Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Did I breathe at all while rambling that? I’m not sure.
What I am sure of? Carter’s pinkie finger is point-oh-two inches higher on my thigh and there’s a quiet rumble of approval in his throat.
“That sounds interesting,” Elena says uncertainly. “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a VR anything, much less art.”
“I would be delighted to do a private tour for you,” I offer. “In addition to experiencing the art, you could see how a short-term exhibition is handled at the museum. See if you’re comfortable showcasing some of Thomas’s collection.”
“What?” Claire screeches, slamming her napkin on the table. “You’re giving away Uncle Thomas’s art to some museum?”
Her overreaction sends a cold shiver down my spine, and I try to walk it back. “No, no. Not giving the museum anything. Only exhibiting, for a short time. To share Thomas’s collection in his honor.”
“You two want to share in Uncle Thomas’s everything, don’t you?” Claire snipes.
“Claire!” Elena says harshly. More gently, and with a pat of Claire’s hand, Elena adds, “You make it sound like they’re trying to steal Thomas away from us. He’s gone, dear. I know you were close, and it hurts, but . . . he’s gone.”
Charles adopts an expression of kind concern. “I think we can all appreciate the pain of losing someone. We certainly don’t want to dig in an open wound, but it’s also the survivors’ responsibility to take the best care of what’s left behind. Blue Lake Assets can help with that.”
I listen politely as Carter, Charles, and Elena direct the conversation to the Cartwright portfolio. Part of it is because it’s totally over my head, given that I have a grand total of three hundred dollars in my bank account and they’re talking about millions of dollars. But another reason I stay quietly watchful is Carter. He told me how worried he was about his dad walking over him on this deal, but truthfully, Carter is the one doing the majority of the talking and all the wooing.
I’m not sure Elena even likes Charles, which probably isn’t good, I guess. But I’m cheering Carter on with every smile Elena flashes, every concern of hers that Carter alleviates, and every look of approval I see on Cameron’s face. Not Charles, because he’s staying in deal-mode, but Cameron doesn’t have a dog in this fight, so he’s watching as a spectator and seems impressed by his brother.
I wonder if Carter knows that Cameron feels that way?
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
CARTER
As the dinner plates are swept away from the table, I feel like I’m making some real headway with Elena. Like I expected, Dad is being too much, but I’m doing what I can to balance him out.
What I didn’t expect is that having Luna at my side would be more than just an ‘in’ to discuss art. She hasn’t said much since the conversation switched to business, but her gentle support is probably the only thing getting me through this dinner. It has nothing to do with Renoir, brushstrokes, or Thomas Cartwright’s collection, but with her unwavering belief that I can do this.
I’m a confident man by nature, but Luna’s faith in me makes me feel like I could easily tackle the world. Though I could offer her the entirety of the Earth in my hands and she wouldn’t be the slightest bit impressed. That’s not what drives her, and needing to be more than a wallet and good looks to interest her excites me in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
When dessert is served, she moans in delight at the vanilla mascarpone mousse, and I look over to see that she’s got a tiny dollop of it on her lip. Going for broke, I decide to push the line a little bit.
“Babe, come here,” I tell her quietly, knowing the whole table can still easily hear me.
Though I’m focused on her lip, I see her swallow thickly. Keeping my eyes open and on hers, I tilt her chin up gently and place a tender kiss right over the wayward mousse, letting the tip of my tongue dance over the sweetness as I remove it.
“Delicious,” I whisper as I pull away. She delicately dabs at her lips with her napkin, and for some weird reason, I feel like she’s wiping my kiss off and want to mark her again.
“Newlyweds are the cutest, don’t you think?” Elena asks Dad, her hand propping up her chin as she looks at Luna and me with hearts in her eyes.
I lick my own lips and then smirk at him, knowing he’s stuck.
“Cuter than puppy dog shit,” Dad answers. He knows something’s up. Almost all of us do, but in a way, I keep forgetting that it’s fake with Luna. For the tiniest of seconds, it almost feels . . . not real, exactly, because we’re definitely not married, but like a real date?