Page 65 of Collateral Damage
He gives me a sly smile. “I decided to respect your privacy.”
I suppress a smile. “My father was in import-export. The same as his father. Unlike his father, my father, Jack, invested wisely and was more interested in storing up treasures in heaven than here on earth.”
Silas adjusts his weight, the floorboards groaning. “And the Lord blessed him for it?”
I nod. “He did.”
“How long has the house been in your family?”
“My great-grandfather built it at the height of his prosperity. It was his wish that it stay in the family.”
“How’d your father feel about that?”
“Resigned, I suppose. He was the only son. I think the mansion embarrassed him. The only time he opened it up was when we threw parties for charities.”
Interest flickers across his face. “Do you still host events?”
I think back to the last one. “The last one was over six months ago.”
“How many people come through the house at one of these events?”
“I have no idea. A hundred? Maybe more if the weather is fine.”
His brow tightens into a hard line. “Please tell me you have security at these events.”
A little worm of anxiety tunnels into my newfound calm. “Well… Earl is there, and he usually brings his nephew.”
Silas’s breath escapes in a sharp rush as he runs a hand over his face. “Ava,” he mumbles into his palm, his frustration palpable.
Heat rushes through me at how foolish I must appear. “Next time I’ll hire professionals.”
He tugs his hand away from his face. “Next time I’ll choose the team personally.”
Next time. Does he know what he’s suggesting?
I don’t have the opportunity to ask him to elaborate. He gets up and stokes the fire, the flames jumping higher as he adjusts the logs. When he sits back down, the firelight flickers across his face, softening the hard lines.
"These charity events," he says after a moment, his voice lower, more intimate. "You run them yourself?"
"I have a committee. But yes, mostly I coordinate everything."
"Must meet a lot of people that way."
I glance at him, wondering where he's going with this. "I suppose. Donors, volunteers, community leaders."
"Ever meet anyone..." He pauses, seeming to choose his words with surgical care. “That was a good fit for you?”
Heat creeps up my neck, thick and insistent. "You mean romantically?"
He nods.
I shake my head. "Most of the men who attend those events are either married, twice my age, or only interested in tax deductions." I try for a light tone, but it comes out higher, more brittle than I intended.
He's quiet for a moment, the fire crackling between us. "It's a big house for one person."
The observation catches me off guard, hitting a tender spot. "I never expected not to be able to fill it the way my parents did. But then, I wouldn’t have time anyway."
"Sounds like you're making excuses."
