Capítulo 8: Family secrets and impressions
It shouldn't have shell-shocked me. But it did, and I despised that. A
twinge of guilt passed over my shoulders. It was none of my business
and now I had trespassed like a curious bobcat. The man hadn't filled
out a profile for a reason: he didn't want people to know any personal
details about him. My thoughts and words had spun out of control and
it was embarrassing. I was the one who had come with the long list of
rules, yet I broke all of his unspoken ones.
I plastered a smile to my face, then turned my back and pretended
to watch arriving hotel guests. Unprofessionalism reeked from my
every movement. This was never me. I was never this needy.
Before I could turn around and apologize for the second time
tonight in less than one hour, I felt a large, warm hand come around
my shoulder blade. His cool eyes dared me. He lifted his chin. "Does
that trouble you, Miss Davis?"
He liked my inability to control myself.
He's not going to make me sweat.
I brushed off the question and swallowed. "Of course not.
Whatever happens in your life is none of my business. So… no, it
doesn't bother me, at all." Liar, liar, pants on fire.
"The question you should've asked is how many of them I actually
liked."
I clamped down hard on my bottom lip and tried to stop myself from
leaning in to him. I said nothing. I just wanted, needed him to continue.
When he saw my silent wonderment, he parted his alluring lips.
"None," he proclaimed, answering his own question.
Probably lies, but it didn't matter. He didn't belong to me.
We stepped into the elevator. Smith transformed his expression
from playful to powerful in sixteen floors. When we got to the bottom,
he strutted his elbow out toward me. "Miss Davis," he offered, his
voice trailing higher at the end.
I looped my hand into his strong arm and we trooped into the
lobby.
He changed. He was a whole new man, his captivating aura
exuding dominance.
My breath halted. Did I just see a private side of him? There was
not a scratch of the playful Smith I'd seen upstairs.
His face was serious, as if he was ready for anything.
The good thing about arriving early and already being in the
building was that we could skip the red carpet and all the paparazzi.
My cheeks still hurt from the constant greeting. Smith's hand had
never left my waist, as if his long, masculine fingers had permanently
attached themselves to my back.
The hand stiffened around my hip and his torso grew tense.
An older regal couple headed directly toward us.
Smith was rigid as stone.
I didn't know what to say other than, "Good evening," and wait for
Smith to take the initiative and speak, as well. He didn't have a choice
but to acknowledge them anyway.
He gave a curt nod before speaking. "Dad. Mom," he leered.
What? Parents? Smith's reaction was odd, but I could see where
he got the good looks. His mother had graying black hair that was
pulled up into a tight intricate style. She was also dressed in a full-
length floral sleeveless dress that accented her tall, thin physique. She
looked like a former model. Smith's father wore a dark blue suit, like
Smith's. He was very clean-shaven compared to his son who had a
five o'clock shadow peppered around his chin.
Her icy blue eyes glared at him, clouded by a look of motherly
longing. Something was hidden in her gaze. It was a look that begged
to be unraveled.
His father opened his mouth and hesitated for a moment. "How
have you been, Son?" He'd broken the staring contest, but sounded
just as cool as his wife's frosty stare. "You haven't called in a long
while. I was starting to think you didn't plan on keeping your old folks
in the loop."
A sheepish smile appeared on Smith's face as he embraced his
father. "I've been really good, Dad. Just busy. But I did promise to pay
a visit soon, didn't I?"
The older man chuckled and half-agreed with a nod. "Wasn't that
last Christmas?"
A sadness weighed my shoulders. How could Smith go without
speaking to his parents for months when I couldn't stand a day without
checking up on my father? Were things dysfunctional with his siblings
too?
Without saying a word, his mother drifted away to another group of
people. Nearly six months had passed, according to his dad. Wasn't
she the slightest bit interested in her son?
Whatever had occurred between mother and son was bizarre, but it
was none of my business. I held no right to ask Smith any of these
questions. He was my client and I was his vendor. I vowed to hold my
tongue for the rest of the night.
I turned back toward the senior Mr. Mason. He held no
resemblance to his son at all. Movements were identical, and from far
away I could have sworn it was an aged version of Smith. But up
close, the two were clearly opposites. The senior had light brown,
thinning hair with a bald spot. His eyes were dark, a stark contrast to
Smith's sea-blue ones. Smith must have gotten his looks from his
mother. But was there more to the story than these three were letting
on?
My curiosity stabbed at the corners of my brain, but I refused to let
it take me over. I needed to forget about the obscure family secrets
and focus on my own situation. My father needed me, and he was the
whole reason why I'd taken the job. I forced myself to recall my distant
dream of attending college.
My ears perked at the sound of my name. A flash of heat seized
my chest. I was hardly prepared to meet my date's parents. Even if it
was all pretend.
"Where did you catch this beautiful fish, Son?" His father teased,
pulling me into a quick, friendly, daughter-hug that made me instantly
like him.
"The North Sea," he answered, watching me from the corner of his
eye. "We had to use a trawler to get her out of there. It was a stormy
night, but we got her."
The older man threw his head back and laughed, the sound
vibrating through his large chest. Their personalities were similar and
they understood each other, even though the physical resemblance
was missing.
Relief washed over my shoulders. Smith was so smooth with
words.
"This is Livia Davis," Smith announced.
The friendly brown eyes landed on me again and I smiled. The two
men were so elite and refined that I had to dissuade myself from
performing a curtsy. "How do you do, Mr. Mason?"
"Very well, Miss Davis. I don't think I've ever seen Smith with a
woman as stunning as you. I sure hope he's treating you well," the
older man charmed.
I laughed. Flattery was nice, but he had lied horribly. I was a plain
Jane. "Surely I'm not the first. Judging by the envious looks of other
women, your son is quite the catch. And I can't complain about the
treatment either. Service is impeccable," I proclaimed. I felt so
comfortable with the old guy that I couldn't help but reveal my dry
humor. I squeezed Smith's hand.
Smith's shoulders fell loose as he stared sideways at me. His
grasp around my hand tightened before he released hearty laughter.
His father threw his head back again and roared. "I like her. About
time you got someone with a bit of fire. The way you two talk reminds
me of my younger years when your mother and I first started dating.
She was a real head-turner. Still is," he reminisced, releasing a soft
smile and arching an eyebrow toward the lean woman.
His mother carried on conversing with another couple as if we
weren't present.
My stomach rolled. I shunned the idea of being compared to a
woman who was so cold to her own son. I was far from understanding
the dynamics of their relationship, but I still couldn't grasp the idea of
their difficult silence. I vowed to never become that way with my future
children, no matter the circumstances. I swallowed and pasted a smile
to my face, not allowing myself to become too comfortable. I skipped
the subject altogether. "Smith is a great man, Mr. Mason. He must
have gotten it from you."
Smith parted his lips and smiled. "Do I get no credit whatsoever?"
His father pursed his lips. "Listen to the woman. She knows what
she's talking about," he jested. "And please call me Richard, my dear."
Warmth radiated through my body as I listened to the banter.
These two strong men looked like old friends that picked up where
they'd left off, and I was glad to be a part of it all, if only for one night.
"Yes, sir," I saluted, lifting my chin and raising the inner side of my
hand to my forehead in a military-style salute. "Oops, I mean Richard,"
I corrected, collapsing my shoulders into a slouch.
They howled with laughter then immersed themselves in a
conversation about the company.
That was the kind of humor my dad and I performed all day long.
There was never a dull moment. Well, almost.
Smith's mother, who still hadn't introduced herself, was still busy
talking to her associates. A few tendrils had escaped her low braided
bun. The soft curls grazed the back of her swan-like neck, adding a
touch of aristocracy to her profile.
How could such a graceful woman give her own son an icy
shoulder? Never once did she return to converse with us. She didn't
offer even a single glance. Her back looked as cold as the cubes in a
stirred martini.
As if she sensed my entranced stare, she turned. Our eyes met for
a brief, spellbound moment. Her glassy glare rivaled mine before the
pointed edges of her lustrous lips .
Presentes
-- Presente
recebido Status de energia semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Pedra de
Poder