanted—however not-divorced he was, pregnant she was, or employed she was by him.
