Aelin
It’s Thursday.
Good things always happen on Thursdays. I openedAelin Thorne Interior Designson a Thursday, my sister Cara received her invitation from Chefs of the World to join their year-long tour on a Thursday, and Emma, my best friend, gave birth to Cara’s and my goddaughter, Sam, on the truly blessed day. I want to think I was born on a Thursday, but no one was ever able to confirm it.
As I set a steaming mug of coffee and a couple of cookies on my best friend-slash-assistant-extraordinaire’s desk, Emma flicks her bouncy curls over her shoulder and lifts her grin to me.
“Have I told you how much I love you lately?”
I pinch my lips around my smile and roll my eyes. “Only once today. You’re the worst.”
Cookie in hand, Em chuckles. “It’s Thursday, you only need it once.”
Still smiling, I step past the curved archway to my desk. The morning light splashes against the chrome of my three lamps as I settle behind the oak secretary I found for a bargain and turn on my laptop.
A couple of hours later, Emma’s chair bumps in a muted thump against her desk as she gets on her feet, and her voice fills out the quiet space. “Going to the kitchen, need something?”
Focused on my screen, I shake my head. “I’m okay. I’ve packed more cookies for you to take home.”
This is one of the benefits of having a home office. Seven years ago, Cara and I used the very last penny of our savings to buy the two small houses we merged into one in this quiet, residential part of town.
Located just a half hour drive from the hustle and bustle of the city center, but close enough so we don’t drag potential clients out of their geographical comfort zone, the combined house is perfect for us.
The live-in part has four bedrooms, a large living room, a library, and the kitchen while the working wing has plenty of space for Cara’s test kitchen, my office, as well as my studio at the back.
I smile at the selfie of Cara and me on the screensaver. We took that picture the day she left for the Chefs of the World tour.
Since she’s finished culinary school, it’s been Cara’s dream to be selected for this program she calls “a chef’s course for real chefs.” The program, created six years ago by a group of super Michelin chefs, is led by two of the most exciting Michelin starred chefs of the moment—Janice Corneille and Stephen Chen. Every two years they invite six prominent young chefs to travel around the world for a year to learn new skills and hone their craft.
The day the heavy envelope arrived, I did my happy jig in the hallway before leaving the envelope—logo on top— on her desk. But after two days of nothing, I entered her test kitchen where the fragrant smell of roasted something permeated the air. Cara was bent over the island scribbling on her cooking journal with her curly hair tied up in a messy bun low on her nape. She whipped her blue green eyes up as I pushed my hip on the grey stone island.
“So, what did Chefs of the World want?”
She straightened her back, and when she shook her head slowly, my chest tightened at her expression.
“I’m sorry, my Cara, it’s their loss, they should be so lucky to have you on the program. I’m so sorry.”
She lowered her eyes. “They invited me, it’s just, uh, I can’t, it’s too… I just can’t go.”
My heart breaking a little, I cupped her cheek. “Why not?”
Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Because it’s for a whole year on the other side of the world. I could never be away for that long.”
I wrapped my hands around her shoulders. “Why? You’re going to miss our little Californian pocket of Heaven that much?”
Her forced smile broke my heart. “Or is it because you’ll worry about me while you’re away?”
Taking her stubborn silence for the yes she wouldn’t say, I touched my forehead to hers and held her hands. “You have to go, my Cara. And cut the umbilical cord someday.”
When she shook her head, a curl escaped to brush her cheek. “But, what if—”
I framed her face so similar to mine. “You have to go and trust me. It’s the twenty-first century, we’ll never be that far from each other anyway, so trust me and go, okay?”
She locked her eyes onto mine. “Are you sure?”
Yes. Go, do something for yourself for once.I nodded with a grin.
“Because if it’s—”
“I’m sure, my Cara.”
We hugged and jumped around like demented harpies—if harpies were happy beings—and jumped some more before opening a bottle of Champagne we had with a to-die-for raspberry and white chocolate soufflé.
The first weeks, we’ve tried to Facetime as often as possible, but after a month of missed calls and startling calls in the middle of the night, we decided she’d send me postcards of all the places she travels to with the name and picture of her favorite dish from that place. She’s been keeping her part of the bargain with an almost religious zeal and even from thousands of miles away, I feel her love.
Emma’s heels on the wooden floor announce her return. “Thanks, babe, you’re spoiling us.”
I take a deep breath to loosen the tightness in my chest. “I’m spoiling Sam. You, I just feed because I can’t pay you.”Not what you deserve, anyway.
She slants her hip on my desk, the cute way she does, and narrows her blue eyes.
“Babe, stop it. Sam and I are fine. More than fine. We’re back at my mom’s while I finish my masters. Thanks to you, I have valid work experience on my resume and free rein to work on the color and texture software I’m developing. Mom is helping with babysitting Sam and they’re both loving it. Between you and her, I can actually save a little bit of money while knowing my daughter is in safe hands.”
When I smile, she winks before walking back to her desk.
Later, bent over my sketch table, I trace the lines of the dining room for…
“Hello?”
Jesus! My body seizes. My heart drops while my pencil clatters on the paper. I wheel toward the arched entrance where a short, well-dressed man stands ramrod straight. He sets narrowed eyes and pinched lips at me.Where’s Emma?
I brush the skirt of my dress as I approach him and extend my hand. “Good morning, I’m Aelin. How can I help you?”
His fingertips brush nonexistent lint from the lapel of his impeccably cut maroon suit, and I lower my hand he ignores to hold my wrist behind my back.Jerk but possible customer. And I could really use more of those.
He puffs his chest and flicks away more invisible fluff from his sleeve before he clears his throat. His voice is surprisingly high. “Ms. Thorne, I’m here to deliver a proposition.”
Just as I’m about to ask the man with no name to explain himself, Emma walks in, with her cellphone in the palm of her hand while she makes smooching noises to her caller. She stops abruptly before us, sweeps her blonde curls over her shoulder, and turns to him.
Beaming at the snobby messenger, she steps beside him. “Hi, good morning, so sorry to have missed you. I’m Emma. Can I offer you some coffee or water?”
When, like many before him, the obnoxious little man shuffles on his feet while he grins beatifically at Em, I cough to cover my chuckle. As she leads him to the chair across my desk, she rolls her eyes while I sit and pinch my lips around my smile.If she could bottle what we call the Connors magic, Emma would be a multimillionaire.
She smiles at the man. “I’ll be right back with coffee. Let me guess. Black, one sugar?”
The nameless messenger pulls his lips from his teeth and nods. “Yes. How did you…?”
She’s already gone.
Right, maybe now he’ll talk to me like I’m a human being.I lean in. “You have a proposition for me?”
He clears his throat, again, and squares his shoulders. “Yes. Yes, pardon me. It’s more like an invitation. You’ve been recommended to my employer, and we would like you to submit your designs before our panel for a project which must remain confidential.”
After Emma returns with his coffee, he lifts the cup to his mouth with his little finger raised and slurps.
Oh God, he’s one of those!I curl my toes while I clench my teeth around a scream. And he does it again.
The revolting sound shoots straight to my brain. I take a deep breath while my face gets warm, my heartbeat thunders, and my fingers shake with the need to slap the cup from his hand. Then his ferret face… I curl my fists in my lap. Another deep breath.Please stop. Please.
When the cup finally hits the matching saucer on the desk, I roll my ankles and breathe out.
I have a teensy bit of misophonia—hearing people chew, slurp or swallow loud triggers a kind of angry anxiety. It’s been happening since I was a child, so I have it under control, but this balding little man was annoying way before he opened his mouth. I speak louder than necessary to refrain from throttling him.
“I need more details before I can commit to any type of project Mr.…?”
He pinches the knot of his tie he moves side to side before he clears his throat. Again.
“My apologies. Smithson, my name is Tim Smithson.” He pulls out a manila envelope from the inside pocket of his coat and hands it to me. “All you need to know is in the package.”
The Sistine Chapel has already been painted. So, what kind of project would demand such a cloak-and-dagger delivery?
Tapping my fingers lightly on the envelope, I tilt my head to the side.
“Mr. Smithson, can you tell me who recommended me?”
“My employer…”I don’t know who this ‘my employer’ is, but Tim Smithson’s expression tells me it’s a wealthy someone,“…was recently abroad for business and one of his friends, Mr. Kouriakis, showed him a picture of the Versailles-themed ballroom you designed for his daughter’s wedding.”
“Yes, that was an exciting project.” I plant my open palm on the envelope and stand up. “Thank you, Mr. Smithson. I’ll give this my full and immediate attention.”
When he finally leaves—eager to talk to Emma, no doubt—I open the envelope, and my heartbeat quickens.Oh, my God. Can it be?
I hurry to my sketch table on which I lay out the five pages side by side, and I hold my breath.
Oh, my God. Oh, my God. It is.
The project is the restoration of a beautiful Georgian house called the Holloway House located outside of the city.
A few months after we moved here Cara, John—the first man I kissed—and I drove by the house after spending hours at the craft fair in Uxbridge. I asked her to stop the car and stood staring at the empty building for a long time, awestruck by its majesty.
It’s the castle of the little princess in me. My dream and my happy place.
My heartbeat’s so loud, it’s all I can hear. This is my chance to actually renovate it to its former splendor while modernizing its interior. The project that will launch my career and allow me to settle professionally.
“So? What did Mr. Jackass want?”
I spin toward Emma’s smile and fist my hands under my chin. “It’s Holloway House.”
Her cornflower eyes widen before she leaps across the room to grab my hands.
“Ael, this is huge.” My words get stuck in my throat, so I nod as she cups my cheek. “You deserve this and we’re going to dazzle them.”
I shake my head. “This might be premature, I haven’t—”
Emma wraps her hands around my shoulders. “This project is yours, Ael. You’ve been talking about that old house forever and you’re super talented. We’ll get it.” When I grin, she pecks my cheek. “I’ll call the team.”
She means the only people I work with on all my projects—John, my oldest friend and a genius at carpentry, Piotr, brilliant with paint and our color expert. Then there’s Jen, a landscape artist, a true magician with trees and everything green.
“Thank you.”
Around 6:00 PM, after Emma goes home, I shut down the office and remove my heels before I stroll to the kitchen counter where I perch on the dark wood stool. My thumbs fly over the screen of my cell as I text Cara who’s probably still asleep.
I might officially get to see inside Holloway House. LOL. Ax.
When my device vibrates in my hand, I jump. It’s Cara. I can hear the smile in her sleepy voice. “Tell me everything.”
After I tell her about the project itself, I chew on my bottom lip and exhale. “But I’m competing against the best interior designers in the state, probably the country though—”
Cara groans. “Angel, you’ve made hundreds of drawings of this house, and I bet you know it better than the person who bought it. Don’t worry, you’ll get the project.”
My cell glued to my ear, I inhale deeply and nod even though she can’t see me.
“When’s your presentation due?”
I breathe deep and cross my fingers. “I have to send a digital copy in two weeks and if my designs are selected, they’ll invite me to present in front of a panel.”
“Good, good.” Cara yawns. “Who bought the house?”
My sweet, perfect sister. My sleepy sister. “My Cara, go to bed. We’ll talk later, okay?”
“Who’s this, liebchen?” a sleepy male voice asks in the background.
Cara’s voice is muffled as if she placed her hand over the mic. “My baby sister just landed her dream job. Go back to sleep, Andreas.”
Ooooh. Who’s Andreas?“Cara, go back to bed, I’ll text you when I hear something. Love you and say hi to Andreas for me.”
She chuckles. “Love you, angel.”
“Love you, my Cara.”
****
Three weeks later, the last day I was supposed to receive a call if I’d been selected, I stop pacing my living room to peer through the window opening on the quiet street. It’s nearly midnight. I drop on my sofa and curl my legs under me.
They didn’t like my designs.
Tears press behind my eyes, and I hug a pillow.
****
Gabe
“Gabe, her designs are, by far, superior to the other candidates. Her presentation is respectful of the period, but modern and with flair. Plus, she’s young and has a very good reputation. It’ll be good to have a fresh perspective.”
Leaving my post by the bay window of the boardroom, I cross the anthracite plush carpet to the oval mahogany table. I peer over my assistant’s shoulder at the plans and designs on the table.
She’s more talented than I thought.“You’re right, Ann, it’s exactly what I had in mind, just better.”
When Ann dropped her name in the ballot for the tender proposal on Holloway, I kept my surprise to myself and let the selection process run its course. And now, according to Ann and Smithson, Aelin Thorne is now the clear winner.
The investigator I hired found her a couple months ago, and I was ready to make my move, but this works even better.
Time to pay for your sins, Aelin Thorne.I bury my hands in my pockets and dip my chin.
“Let’s have her and the two others before the panel on Thursday.”
After tapping her tablet, the petite woman gets on her feet. “I can put it in your schedule for tomorrow.”
I check my wrist. “Thursday will be fine. Set it up after my return from Brussels. I’ll see you tomorrow.” As I walk to the heavy double door, Ann calls out.
“Gabe?”
“Yes?”
Her steps are muffled by the deep carpet as she nears me. “I’ve started the interview process for my replacement.”
Shit.I keep forgetting she’s leaving.“You sure you can’t stay longer? If it’s about money…”
Ann’s lips curve up as she touches my arm. “Gabe, you know it’s not. I promise I’ll find someone good, smart, and competent.”
After a quick nod, I open the door to let her through and make my way across the sleek floor to my penthouse apartment while she walks to her desk.
I stride to the hallway on the far side of the building to my apartment located on the opposite side of the floor. After settling on the leather sectional, I dial my cell as I cross my ankles on the black marble coffee table. The investigator answers on the first ring. “Drummond, what have you got?”
“She lives with her older sister who left for Europe for work a couple of months ago. She volunteers for a couple of charities and gravitates around rich married men for her work. And she’s either very discreet or the men are. The only paper trail I could find involves Mort Gaylor…”
At the mention of the familiar name, I sit up. I’ve often crossed paths with Mortimer Gaylor, an IT genius, owner of a telecommunication empire.
“…according to my sources, after Mrs. Gaylor hired her to decorate the nursery of their new home, her husband and Ms. Thorne got close. Gaylor also made two other payments to Ms. Thorne equaling three times the amount of her contract.”
I clench my jaw. The Gaylors seemed like a solid couple. And they probably would have remained that way if she hadn’t shown up and shaken her ass at him. “Good work. Send me your findings and a recent picture.”
When the call ends, I lean back on the couch.How does she do it? Sure, she’s a looker, but how can intelligent grown men still fall for that old con?How did Mike fall for that?
My brother’s no dummy. At the time he met her he’d had his first job and wanted a break to tour the country. We weren’t wealthy, but our parents left us with a comfortable inheritance we were able to build on.That’s probably why the greedy little Aelin Thorne…
Like every time I think of my brother unconscious in his hospital bed fighting for his life, my chest contracts with renewed rage. I pull the picture engraved in my brain from my wallet and stare at the woman I made my mission to destroy.
****
A step behind the manager of the Italian restaurant, I enter the private salon where a single square table draped in a white tablecloth is set in the center of the windowless room.
My friend, Cal, seated in one of the comfortable padded armchairs at the table lifts his chin in greeting before returning his attention to the pretty hostess standing beside him. As I approach our table, the curvy young woman cinched in a tight black dress giggles at something Cal says before swaying out the private room.
Cal gets to his feet, and we backslap. “Gabe, it’s been too long, brother.”
“It has.”
After we sit across from each other, Cal leans back in his seat. “Heard business’s good, so what else is new?”
Damn Cal.“What makes you think something’s new?”
Cal’s brow raises and he scoffs as the waiter sets our drinks on the table. “Because we’re in your favorite place in a private room.”
I take a swig at my beer. “I found her.”
Caleb’s forearms hit the table. “The girl from the picture? How?”
Rolling the bottle between my thumb and forefinger, I look at my oldest friend, the only person who knows about my search for Aelin Thorne—now that I know her name.
“My investigator found her a couple of months ago. She’s the interior designer I’m going
to hire to redecorate Holloway.”
Caleb narrows his eyes. “Why the fuck would you do that?”
We both lean back as our calamari is served. Cal winks at the hostess who blushes before leaving us to our meal. “Happy accident. Ann and Smithson picked her designs.”
My friend shifts back in the red velvet seat and studies me. “Are you sure it’s her? All you have to go by is an old picture and—”
I’ve looked at that picture every day for the last ten years.“I’m sure. It’s her,” I say through gritted teeth.
The server sets a couple of pizzas and an oval dish brimming with pasta on our table. Cal grabs a slice of pizza. “What are you going to do?”
Destroy the greedy bitch and make her pay for what she did to Mike.“She’s after money and she sleeps with her clients. So, I’m her ideal mark. I’m going to let her do her thing and nail her to a fucking wall.”
Cal swipes a white linen towel across his mouth and shakes his head. “You’re going to honey trap Mikey’s ex?” When I grunt, Cal says, “Bro, I’ve got your back no matter what, but don’t you want to at least hear her side of the story first? What exactly did Mikey say happened?”
“All I could get from him is that he told her he loved her, but she threw him out because he didn’t have money.”
When Caleb frowns, I tense. “Isn’t that what Vanessa did to you? You and Mike must be the unluckiest bastards I know. Or your dicks have the shittiest taste in women.”
“Fuck you, Cal.”
After biting off half of his slice, he smirks. “Love you, too, bro. Where’s Mikey nowadays?”
Mike hates his childhood moniker. “Don’t let him hear you call him that.”
My sardonic friend smirks. “He’ll always be Mikey to me. I’m not going to change it
just because the boy’s balls have dropped.”
Such a pain in the ass.“I think he’s somewhere in South America doing his thing. He said he’ll try to make it home for Christmas.”Which leaves me enough time.
Cal sits back and I take a swallow of my beer. “It’s a bad idea, G. Whatever happened between her and Mikey—”
Anger throbs in my temples and I slam the bottle on the table. “You saw what she did to him. And now that little bitch is prancing around town like nothing happened. She’s already been at her old tricks here.”
After a heavy sigh, Cal’s elbows hit the table. “So, what’s your plan? You hire her to restore your family home then tell her you’re Mike’s big brother, and expect her to … just what? Leave? Even if you’re right, she didn’t do anything illegal. It’s the oldest story in the book and you don’t know for sure this is what happened.”
He has a point.“I watched my brother relearn how to walk because of that bitch. I’ll find something.”
“Huh. Sound plan, bud.” Cal retrieves his cell from the back pocket of his jeans. “Give me her name, I’ll look her up.”
Being an ex-federal agent who now owns a private protection firm, Cal has enough contacts to find everything on anyone, but like every time he’s offered to help, I shake my head. Aelin Thorne nearly took my only family from me, and this is fucking personal. When she goes down, I want her to know I did all of it.
“No, I’m good.”
At the end of our lunch, I toss several bills on the table while the pretty hostess makes her way back to us. When the brunette directs her smile at Cal, I slap his shoulder and make my way toward the exit.
By the time I’m at the heavy metal door and shake the restaurant owner’s hand, Cal’s behind me. Out in the back parking lot, we fall in step silently as we reach Cal’s bike.
Throwing his leg over the black saddle, his helmet in hand, Cal says. “I’m in town for the next few days. Beer on Sunday?”
I put my sunglasses on. “That works. Where are you staying?”
Cal pulls the clutch of the gleaming bike in. “In my house in Eaton. Let me know how it goes with her.”
“Sure.” I make my way to my car.
****
It’s 10:58 AM when I enter the large boardroom where Tim Smithson is already seated at the long oval table while Ann checks the paperwork set before her. I glance at the files she prepared. Aelin Thorne is the last presentation.
Ann gets to her feet and pivots toward me. “Ready for the first candidate?”
After Smithson and I nod, she lets in an attractive blonde in a fitted dress who walks in the room with assurance. She smiles at my collaborators, and her eyes lingers on me before she starts her presentation.She’s the type I go for.But sleeping with people who work for me is never worth the aggravation.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Tracy and it’s my privilege to present my vision for Holloway House.”
She goes on for the next half hour and thanks us before exiting the room. After the second presentation, I tap my index finger on the table and glance at my wrist while a knock on the door signals her scheduled time.
Ann shuffles paperwork on the table before opening the door. “Aelin? Come in, please.”
When she glides into the room, I lock my body in place. I understand how a woman like her would bring a man to his knees. In Mike’s case, she did it literally.
Her pictures don’t do her justice. Slim with just the right amount of curves, a small waist, and hair that reaches past her shoulders, she exudes sex, and she knows it.
Her black leather-bound portfolio in her hand, she steps in the middle of the room with a smile. “Good…” She takes a quick peek at her wrist and her smile widens. “…afternoon, I guess.”
The gold digger extends her hand to Ann. “You must be Ann. Very pleased to meet you.”
Ann shakes her hand. “Pleased to meet you as well, Aelin.”
The woman I’ve been searching for steps sideways to my lawyer, and a light chuckle escapes her full lips. “Mr. Smithson, always a pleasure.”
Tim clears his throat and straightens his back as he greets her.
When she finally gets to me, her pupils widen briefly, and I get to my feet. “Hello, pleased to meet you Mr…”
“Aelin, this is Gabe Matthews, the owner of Holloway House,” Ann says.
Another smile stretches her lips. “Mr. Matthews, pleased to meet you and congratulations for acquiring Holloway House. It’s an absolute jewel.”
“Call me Gabe.”
“All right.”
As she starts, her warm and slightly raspy voice paired with her undeniable enthusiasm make her already brilliant presentation exceptional. Ann’s right, her proposal is perfect for Holloway.
A little more than fifteen minutes into her presentation, my cell vibrates. The manager of one of my hotels in Europe needs a call back.Shit.I text Ann.
Have to make a call. Pick her and have her start asap.
When I stand up, Aelin stops mid-sentence while her eyes widen, and I clench my jaw.
Don’t worry. I’m coming back for you.“Please, continue,” I say and exit the room.
