“That’s easy for you to say. Here I am about to meet two of the most important people in your life, and oh—by the way—they own most of everything in Chicago,” I whine, resting my head on his chest. It’s been almost six months since my whirlwind romance with Cal began, and he’s still a mystery to me. I think this is a pretty big step in unraveling that mystery.
“Just pretend they couldn’t buy and sell your soul if they wanted,” he jokes.
“Oh, that makes me feel much more comfortable.”
“Don’t worry; they’ll love you. Just be yourself.” Cal nibbles on my ear, making me forget about my problem for a microsecond.
I pull away from him as the doors of the elevator open.
“Come on.” He takes my hand, leading the way out.
I inhale deeply and follow him. Then my jaw drops as I see the huge hall that stretches before us.
“See? It’s just like a museum.” He winks, leading me down the empty corridor.
In amazement, my eyes follow the paintings that line the walls. Each one is framed in what I assume is gold. I mean, why skimp on the frame when you can afford the masterpiece? I’m pulled out of my trance as I hear Mozart’s Symphony No. 40 coming from the grand piano in the middle of the room, being played as easily as if it were a game of cards. Large, ornate double doors are partly open on the left, and we walk into an impressive parlor.
“Trying to show off again, Dex?” Cal interrupts the musician, announcing our arrival.
“You actually showed up on time? What’s the occasion?” the man says, getting up from the piano. His eyes skim past Cal and land on me. “Miss Brooks, I presume.” He smiles knowingly.
I swallow my nerves. He’s a smaller man—maybe five nine—but taller than me, with almond-shaped brown eyes and dark hair. For some reason, his presence intimidates me.
“Yes, I’m Lauren,” I say awkwardly. I have no idea what’s appropriate, so I just hold out my hand.
“I’m Dexter Crestfield,” he replies, taking my hand, and to my surprise, he brings it to his lips for a kiss. I can’t help my giggle.
“Nice to meet you,” I finally get out.
Dexter Crestfield Jr., the man whose father is the richest man in the Midwest. I just read an article about him for a class, for God’s sake.
“Your home is beautiful. As if you don’t know that,” I say like an idiot and step closer to Cal.
“I’ll give my decorator your compliments.” He walks over to the bar area and pulls down a couple of rocks glasses. “Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you.” I feel as though I need to let my nerves settle before I try to hold something breakable.
“Where’s Helen?” Cal asks, taking off his jacket and tossing it onto a chair beside him as if he’s at home. He gestures for me to sit next to him on the massive sectional sofa.
“She’s around somewhere,” Dexter replies, pouring what I assume is scotch into a glass. “So, Lauren, Cal tells me you’re an artist.” Dexter takes a seat next to us.
“I wouldn’t say that. I’m an art student,” I say modestly.
“She’s an artist; I’ve seen her work.” Cal gets back up, walks over to an oddly placed pool table, and racks the balls.
“I always wanted to be an artist until I found out I lacked the patience,” Dexter says. I see him look over, irritated at the noise Cal is making. “So in one word, how would you describe Cal?”
I’m a little caught off guard. “Umm, Cal is unique.” Unique? Where did that come from?
“I’ve never been called unique before.” Cal laughs, resting on the pool table.
“I think that’s the most honest flattering description I’ve heard about him.” Dexter laughs. “I like you already.”
His expression softens for the first time since I’ve met him, and my nerves start to subside. Dexter seems pretty cool. I should have known Cal wouldn’t hang out with a man with a stick in his ass, even if he is Cal’s boss.
“Too bad—she’s mine.” Cal walks up behind me and leans over the couch to wrap his arms around me. His lips touch my neck, and I feel my cheeks heat up.
“Yes, you’ll have to settle for me.” A beautiful, tall brunette comes in with a bag that distinctively says Harry Winston, and she tosses it to Dexter as if it were from Wal-Mart.
“How much is this going to cost me?” He looks up at the woman curiously.
“Nothing you can’t afford,” she retorts then casually sits across his lap and pecks him on the lips. Her attention turns to Cal and me for the first time. “You’re on time,” she tells Cal sarcastically.
“I’m not late that much,” he defends himself.
“No, you just never show up when you say you will,” she retorts with a smirk. She turns her attention to me. “You must be Lauren.” Her eyes survey me as women usually do. She leaves Dexter’s lap and offers her hand. “I’m Helen, Dexter’s wife.”
“Very nice to meet you,” I reply as we shake hands.
“So has Cal been behaving himself?” she asks, giving Cal a faux warning look.
“I’m always on my best behavior.”
“Of course you are.”
“So what’s the plan for the evening?” Dexter breaks into the exchange.
“Well, I made a reservation for Luc to come and serve dinner at eight,” Helen says with a toss of her hair. “Which is perfect since you and Cal should be back by then.”
I see Cal shoot her a warning look.
“You’re leaving?” I ask him tightly.
He said nothing about leaving me here alone. Helen seems nice and all, but the whole reason I did this was to finally meet the people closest to him. I didn’t want to just be dumped on his best friend’s wife. I look behind me to see him standing with his hands in his pockets. The tension in the room goes up a notch.
“Helen, how about you come show me what else you bought, because I know this isn’t all of it,” Dexter says, excusing him and Helen.
When they’ve disappeared from the room, I stand up to face Cal. He walks toward me, but I look away from him. This was not part of my plan for the evening. He wraps his arms tightly around my waist, pulling me against him
“I won’t be gone that long,” he promises, caressing my back, which always distracts me from what he’s saying. “It’ll give you and Helen some time to get to know each other.” He slips his hand under my blouse.
I step away from him. I can feel my temperature rising, and by that sly grin on his face, I see that he can too. He puts his fingers through a belt loop on my pants and pulls me back toward him, our chests colliding.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he whispers before covering my mouth with his and biting my lower lip gently.
I feel his hands slide down my back, his warmth sending sensations through my body that are completely uncalled for at this moment. I wrap my arms around his neck when he deepens the kiss. He always does this. I can be completely focused on what he’s saying or what I’m saying, then he goes and kisses me like this and everything just seems unimportant. He pulls away with a satisfied grin.