I have to hold myself back from striding across the room and wrenching him away from her.
“I’m sorry,” I say, as they both turn and finally notice me. “We were held up due to the weather. I apologize for keeping you waiting.”
“Well, your assistant has been giving me a lesson about the art galleries across New York City. At least I’ve learned something while I was waiting.”
And why have Amelia and I never had a conversation like that?
“Thank you, Amelia. You can go,” my voice is harsh as I watch her give Barnes a sweet smile and then walk toward me. I feel a rush of irritation as she passes by. I want to touch her, but I can’t. The caveman part of my brain wants to mark her, showing any man who goes near her that she’s spoken for.
Barnes turns from the window, his hands in his pockets, rocking onto the balls of his feet.
“That’s quite a young lady you have there,” he says. “And before you think me a dirty old man, she reminds me of my daughter.”
I nod. “Cynthia, right?”
“Yes. I’d say it was impressive that you remembered my daughter’s name, but she’s going to be one of your employees, after all…”
I indicate the chairs in front of my desk, and we both sit down. I can feel the atmosphere in the room changing as we do so. It’s charged; neither of us sure how this is going to go.
A strange part of me wishes that I’d asked Amelia to stay. It irks me that I am so preoccupied with her. She shouldn’t even be a blip on my radar, yet suddenly I’m interested in her opinion on everything.
When the hell did that happen? She’s an escort, not a confidante.
We both sit down, Barnes stretching his legs out.
“I’m surprised you have your shoes on,” he says, smirking at me as he tucks one foot under the other. “I heard you’re usually barefoot when you negotiate. Or will you just be giving me orders?”
I snort as I kick off my shoes, relieved to be rid of them.
“Feel free to take yours off, too,” I say.
He does, removing his socks as I do. The plush carpet under my feet feels good, and we both spend a few seconds curling and uncurling our toes. Barnes’s expression is more relaxed as he leans back in his chair.
“So, what is it you want from me today?” he asks pompously. “Are you still refusing to meet my terms?” I hesitate, unsure how to play this, but then he carries on. “You know, your assistant just gave me a bit of advice that’s got me thinking.”
I stare at him. “Amelia gave you advice?”
“Yes. She’s rather sharp. Surprisingly so.”
I tug at my shirt sleeve. “And what did she say?”
“That I should tell you what I really want. That if I truly want you to listen, I should simply speak and you’ll hear me out.”
I cross my legs and sit back in my chair. “Have I not listened to you so far, Franklin?”
“I think you’ve pretended to. But then, I haven’t been entirely honest either. With myself, or with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Miss Brooks was talking about the long-term gain with these things. It occurred to me that I’ve been thinking about this in a close-minded way. I’ve looked at the short term, the contracts, the longevity of my people, and the status quo. All I could think about was how you planned to pick apart my legacy. I couldn’t see it playing out any other way.”
“I’ve told you that’s not my intention.”
“You have. I simply didn’t believe you.” He glances at the door. “But I believed her. How odd. She seems to respect your intentions and your position, having known you for only a short time. That’s either naivety or integrity; I’m not sure which.”
I struggle to figure out what to say. Amelia isn’t involved in these negotiations; it shouldn’t matter what she thinks. In fact, I should be pissed as hell that she’s gotten involved, but I’m not.
Somehow, with a clarity I can’t explain, I know she isn’t trying to sabotage anything—she’s too innocent, too good for that. The fact that she’s speaking up for me, defending me, makes me feel lighter.
