“Your place in the city? Does that mean you have more than one place?” she asked.
I chuckled. “Yes. I’ll admit it’s a bit of an obsession. Buying property. I blame it on my childhood and never having a place that felt like home.” I reached down to where her hand rested on the space between us, gently putting my hand atop hers. “Will you come by my place? Just to talk. Nothing more.” She raised an eyebrow. “Unless you especially want more,” I added.
“Talking’s a good plan for now,” she said and turned to look out of her window.
Her answer was simple and expected, but there was something she left unsaid in the moment before she turned her head. I wasn’t sure what it was, but for some reason it left me feeling sad.
Chapter 13
Bri
I hadn’t recovered from Piers’s statement on why he had so much property. It made complete sense to me. I’d admit it probably seemed over-the-top the first time someone heard about it. But all you really had to do was listen to why. To be honest, after hearing Piers and watching his expression as he spoke, his reason for having all that property sounded more logical than the Organization’s.
If I brought it up to my handler, he’d say Piers was an outstanding actor and all he was doing was drawing me in. It wouldn’t be a fun discussion, and more likely than not, he’d pull me from the assignment. I couldn’t take that risk.
The deeper and deeper I found myself in the mess that was my life, the more and more it no longer made sense. I needed to buy some time. Time that would allow me to uncover the truth. Which meant I was going to have to step it up and play both sides for now. One problem was I’d never had a reason to stall whenever the Organization asked me to do jobs before, and I wasn’t sure of my ability to pull it off without giving myself away.
I knew, however, that Piers was a distraction. Which was another problem because he was also my target. It wasn’t as if I could solve everything by staying away. I had no choice but to interact with him, but I had a choice about how I interacted with him.
I chewed on the inside of my cheek as the driver pulled up to a high-rise not too far from Bachelor International. While I sat in the back of the car with him, his hand gently cupping mine, I vowed our physical relationship would go no further until I knew what was going on. With that decision made, it probably wasn’t a good idea to be heading to Piers’s apartment. Not that I worried about him trying to force me into something I didn’t want to do. No, I worried that if things got hot and heavy, I wouldn’t be able to stop or to say no.
I glanced up to find Piers watching me through the reflection of the window. He looked to be in deep thought.
“We’re here,” he said, meeting my gaze in the glass. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to come up. I don’t have a problem turning this car around and taking you back to your place. Whether I come inside once we’re there is up to you.”
I tried to see his statement as a chance, an out, a way to ensure nothing physical happened between us. For tonight, at least. I should have told him that was exactly what I wanted and demanded we make our way back to my apartment. But when I looked at him, I saw the man who had arranged this entire evening, from the car and yacht to the dinner and harbor tour. All because he wanted to show me his city. He wanted to give me an opportunity to do something I’d enjoy but wouldn’t plan or arrange to do myself. He’d allowed me to see more of who he really was, and I’d watched that man in real life, his actions, not merely words on a page.
Call me a greedy little bitch—I’d agree wholeheartedly—but I wanted more.
I gave him my best smile. “I’d love to see inside one of your homes.”
Thirty minutes later, Piers had finished giving me the tour of his penthouse. He said he stayed at this location during the week when he had a lot of meetings downtown. I asked if he ever spent the weekend in the city, and he looked at me as if I were mad. I took that as a no.
“If you don’t stay here over the weekend, where do you go?” I asked.
I’d thought it was a simple question, but to see his reaction, it was nowhere near being simple.
He took a deep breath. “Where I stay on weekends depends on what my plans are and how I’m feeling.”
I nodded. That made sense, and it must be nice to have so much money you actually had to stop and ask yourself to pick which house you wanted to stay at. As far as homes went, his penthouse wasn’t bad.
It seemed to fit him. Dark wood. Rich leather. Deep jewel tones. Yet when I looked deeper, something was off. Though the space seemed to fit him, it really didn’t. Instead it reminded me of hemming your pants because they were too long. They fit everywhere else and if you didn’t look too closely, you’d never see the modifications. But that didn’t change the fact that the fit had to be manipulated in order to work properly.
“You didn’t decorate this place, did you?” I asked as we stood in front of a large window overlooking the city.
It obviously wasn’t a question anyone had asked very often because it appeared to leave him momentarily flustered.
“No,” he finally said. “I didn’t. I helped an interior decorator a few years ago. She wanted to decorate for me as a thank-you for helping get her business back after her ex-husband attempted to take it away.”
I nodded, still looking around, trying to put a finger on what it was exactly that seemed off. But whatever it was evaded me.
“What made you ask that question specifically, if you don’t mind me asking?” he asked.
“I didn’t mean anything negative with my comment,” I tried to explain. “But when I look around, it’s almost as if I’m seeing what you think your penthouse should look like as opposed to how you really want it to look.”
It was a horrible explanation even in my head, and I was sure it didn’t come across better when voiced out loud. I glanced around, trying to find an example. My gaze fell on a long wall where several paintings were displayed.
I tried to explain. “Imagine you’re looking at art to decorate with and you decide to go with Salvador Dali. There’s nothing wrong with his work. He was very talented and his paintings are incredible. However, secretly you prefer Johannes Vermeer. For some reason though, you believe people would expect to find a Dali in your house as opposed to a Vermeer.”
His forehead wrinkled, as if he had to process what I’d said. Then just as quickly, his expression changed, and he broke into a huge grin. “You were always like that, weren’t you? I’d forgotten until right now how you never looked at things quite the same way as anyone else. Yet you almost always could read situations and people better than most. Good to know how little you have changed.”
But I have, I wanted to tell him. I didn’t know how much until right that minute. It struck me how very far I’d traveled from the person I thought I’d be. Plus, I was so confused because I thought I had been working on the right side. Now, it wasn’t so clear, and I wasn’t so certain. How could destroying Mia and Tenor be the right thing? Even if it was to get to Piers. Who day by day I was believing less and less had done any of the wrong I’d been told.