Page 41 of Masked Secrets
“Sorry, it’s my dad. I need to take this.”
“No problem. I’ll listen to music and catch up on email.”
It’s justpast midday when Stuart drops me off at my apartment. As I say goodbye and tell him I’ll see him at the premiere, he insists on picking me up so we can arrive together. I relent, knowing that my firm expects me to shadow him at the event.
Checking the time, I calculate that he’ll be back in less than three hours to pick me up. With little time to waste, I toss my purse and dirty clothes onto the sofa and hurry to the kitchen. The late breakfast snack won’t tide me over until tonight, so Irummage through my refrigerator for leftovers. I find part of a roasted chicken, an apple, and half of a package of preprepared salad. I’m in luck. That’s more than I’d usually have on hand for lunch. Given that I’m almost always at work for lunch and dinner, there’s no point in keeping my fridge stocked.
I need a quick break from the whirlwind of my current life, so I force myself to plate my meal rather than eating it out of the grocery store containers. Sitting at the table, I eat while scrolling through the latest social media posts.
I pause in shock when a photo of me with Stuart pops up. The caption says, “What’s up? Not his usual type.”
Oh, no. At least, I’m wearing a suit instead of the shorts from the beach house.
Wait just a second! Why am I not his type? I’m not a model, but most men find me attractive.
What’s wrong with me being with him? Ugh. Don’t go down that path. I shouldn’t even care. Nothing can come of Stuart and me. I need to shake this off.
Before I saw the post, I knew that tonight would be difficult, particularly since I’ll be arriving with Stuart. Now, I have to also pretend that I’m good enough to stand beside him on the red carpet.
We’ll need to be careful to avoid public displays of affection, which will be hard. At the party last night, we were constantly touching each other, even if it was only holding hands. It was a safe place because no mobile phones were allowed. But the premiere will be different. Cameras will be everywhere, and at least ten lawyers from my firm will be present, including the Triple Threat.
There won’t be any room for mistakes. The members of Triple Threat are already upset that I took an opportunity away from them. Despite their protests, it’s clear they thought one of them should be hosting Stuart since he’s a viscount. If I mess up,the Triple Threat will make sure the senior partners hear about it.
That means they’ll be looking for anything that will make me look bad. Getting rid of the competition is their standard procedure, and right now, they see me as a competitor. I won’t give them the satisfaction of chasing me from the firm though.
Stuart and I must be careful.
21
BROOKE
As the limo pulls up to the theater, my heart races in anticipation.
I’ve never walked a red carpet before. Living in LA, I fantasized about such an evening while watching celebrities pose on TV. Now, to my shock, my dream is coming true.
Now, I’m filled with a mixture of thrill and apprehension. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I don’t want to embarrass Lord Sandridge. He’s usually Stuart to me, but right now in his tux, diamond-encrusted studs, matching cufflinks, and slicked back hair, he’s nothing short of a Lord. And a very sexy one at that.
Apparently, sensing my angst, he reaches for my hand. “You’re going to slay them in that dress. When we walk down the red carpet, remember that I wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else.”
My hand automatically goes to my neck, where my aunt’s pearls should be. Sadness colors my mood. I attempt to cover it with a smile as I say, “I know you’re exaggerating, but thank you.”
“That reminds me. I have a little something for you.”
“Oh. What’s that?”
He pulls a velvet box from his inside pocket. “I know you don’tneed, or necessarily want,any gifts from me, but I’d like you to have this. When you wear it, I hope you’ll remember how wonderful this week has been and know I’ll still be thinking of you.”
He opens the box to reveal a strand of white pearls with a teardrop-shaped sapphire-and-diamond pendant hanging from the center.
I gasp.
“It’s absolutely beautiful, but I can’t possibly accept it. It’s too much—too expensive.”
As he takes it from the case and opens the clasp, he says, “First, in my world, this isn’t expensive. My mom would consider it a lovely bauble. Second, it’s not nearly enough for someone as special as you. Besides, I can’t return it. The receipt is in your name. It’s yours now.” He shrugs, leaning closer and fastening the pearls around my neck.
I reach to touch them.
“You’re a sneaky bastard, aren’t you?”
