Chapter Twenty-two
IT WASa big party, in every sense of the word.
Lots of people. Lots of rich people. Lots of rich, famous people. Actors, politicians, patricians of old-money families, nouveau riche citizens looking to make their mark in the cultural landscape, all dressed to impress and mingling in a Tribeca ballroom.
It was a rich hunting ground and Liam was a wolf—no, wolves huntedin packs, didn’t they? He was a—not a lion, he was pretty sure they hunted in packs too. A jaguar? Yeah, he was a jaguar—shit, were they the spotted ones or the black ones? No, he was a panther, a real one, not a mountain lion calling itself a panther, and he was stretched out on a branch, ready to drop down onto unsuspecting prey and—
And sink his teeth into their necks? Jesus, he sucked atanalogies.
He wasn’t any sort of animal. He was just an architect ready to charm old clients and meet new ones. He was at the party on business.Everythingwas business now. For the past week he’d thrown himself into his new role at the firm, and already he was seeing results. Sure, he was also seeing some pretty nasty bags under his eyes from not getting enough sleep, but he’d let Allison doctorhim up with some Preparation H and concealer—now that she was his employee, he was happy to be friendly with her again—and moved on.
The night was all about meeting and greeting, making an impression. So when Eric Wilton, the Hollywood A-lister with a house that had been featured inArchitectural Digest, smiled at him, Liam scooped another glass of wine off the waiter-held tray and crossed theroom to introduce himself. Wilton was out and proud, so maybe he wanted to get laid, or maybe he wanted another award-winning home design. Either way, Liam was interested.
At least, he damn wellshouldbe interested. And if he went through the motions, surely he’d kick himself into gear andgetinterested. Maybe he was just chasing another shiny thing, but what the hell else was he supposed todo? Sit still and wait?
No. He couldn’t let himself be still, couldn’t let himself slow down enough to think. He walked straight up to Wilton, offered his hand, introduced himself, and started in on the small talk. The evening was a fund-raiser for arts programs at inner-city schools, so that made conversation easy. Sure, yeah, art’s important. Architecture? Well, yes, that was his own passion—hesaid “passion” without wincing at all—but of course architecture was best understood as practical art, just as engineering was practical science—
And Wilton actually seemed into it. He mentioned famous architects, recent projects, his own ambitions for his properties, and he did it all with a mix of bashful charm and genuine enthusiasm that should have been both heart-softening and dick-hardening.
If Liam had known Wilton would be at the party, he would have read up on him and had a better idea about his personal life. As it was? Even if Wilton had been straight he still would have been totally worth Liam’s time. He was something more than shiny. He cared about architecture, was interested in ideas, had a rare sensitivity—
“Sorry, am I boring you?” Wilton asked. He wasn’t being snotty;he was genuinely concerned that his rapture over what he’d seen on his recent trip to Kazakhstan wasn’t interesting. “It’s probably something you’d need to have seen in person. None of it was really all thatgood, I don’t think, from a design perspective, but there was just a great energy to it, a sense of potential and excitement—sorry. I’m getting started again. But tell me about your firm.What are you working on now?”
Perfect opportunity. Name-drop a couple projects, mention the Taybec Briggs project to show things were always active, then segue into a discussion of how the firm sometimes took on smaller projects, even residential projects, if the client was someone sufficiently interesting, sufficiently artistic—sufficiently famous—and let things happen from there.
It wouldhave been easy, and it was exactly what Liam was supposed to be doing. Bringing in clients, giving them what they wanted. Building the company, building his reputation. Building a damn building.
And maybe building a relationship too. The thing with Ben was over. For good this time, whether Liam liked it or not. And Wilton—Eric—was a prize by any standard. Liam needed to move on.
“I’ve foundmyself thinking about different kinds of architecture lately,” he said. Not a great idea to talk to the prestigious potential client about something totally unrelated to the firm. That meant this wasn’t about business. “Maybe more like your Kazakhstan experience.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” the actor said, but he raised his eyebrows and smiled in an invitation to continue.
“I think maybe I’m interestedin smaller projects. Like small-town houses. Nothing architecturally grand about them, often mass-produced from a common plan, but over the years they get customized in little ways, reformed to better suit their occupants. I was at a house last weekend with three porches—small house, probably twelve hundred square feet or even a bit less, but three big porches—and I remembered helping tobuild one of them when I was a kid. My friends and me, scrambling all over the place with handsaws and our dads’ cordless drills, putting in way too many screws in one corner, hardly any somewhere else. It was the summer before we started high school, and when we poured the concrete footings we all tossed in little mementos of our childhoods like we were memorializing our own lives—”
He stopped.What the hell was he doing, spilling all this crap to a stranger? But Eric nodded thoughtfully. “The best architecture is for people,” he said slowly. “That’s the ultimate point. If a building can be beautiful, that’s important, but it also has to be functional, and it has tomeansomething. There has to be emotional resonance as well as intellectual and aesthetic appeal.”
“Damn. We should getyou writing copy for our promotional materials.”
“I really care about design. If my career had taken a different turn… well, who knows? You can spend your life wondering about all that, about what might have been, or you can just go ahead with the life you’ve got.”
“The life you’ve got seems pretty damn good, at least from the outside.”
A quick smile, easy and relaxed, genuine enough that Liamhonestly couldn’t tell whether he was imagining the hint of sadness. “I can’t complain.”
“Is that your big what-if question?” Liam asked. Taking the conversation from architecture to something more personal. If Eric went along with it, that’d mean something. “Actor or architect? That’s the one you wonder about?”
“It’s one of them.” Eric shrugged, and it was like a physical manifestation of hisdecision to open up. “A couple relationships I wish I’d handled differently. I wonder what would have happened if I’d come out to my grandfather before he died—it wouldn’t have gone well, I’m sure of that, but I wonder if that would have been a good thing overall. Like, maybe that was a fight I needed to have. Maybe it was a fightheneeded to have.” He took a mouthful of wine, swallowed it, andsmiled ruefully. “I’ll never know. I guess that’s the point, right? How about you? What are your big ones?”
“Relationship,” Liam admitted. Not too smooth to talk about an old guy with a potential hookup, but he didn’t seem to care about being smooth, not right then. “First boyfriend. I screwed it up when I got greedy. I was a stupid kid, thought I could have everything, have Benandfuck aroundwith anyone who caught my eye.” Not just sharing that he was hung up on another guy, but revealing his history as a cheater too. Interesting decision.
“First boyfriend?” Wilton nodded slowly. “I think just about everyone screws up their first relationship. And I guess most of us regret it too.”
Was that all this was? Was Liam’s crisis nothing unusual, just typical angst and regret?
He thoughtabout Ben’s smile, his honesty, his strength. And everything that went with Ben. His uncle, his friends, North Falls itself.
“I’ve seen him a bit over the past few weeks,” he admitted. “It’s got me kind of—well. I think maybe I was kind of messed up all along, but it’s got me kind ofadmittingI’m messed up.”
