Читать книгу The Beaumont Brothers - Sarah M. Anderson - Страница 15

Eight

Serena clung to Chadwick’s arm as they swept up the red-carpeted stairs, past the paparazzi and into the Denver Art Museum. Part of her clinginess was because of the heels. Chadwick took huge, masterful strides that she was struggling to keep up with.

But another part of it was how unsettled she was feeling. She’d told him about her childhood. About the one time she and her mom had lived in a women-only shelter for three days because her dad didn’t want them to have to sleep on the streets in the winter—but her mom had missed him so much that she’d bundled Serena up and they’d gone looking for him. She’d told him about Missy Gurgin in fourth grade making fun of Serena for wearing her old clothes, about the midnight moves to stay ahead of the due rent, about eating dinner that her mom had scavenged from leftovers at the diner.

Things she’d never told anyone. Not even Neil knew about all of that.

In turn, he’d told her about the way his father had controlled his entire life, about punishments that went way beyond cruel. He’d talked in a dispassionate tone, like they were discussing the weather and not the abuse of a child too young to defend himself, but she could hear the pain beneath the surface. He could act like it was all water under the bridge, but she knew better. All the money in the world hadn’t protected Chadwick.

She put her hand over her stomach. No one would ever treat her child like that. And she would do everything in her power to keep her baby from ever being cold and hungry—or wondering where her next meal was coming from.

They walked into the Art Museum. Serena tried to find the calm in her mind. God knew she needed it. She pushed aside the horror of what Chadwick had told her, the embarrassment of sharing her story with him.

This was more familiar territory. She’d come to the Art Museum for this gala for the previous seven years. She knew where the galleries were, where the food was. She’d helped arrange that. She knew how to hold her champagne glass—oh, wait. No champagne for her tonight.

Okay, no need to panic. She was still perfectly at ease. She was only wearing a wildly expensive dress, four-inch heels and a fortune in jewels. Not to mention she was pregnant, on a date with her boss and....

Yeah, champagne would be great right about now.

Chadwick leaned over and whispered, “Are you breathing?” in her ear.

She did as instructed, the grin on her face making it easier. “Yes.”

He squeezed her hand against his arm, which she found exceptionally reassuring. “Good. Keep it that way.”

It was almost ten o’clock. Once they’d started sharing stories at dinner, it had been hard to stop. Serena was both mortified that she’d told any of that to Chadwick and, somehow, relieved. She’d buried those secrets deep, but they hadn’t been dead. They’d lived on, terrorizing her like a monster under the bed.

At some point during dinner, she’d relaxed. The meal had been fabulous—the food was a little out there, but good. She’d been able to just enjoy being with Chadwick.

Now they were arriving at the gala slightly later than was fashionable. People were noticing as Chadwick swept her into the main hall. She could see heads tilting as people craned their necks for a better view, could hear the whispers starting.

Oh, this was not a good idea.

She’d loved her black dress because it looked good—but it had also blended, something Mario had forbidden. Now that she was here and standing out in the crowd in a bold blue, she wished she’d gone with basic black. People were staring.

A woman wearing a fire engine red gown that matched her fire engine red hair separated from the crowd just as Serena and Chadwick hit the middle of the room. She fought the urge to excuse herself and bolt for the ladies room. Queens amongst women did not hide in the bathroom, and that was that.

“There you are,” the woman said, leaning to kiss Chadwick on the cheek. “I thought maybe you weren’t coming, and Matthew and I would have to deal with Phillip all by ourselves.”

Serena exhaled in relief. She should have recognized Frances Beaumont, Chadwick’s half sister. She was well liked at the Beaumont Brewery, a fact that had a great deal to do with Donut Friday. Once a month, she personally delivered a donut to every single employee. Apparently, she’d been doing it since she was a little girl. As a result, Serena had heard more than a few of the workers refer to her as “our Frannie.”

Frances was the kind of woman people described as “droll” without really knowing what that meant. But her razor-sharp wit was balanced with a good nature and an easy laugh.

Unlike everyone else at the brewery, though, Chadwick didn’t seem to relax around his half sister. He stood ramrod straight, as if he were hoping to pass inspection. “We were held up. How’s Byron?”

Frances waved her hand dismissively as Serena wondered, Byron?

“Still licking his wounds in Europe. I believe he’s in Spain.” Frances sighed, as if this revelation pained her, but she said nothing else.

Chadwick nodded, apparently agreeing to drop the topic of Byron. “Frannie, you remember Serena Chase, my assistant?”

Frances looked her up and down. “Of course I remember Serena, Chadwick.” She leaned over and carefully pulled Serena into a light hug. “Fabulous dress. Where did you get it?”

“Neiman’s.” Breathing in, breathing out.

Frances gave her a warm smile. “Mario, am I right?”

“You have a good eye.”

“Of course, darling.” She drawled out this last word until it was almost three whole syllables. “It’s a job requirement when you’re an antiquities dealer.”

“Your dress is stunning.” Serena couldn’t help but wonder how much it cost. Was she looking at several thousand dollars of red velvet and rubies? The one good thing was that, standing next to Frances Beaumont in that dress, no one was noticing Serena Chase.

Chadwick cleared his throat. She glanced up to find him smiling down at her. Well, no one but him would notice her, anyway.

He turned his attention back to his sister. “You said Phillip is already drunk?”

Frances batted away this question with manicured nails that perfectly matched the color of her dress. “Oh, not yet. But I’m sure before the evening is through he’ll have charmed the spirits right out of three or four bottles of the good stuff.” She leaned forward, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s just that charming, you know.”

Chadwick rolled his eyes. “I know.”

Serena giggled, feeling relieved. Frances wasn’t treating her like a bastard at a family picnic. Maybe she could do this.

Then Frances got serious, her smile dropping away. “Chadwick, have you thought more about putting up some money for my auction site?”

Chadwick made a huffing noise of disapproval, which caused a shadow to fall over Frances’s face. Serena heard herself ask, “What auction site?”

“Oh!” Frances turned the full power of her smile on Serena. “As an antiquities dealer, I work with a lot of people in this room who’d prefer not to pay the full commission to Christie’s auction house in New York, but who would never stoop to the level of eBay.”

Ouch. Serena had bought more than a few things off the online auction site.

“So,” Frances went on, unaware of the impact of her words on Serena, “I’m funding a new venture called Beaumont Antiquities that blends the cachet of a traditional art auction house with the power of social media. I have some partners who are handling the more technical aspects of building our platform, while I’m bringing the family name and my extensive connections to the deal.” She turned back to Chadwick. “It’s going to be a success. This is your chance to get in on the ground floor. And we could use the Chadwick Beaumont Seal of Approval. It’d go a long way to help secure additional funding. Think of it. A Beaumont business that has nothing to do with beer!”

“I like beer,” Chadwick said. His tone was probably supposed to be flat, but it actually came out sounding slightly wounded, as if Frances had just told him his life’s work was worthless.

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

“You always do this, Frannie—investing in the ‘next big idea’ without doing your homework. An exclusive art auction site? In this market? It’s not a good idea. If I were you, I’d get out now before you lose everything. Again.”

Frances stiffened. “I haven’t lost everything, thank you very much.”

Chadwick gave her a look that was surprisingly paternal. “And yet, I’ve had to bail you out how many times?” Frances glared at him. Serena braced for another cutting remark, but then Chadwick said, “I’m sorry. Maybe this one will be a success. I wish you the best of luck.”

“Of course you do. You’re a good brother.” Instantly, her droll humor was back, but Serena could see a shadow of disappointment in her eyes. “We’re Beaumonts. You’re the only one of us who behaves—well, you and maybe Matthew.” She waved her hand in his general direction. “All respectable, while the rest of us are desperately trying to be dissolute wastrels.” Her gaze cut between Chadwick and Serena. “Speaking of, there’s Phillip now.”

Before Serena could turn, she felt a touch slide down her bare arm. Then Phillip Beaumont walked around her, his fingers never leaving her skin. He was quite the golden boy. Only an inch shorter than his brother, he wore a tux without a bow tie. It made him look disheveled and carefree—which, according to all reports, he was. Where Chadwick was more of a sandy blond, Phillip’s coloring was brighter, as if he’d been born for people to look at him.

Phillip took her hand in his and bent low over it. “Mademoiselle,” he said as he held the back of her hand against his lips.

An uncontrollable shiver raced through her body. She did not particularly like Phillip—he caused Chadwick no end of grief—but Frances was one-hundred-percent right. He was exceedingly charming.

He looked up at Serena, his lips curled into the kind of grin that pronounced him fully aware of the effect he was having on her. “Where did you come from, enchantress? And, perhaps more importantly, why are you on his arm?”

Enchantress? That was a new one. And also a testament to Mario’s superpowers. Phillip stopped by the office on a semi-regular basis to have meetings with Chadwick and Matthew about his position as head of special promotions for the brewery. She’d talked to him face-to-face dozens, if not hundreds, of times.

Chadwick made a sound that was somewhere between clearing his throat and growling. “Phillip, you remember Serena Chase, my executive assistant.”

If Phillip was embarrassed that he hadn’t recognized her, he gave no sign of it. He didn’t even break eye contact with her. Instead, he favored her with the kind of smile that probably made the average woman melt into his bed. As it was, she was feeling a little dazzled by his sheer animal magnetism.

“How could I forget Ms. Chase? You are,” he went on, leaning into her, “unforgettable.”

Desperate, she looked at Frances, who gave a small shrug.

“That’s enough.” No mistaking it this time—that was nothing but a growl from Chadwick.

If Chadwick had growled at anyone else like that, he would have sent them diving for cover. But not Phillip. Good heavens, he didn’t even look ruffled. He did give her a sly little wink before he touched her hand to his lips again. Chadwick tensed next to her and she wondered if a brawl was about to break out.

But then he released his grip on her hand and turned his full attention to his brother. Serena heaved a sigh of relief. No wonder Phillip had such a reputation as a ladies’ man.

“So, news,” he said in a tone that was only slightly less sultry than the one he’d been using on her. “I bought a horse!”

“Another one?” Frances and Chadwick said at the same time. Clearly, this was something that happened often.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Chadwick looked...murderous. There really was no other way to describe it. He looked like he was going to throttle his brother in the middle of the Art Museum. “I don’t suppose this one was only a few thousand?”

“Chad—hear me out.” At this use of his shortened name, Chadwick flinched. Serena had never heard anyone call him that but Phillip. “This is an Akhal-Teke horse.”

“Gesundheit,” Frances murmured.

“A what?” Chadwick was now clutching her fingers against his arm in an almost desperate way. “How much?”

“This breed is extremely rare,” Phillip went on. “Only about five thousand in the world. From Turkmenistan!”

Serena felt like she was at a tennis match, her head was turning back and forth between the two brothers so quickly. “Isn’t that in Asia, next to Afghanistan?”

Phillip shot her another white-hot look and matching smile. “Beautiful and smart? Chadwick, you lucky dog.”

“I swear to God,” Chadwick growled.

“People are staring,” Frances added in a light, singsong tone. Then, looking at Serena for assistance, she laughed as if this were a great joke.

Serena laughed as well. She’d heard Chadwick and Phillip argue before, but that was usually behind Chadwick’s closed office door. Never in front of her. Or in front of anyone else, for that matter.

For once, Phillip seemed to register the threat. He took an easy step back and held out his hands in surrender. “Like I was saying—this Akhal-Teke. They’re most likely the breed that sired the Arabians. Very rare. Only about five hundred in this country, and most of those come from Russian stock. Kandar’s Golden Sun isn’t a Russian Akhal-Teke.”

“Gesundheit,” Frances murmured again. She looked at Serena with a touch of desperation, so they both laughed again.

“He’s from Turkmenistan. An incredible horse. One to truly found a stable on.”

Chadwick pinched the bridge of his nose. “How much?”

“Only seven.” Phillip stuck out his chest, as if he were proud of this number.

Chadwick cracked open one eye. “Thousand, or hundred thousand?”

Serena tried not to gape. Seven thousand for a horse wasn’t too much, she guessed. But seven hundred thousand? That was a lot of money.

Phillip didn’t say anything. He took a step back, though, and his smile seemed more...forced.

Chadwick took a step forward. “Seven what?”

“You know, one Akhal-Teke went for fifty million—and that was in 1986 dollars. The most expensive horse ever. Kandar’s Golden Sun—”

That was as far as he got. Chadwick cut him off with a shout. “You spent seven million on a horse while I’m working my ass off to keep the company from being sold to the wolves?”

Everything about the party stopped—the music, the conversations, the movement of waiters carrying trays of champagne.

Someone hurried toward them. It was Matthew Beaumont. “Gentlemen,” he hissed under his breath. “We are having a charity event here.”

Serena put her hand on Chadwick’s arm and gave it a gentle tug. “A very good joke, Phillip,” she said in a slightly too-loud voice.

Frances caught Serena’s eye and nodded in approval. “Chadwick, I’d like to introduce you to the director of the food bank, Miriam Young.” She didn’t know where, exactly, the director of the food bank was. But she was sure Ms. Young wanted to talk with Chadwick. Or, at least, had wanted to talk to him before he’d started yelling menacingly at his relatives.

“Phillip, did I introduce you to my friend Candy?” Frances added, taking her brother by the arm and pulling him in the opposite direction. “She’s dying to meet you.”

The two brothers held their poses for a moment longer, Chadwick glaring at Phillip, the look on Phillip’s face almost daring Chadwick to hit him in full view of the assembled upper crust of Denver society.

Then the men parted. Matthew walked on the other side of Chadwick, ostensibly to lead the way to the director. Serena got the feeling it was more to keep Chadwick from spinning and tackling his brother.

“Serena,” Matthew said simply. “Nicely done. Thus far,” he added in a heavy tone, “the evening has been a success. Now if we can just get through it without a brawl breaking out—”

“I’m fine,” Chadwick snapped, sounding anything but. “I’m just fine.”

“Not fine,” Matthew muttered, guiding them into a side gallery. “Why don’t I get you a drink? Wait here,” he said, parking Chadwick in front of a Remington statue. “Do not move.” He looked at Serena. “Okay?”

She nodded. “I’ve got him.”

She hoped.