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She remained utterly still in her chair, stiff, unmoving. “I’m sorry I had to see it.”
The thought of this soft creature witnessing the death of her own father twisted something deep inside him and left behind an emotion that held a vague echo of sympathy. He knew what that was like. To be jolted out of your privilege and headfirst into every ugly thing the world held.
She didn’t deserve it. It could be argued that he had.
“So,” he said, changing the subject, “what is it you want to get out of this time at Black Properties?”
“I’m here to learn. I’d like to open a hotel someday, a small one. So I think anything I can learn from you would be valuable.”
“And what about school?”
“I’m going to school. I’m a senior at Columbia and should be graduating at the end of the year. Majoring in business, minoring in hospitality. I would love to finish on campus, but at the moment that is…difficult. I’m making arrangements with my professors.”
“But you will finish,” he said.
She raised an eyebrow. “Because school is important?”
“Not particularly,” he said.
“Oh,” she said, her lips making the shape of the word and holding for a moment before she continued. “I’ve never had a job. I went from living at home to going to school. And my parents always took care of me. They still sort of are.”
“Are you trying to dissuade me from giving you the position?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. The alternative is hiding out somewhere until the press goes away.”
“Or you can hide here,” he said. “And you can get work experience. How does that sound?”
“It sounds slightly more productive than my plan.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Why not?”
“Not a very definitive answer,” he said. “But one I’ll take.”
He rose from his position behind the desk and Addison followed his lead. He watched her movements. Graceful, poised. She was the product of an aristocratic family, as he had been. She’d been given every tool to succeed from an early age, a private school education of the highest quality that had turned each movement into art, and conversation into a performance.
There had been a time when he’d had those things, but they were lost to him now. Funny how two years of solitude could break a lifetime of habits. He was rarely conscious of it anymore, but something about Addison forced him to be.
Perhaps it was the contrast. The society sweetheart who still lived in it, and society’s favorite former playboy who had retreated so far into the darkness he could only peer in on the world he’d once belonged to. Not because the door was locked, but because he couldn’t remember why in hell he’d ever wanted to be part of it. Because even if he wanted it, he wouldn’t be able to.
Just the thought of it made a cold sweat break out on his neck, made a sick sensation slip down into his stomach.
No, it wasn’t even a possibility for him. And he didn’t want it to be anyway.
“Would you like a rundown on your responsibilities?” he asked.
“Aside from making you coffee or tea?”
“I don’t drink coffee,” he said. “Or tea.”
“Oh.”
“Or alcohol.”
“Oh,” she said again, a crease appearing between her finely arched eyebrows.
“I never got used to it again,” he said. “Alcohol just makes me vomit. Coffee gives me a headache.” Possibly too frank judging by the brief contortion of her lips. He could never seem to strike the right balance.
“I see. So…what do I get you, then?”
“I can tell you’re already slightly concerned that rumors of my mental state are true,” he said, watching the momentary flicker in her expression, which was now smooth as glass. As telling as any expression of horror could ever be. “But not wanting a shot of whiskey after dinner doesn’t make me crazy.”
He walked out from behind his desk, and her eyes fell to his bare feet. She blinked a couple of times.
“Not wanting a shot of whiskey after dinner doesn’t make me crazy,” he repeated, “but there are other things.”
“I see.” She cleared her throat and took a breath, looking back at his face as if she was determined to skip over the lack of shoes. “What do I do for you, then?” she asked, the softly spoken, crisply articulated words moving over his skin like a breeze that signaled an impending storm. “If I can’t make you coffee or pour you a drink.”
“You can start by fielding the endless messages I get every day.”
“Pardon my impertinence, but why is it you don’t have a paid PA or secretary for this?”
“They keep quitting,” he said. “Hence the internship. I needed someone with no job experience who couldn’t just go out and find another position.”
“Why is that?”
He looked back down at his feet, then back up at her, the left side of his mouth turned up of its own volition. “You’ll see, I imagine.”
Her blue eyes remained level with his. Unblinking. “I have a feeling I will. So, would you mind giving me directions to my room?” she asked.
The idea of her wandering around on his floor without direction made his pulse spike. For the first time, he questioned the wisdom of allowing her to stay here.
But it made sense. And she was just a woman. Nothing to get crazy about.
“I’ll show you to your room,” he said. “Did you bring your things?”
“Yes,” she said. “The staff assured me that they would be sent up ahead of me.”
“And yet you were still testing me. Seeing if I would dismiss you. Hoping I would?”
She smoothed her hair. “Probably that’s what I was doing, yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t just turn you down. Austin would have a fit.”
“Would he?”
“He thinks he’s taking care of me… I think he believes this internship is going to magically fix everything that I’ve been through recently. It’s not that simple.”
“You’re preaching to the converted,” he said. “I know all about that.”
“I imagine you do. Which brings me back to the question, what drink do I bring you? Should I juice a pineapple?”
He nearly laughed at that. The impulse was strange and unfamiliar.
“Water,” he said.
“Water?”
“That’s all you need, isn’t it?”
“Most men I’ve met are more concerned with want than need. Sometimes it seems like want must be…more important.” She sounded confused by the concept. As though she didn’t operate on that level. But he knew differently. A woman like Addison Treffen couldn’t possible know about self-denial.
“Here it is,” he said. “But there are a lot of other places where that isn’t the case. I can think of one in particular.”
The corners of her lips turned down. “I apologize. For the comment about the pineapple. It’s probably not something you like people to make joke about.”
He thought about it for a moment, processing the feeling he’d had when she made her pineapple juice comment. Sometimes it took a while for him to evaluate what he felt when he talked to people because he’d spent so long feeling nothing. Well, nothing nuanced. Elation, rage, terror and despair were his primary emotions. The rest had been squeezed down and sorted into one of those four.
“It doesn’t bother me,” he said finally, because that was true enough. “Actually people don’t like to mention it, unless they want to grill me, and I’d prefer a casual joke to that.”
“Well, that’s good to know. Or not, if I’m still trying to get you to fire me.”
“You may as well stick this out. You don’t have any better prospects and I’m willing to bet that after your father’s assassination no one will want you around.”
“I think the assassination bothers them less than the fact that he dealt in…very unsavory things, but I could be wrong.”
“Are you in danger?” he asked.
“Would it bother you if I was? Because if the grudge was against the Treffen family, it could make me a hazard.”
“No, it wouldn’t bother me.” For some reason the idea of a rogue gunman bothered him less than stepping out onto the city streets.
He’d given up trying to make sense of himself.
“Oh,” she said. “Well, anyway, the best the police can figure is that it was a professional hit. My father was targeted because he was prepared to accept a plea bargain. To name names in order to shorten his sentence. So it has nothing to do with me, because I know nothing.”
“One hopes the sniper knows that.”
She blinked rapidly. “Thank you for that.”
“Sorry,” he said, knowing the words had little weight. He barely felt them at all. “Sometimes I’m too blunt.”
“Strange. I was expecting a little more charm. Especially given that, from what I’ve heard, you’re a notorious playboy.”
“I haven’t been one of those for quite some time. That was in my other life. Now, would you like to see your room?”
* * *
Addison looked at the man, taller than she’d anticipated. She’d only ever seen Logan Black on TV. Years ago as the playboy moving his way through all of Manhattan’s socialites—her being an exception, as she was barely legal at the time—and now as the miracle heir to Black Properties, back from the dead after two years. Pictures that had flashed onto the television and on newsstands then had been filled with a thinner, more hollow-cheeked version of him. Long hair, a beard. More Swiss Family Robinson than Swiss banker. But none of those articles or clips on TV had prepared her for the presence of the man.
Of course, he was frequently mentioned in business news now, the photo of the grinning playboy back, in place of the gaunt castaway. Before his time away, he’d always been a heartthrob. His lean frame and wicked smile had dropped panties from St. Bart’s to the Upper East Side. He was different now. He didn’t smile. Any snapshots she’d seen on TV recently were definitely old. Because this Logan didn’t look capable of a real smile. And the spark was gone from his eyes. He was larger too. Broader. Any hint of boyishness was gone now.
“Yes,” she said, the word coming slowly. “I think I would like to see my room.”
Logan circled around behind her and Addison felt like prey being hunted by some kind of big jungle cat. And she had the feeling she was willingly walking into his den.
“I’m happy to take you there.”
“Thanks,” she said, trying to force some air into her lungs. Something about him made it hard to breathe. Which was strange because she didn’t usually have that issue with men, even nice-looking ones.
Her aim had always been simple. To conform, to please. To try and gain that elusive, impossible approval from a father who had never deserved that kind of devotion. Not from her or anyone.
So she’d dated one man, the man she’d been expected to date since before she was old enough to even have a crush on a boy. And that relationship had been…passionless didn’t begin to cover it. It had been an obligation.
Because Eddie was the son of one of the firm’s partners. And they were expected, she was sure, to have some kind of dynastic union. Now that she thought about it, and his behavior, she had a feeling he was as coerced as she was.
With all that tied up in her dating life, she hadn’t really looked at men recreationally.
Good-looking guys didn’t thrill her. Usually. This one seemed to be choking her.
“Great, thanks,” she said. “I have some things to do.”
“You have some work to do.”
“Could I get a moment to set up?” she asked.
He assessed her, his expression unreadable. Well, this was going to be a long few months. “I suppose.”
“You’re going to be fun,” she said, “I can tell.”
“No. I won’t be. Ask anyone who knows me.” He pulled open the office door and held it for her and she walked out in front of him, a whisper of electricity shimmering over her skin, a shot of nerves settling in her stomach. Having him behind her made her uncomfortable. And she couldn’t quite figure out why.
Maybe it was because in many ways he seemed to resemble a predator more than a man.
There was something untamed about him, which was a strange thought, here in the middle of a highly polished hotel. That added to it. Heightened the contrast.
They walked down the long, dimly lit hallways. The wall sconces casting glimmering light onto the polished black marble, the tiles shimmering like an oil slick. The deep purple walls reminiscent of an old-fashioned gaming house. Rich with decadence and sin. A shining mix of Victorian Gothic elegance with an edge of modernity. Several stages of civilization represented under one roof, with a man that seemed to possess only the thinnest veneer of the civilized.
And no shoes.
Or maybe she was crazy, and because of that, she was overthinking. Considering all she’d been through lately, that thought wasn’t completely without merit. Actually the fact that she wasn’t showing signs of crazy seemed to worry the people in her life a lot more than witnessing her having a mental breakdown might have.
Which reminded her that she owed Nora a text. Nora was sort of acting as “big sister by default”, since Harlow was in Europe working an internship in the European branch of her father’s law firm.
Another pocket of the world no doubt hit hard by Jason’s uncovering, and his demise. She wondered how it was there. How Harlow, and everyone, was doing.
