Page 26 of Masked Secrets
Me: Unfortunately, we can’t overnight.
They’re going to give me so much grief for bringing Brooke to meet them, but it’s the perfect place to fulfill her desire for an afternoon at the beach. Of course, I’d prefer a private stretch of sand, but that’s not an option. As a viscount without personal security here, we can’t just show up at a public beach. While I’m not aware of any current threats, my family has always considered kidnapping a possibility.
With the plans set, I give our driver the address. “How long will it take at this time of day?”
He says, “GPS estimates it will take an hour.”
“If there are any shortcuts, please use them.”
“Yes, sir.”
Closing the privacy partition, I turn to check on Brooke. She’s silently leaning against the door and staring out the window, deep in thought.
Should I give her space or try to cheer her up on the long drive?
I’m trying to think of the right thing to do when she leans toward me and reaches for my hand. She laces her finger through mine.
I smile to myself.
I’m glad she showed me what she needs. Now, let’s see if I can deliver.
15
BROOKE
It sounds silly, but losing the necklace feels like losing my aunt all over again. I’m trying not to cry. It’s likely a losing battle. Stuart’s being so kind. For some reason, even that threatens to bring an onslaught of tears.
I have to pull myself together. I’m with a client, or at least an almost client, so an emotional display wouldn’t be acceptable. But for some reason, Stuart no longer seems like someone only related to work.
Even if he’s right about not being a client, he doesn’t need to deal with my problems. Hell, if one of my colleagues lost a pricey Rolex, they’d pretend it didn’t matter. Besides, their insurance would likely replace it.
This is different. I can’t replace my aunt’s necklace—at least not with one holding the same memories. There’s no way I can afford a whole strand of Tahitian black pearls. And I don’t have insurance, which was probably a big mistake. Given the value of the pearls, insurance would have been quite expensive. My money was better used toward my student loans.
And the necklace’s value to me wasn’t monetary. It was sentimental.
Sometimes I wonder about my life. Why are my only connections to people from my past? Many of them are gone. That’s why I’m gripping their memories and keepsakes with such a tight hold. Why am I not making new friends and relationships?
I guess I’d thought that work would provide friendships because we’re all focused on the same thing. It didn’t turn out that way. My colleagues aren’t worthy of my barely existent free time.
I smile, remembering Stuart referring to Justin, Ben, and Wendy as losers. They are so full of themselves, which is ironic. As senior associates, they’re barely above me in the pecking order. They’re still below the junior partners, senior partners, and our managing partner. We junior associates are the only ones they can lord over, and they do so with a vengeance. We’re leery of them and the harm they can cause our careers. That’s why we call them the Triple Threat.
If Stuart only knew, the senior partners point to the members of the Triple Threat as the ones to emulate if we want to rise to the top. While they’re the epitome of professionalism when the partners are around, their claws come out when they think one of us more lowly attorneys could threaten their success.
If the rumors are true, they’ve already chased a couple of junior associates away. The rest of us know better than to cross them.
Unfortunately, Barclay may have put a target on my back by assigning me to shadow Stuart this week. Based on their reactions when we stopped at their table to say hello, they thought one of them should have been given the assignment. And unknowingly, Stuart made it worse by suggesting how pleased he is with me as the attorney by his side.
Shit. If only I could turn off my brain for a little while. This is all too much.
A large warm hand pats my shoulder. Turning toward Stuart, I say, “Forgive me. I was lost in my thoughts.”
“Shh. No need to apologize. I hope you don’t mind if I remove my suit jacket. Our driver says it will be at least an hour drive.”
“No problem.”
At least that’s what I thought until I watch him carefully, and oh so slowly, roll up the sleeves on his white dress shirt. With each fold of the fabric, he exposes a little more of his strong, muscled forearms. Why that is so sexy, I don’t know. But damn, it’s hot in here.
Slipping off my jacket to cool off too, I ask, “Are we really going to the beach?”
