The Devil's Storm Page 8

  Adrian was embarrassed and clenched both hands around his wallet, but he wasn’t willing to give up. “Goddess of love and war.”

  “You know your Norse mythology,” she muttered, unimpressed.

  “Coolest culture ever,” he replied. Vikings were awesome.

  “Yep. Book’s still not for sale though.”

  Adrian sighed. “Seriously? Not for any price?”

  “No. Trust me. You don’t have the funds it would take for me to make that wrong decision.”

  Adrian laughed. “Well, actually…”

  “Let me guess, you’re a millionaire?” she laughed.

  “No,” he laughed. “No, not a millionaire. We’re worth more than that.”

  Freya narrowed her eyes. “No, you’re not.”

  “Well come to think of it, I’m probably not a billionaire anymore. My family is though. And I’m still pretty damned loaded.”

  “You must be the black sheep.”

  Adrian shrugged. “Fell in love and my family didn’t approve.”

  “Heartbreaking,” Freya pouted.

  “Best decision I ever made,” he said with a soft smile. “I’d do it a million times over if I had to. Of course, she’s pissed at me right now, and kind of rightly so, but if I had that book—”

  “She’d still be pissed. The book isn’t going to make things better. Even if it is awesome. Maybe you should focus on what you’re going to say and do to make it better, rather than trying to buy her off with classic literature.”

  “I think I’ve got that part worked out. And she does love books. Come on, Freya. I am desperate. And in love. And I’m dumb

  enough to pay whatever you want for that book.”

  Adrian watched as her face fell and her whole body dipped at the knees and sunk. “Ugh,” she whined. “If this ruins my business—”

  “I swear to God, I won’t let that happen. Seriously. I will float you a loan, whatever it takes to keep the doors open,” he said excitedly as she climbed a stool to take the book down. Adrian watched as she opened the book and took out a lavender hold slip with the name Madeleine Atwood written in a beautiful font.

  “Wait for a second,” he said with a beaming grin. “You’re holding that for Madeleine Atwood?”

  “Was,” Freya sighed. “And I’ll probably regret not holding it for Madeleine Atwood.”

  Adrian shook his head, grin still plastered to his face. “Did she really tell you to hold it under Atwood?”

  “Um, I’m sorry, do you know her?”

  “Seriously, no McCollum?” he asked, heart pounding. “She asked for Madeleine Atwood?”

  “Yes…no. That’s confidential. Who are you?”

  “Sorry. Adrian Atwood. Madeleine McCollum—or if she wants to go by Atwood, even better—is my girlfriend. At least I hope she still is. That’s who the book is for.”

  Freya seemed confused. “Wait. Are you the ex?”

  Adrian felt his jaw drop. “Did she say I was an ex? Seriously? It was one fight!”

  “She said she was divorced...and Atwood was her ex-husband’s name.”

  Adrian breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh. Yeah, no, that’s my brother. He’s the ex. As long as she wasn’t referring to me, we’re good.”

  He watched as the fairy goddess of love and war’s jaw dropped. “What the actual—”

  “Yeah, look, I know. Screwed up story. You can see why my family’s not exactly thrilled with me at the moment. Can I just buy the book already? Especially since it’s all for the same person? My offer still stands to pay whatever you want for it.”

  Freya eyed him suspiciously. “This story is bullshit.”

  “You want ID? I can prove it,” Adrian offered, flashing his driver’s license. Freya checked it out and looked at him disapprovingly. “You two have officially made my afternoon the weirdest ever.”

  “I know. Soap opera-style story, but you can’t help who you love.”

  Freya eyed him suspiciously for a moment, but then her expression relaxed. “You’re right. You can’t.”

  “So what’s this gonna cost me?”

  “Three thousand dollars.”

  Adrian laughed. “Jesus Christ. Seriously?” Yet, he took his debit card from his wallet and prepared to swipe it.

  “You did say two months’ rent. I held you to that. Since you’re a billionaire and all,” Freya replied with a smirk.

  “Been nice doing business with you,” he replied. He liked this woman. She kind of reminded him of Lee.

  Freya's words resonated with him as he left the store, however. The book might serve as a fantastic ice breaker, but he needed to concentrate on how to apologize. Adrian found himself driving at a creeping pace, giving himself time to think of the right words. He would have to be honest, but sensitive, and more than anything, he had to tell her that he couldn’t possibly face a life without her. The best-laid plans could go straight to hell if needs be. He wanted her, their family, more than anything.

  Madeleine was on her way out when he arrived. She wore her purse across her body, fully ready to leave again. Adrian had made it through the back door from the garage when they met up just as she was exiting her office, looking miffed at him. “I’ll be back later,” she said in a non-committal tone.

  “Where ya going?”

  “Little bookstore on Liberty, and maybe a few other places I’ve not gotten to check out yet,” she took a few steps away from him when he spoke.

  “I take it you’re going out to buy this?”

  Madeleine stopped dead in the hall. When she turned around, there he stood with her Arlington Edition Jane Eyre. “How did you know?”

  “Because I know you. The second I passed that bookstore this

  afternoon I knew it was a place you would have liked. Oddly enough, a Madeleine Atwood put an Arlington edition, Jayne Eyre, on hold.”

  “I’m angry Freya sold it to you,” Madeleine said with a smile.

  “Oh, she drove a very hard bargain. But she must be a bit of a romantic, too, because when I explained that it was a matter of trying to smooth over a rather dire mistake on my part, she finally agreed to sell it to me.”

  Madeleine knitted her fingers together and looked down at the floor. “Look, I know you didn’t mean it.”

  “I didn’t. And even if every plan we make goes straight to hell, you’re stuck with me for the rest of your life. I’m not going anywhere, no matter what, and I’m sorry you had to doubt it for even a minute.”

  Madeleine threw her arms around him and rested her head on his chest as he wrapped her up close. “I know that,” she said. “I know you love me, but it is still hard to trust. Just promise you’ll be honest with me, even if the truth is going to hurt.”

  “You know I will,” he reassured her, kissing her hair and holding her close.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Did you approve this whole Art Meets Tech exhibit at the High? Seems frivolous for you,” Brent McCanless said as he strolled into Lee’s office as if he owned the place. Since becoming Richard’s right-hand man and VP in training, the man had been on an epic ego trip.

  Lee didn’t even look up from his laptop, too busy going over some new projections for the upcoming quarter. He squinted, struggling to read the small font on the screen. He’d always had perfect 20/20 vision, so why were all these figures starting to look blurry? Maybe he needed to start wearing reading glasses. Surely not. He was only thirty-six. His eyesight wasn’t declining already, was it?

  Brent placed a leather portfolio on his desk. Lee peered at it. “What’s this?”

  “It’s the guest list, itinerary, explanation of services rendered for the gala event, bios of artists featured, everything. All in one nice, neat package,” Brent explained.

  “What the hell are you talking about? I’ve never even heard of this.” Lee took the portfolio and started thumbing through all the documents inside. “Damn… did you see how much this whole event is costing us?”

  Brent raised a bro
w as he flopped on Lee’s favorite spot on his leather sofa. “Like I said, I didn’t think you approved it.”

  Lee let out an exasperated breath. “Adrian. Of course.” He would be the type to blow money on something so completely pointless with no clear return on investment.

  “His girlfriend, fiance, whatever she was, she works at the High, right? Maybe they cooked this whole thing up. You were probably taking some time off when they got it coordinated." Lee thought the remark was probably doubling as a dig at him. Lee made a mental note to remind Brent that he was much more disposable than he thought.

  “I’ll handle this,” Lee said decidedly. “It won’t take but one

  phone call.”

  Brent raised a brow. “If you say so, but the whole event looks pretty set in stone at this point.”

  Lee narrowed his brow as he started to dial Emily’s number. “We’ll see about that.”

  He waited as the phone rang. Once. Twice. Three, then four times until it went to her voicemail. “Hi, you’ve reached Emily Atwood. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”

  Atwood? Why hadn’t she changed that yet? They were only engaged for a short time anyway…

  He heard an unexpected voice. It was low and soft in the background, but Lee placed it immediately. “No, you won’t,” Adrian’s voice laughed in digital render.

  The recording stopped, but Lee was so focused on the sound of Adrian’s voice, he couldn’t say anything. He immediately hung up the phone, thinking of the next course of action. It was nearly twelve, if he stepped out of the office now, he could get to the High and see what was going on and swing lunch before his investors' meeting that afternoon. If he stayed close and shoved whatever he’d be eating down his throat, he’d have the time. Regardless, this business had to be settled immediately, and it would be best done in person.

  It took Lee longer to convince his administrative assistant, Janice, that he was actually taking a lunch than it did to walk to the High Museum of Art. On the way there, he texted Emily and said she needed to meet him in the lobby to explain where over a million dollars of his company’s money was being spent, but the second he stepped into the museum lobby, it became obvious. The whole museum was decked out in Art Meets Tech banners complete with the Atwood Technologies logo, and in the middle of the huge atrium was a large black pedestal that served a platform for a robotic arm painting a replica of Van Gough’s Starry Night. Lee narrowed his eyes at it, not terribly impressed when he considered how much the piece must have cost.

  It wasn’t long before he spotted Emily bounding across the bridge and down the steps to the lobby. She wore a sheer, black, sleeveless blouse tucked into long, red, wide-legged pants that billowed as she walked with a sense of urgency. He noticed two things: one, she looked worried, and two, her blouse left little to the imagination. Considering it had been what—a year and a half?—since he’d touched Madeleine, Lee reminded himself it’d take great effort to keep his eyes above neck level.

  “Emily, what the hell is all this?” he motioned at all the event banners in the lobby.

  “I know it looks pricey on paper, but—”

  “Pricey? It’s a mil and a half on one event. I’ve got an investors’ meeting in two hours and I’ve got to say I’m not really sure how I’m going to spin this to them,” Lee countered.

  Emily shook her head. “This is why you need Adrian. As business savvy as you are, you’re so focused on facts and figures that you forget to use your imagination now and then.”

  “Adrian’s not the one having to explain how we’re getting a return on investment on this, either,” Lee scoffed.

  “I promise you, we thought every bit of this through. The media attention and PR alone is worth the investment. There’s already a lot of hype about this. It’s all over the city. I can’t believe you haven’t noticed it or discussed it in a meeting. I mean it’s been two years in the making at this point.”

  Lee shook his head. “Can’t say I had even the slightest clue.”

  Emily’s face fell with an expression of pity. “When’s the last time you did anything fun? Charity balls and Atwood Technologies-related events don’t count.”

  “Sweetheart, I work constantly.”

  “I'm not your sweetheart. And you’re going to keel over from a heart-attack before you’re forty if you keep this up,” she replied. “Do you eat anymore or just suck the blood of your business clients?”

  Lee felt his eyes narrow into a glare at first, then he made the mistake of letting his eyes fall down the rigid curvature of her neck to the barely-visible cleavage through the sheer black material of her shirt. Eyes up, eyes up, eyes up, he coached himself. “I still eat,” he smirked as his eyes met hers. Her dark brown eyes glinted in the light. Unlike Madeleine, Emily knew when a man was checking her out. Lee felt his stomach knot, but she pretended to check her watch.

  “If we’re quick we can grab lunch, and I can fill you in on what Adrian was going to present if the board brought it up. I promise

  you, it’s brilliant,” she reassured him.

  “Damned well better be,” Lee said, clearing his throat, trying to regain composure.

  Later when they were seated at the CJ’s Cafe, the sandwich shop inside the museum, Emily started going over the plan while Lee shoved down his turkey on wheat, ever conscious of the time. “Art Meets Tech isn’t a new concept by any means. Tons of museums have already done it. Stanford had a fantastic exhibit several years back.”

  “Okay, so what’s making ours unique?” Lee posed with his mouth full. Emily screwed up her face.

  “Gross. Use your manners.”

  Just to protect her delicate sensibilities, he swallowed before continuing. “It's either I ask questions with my mouth full or I resort to sucking the blood of my business associates, which would currently include you.”

  Emily rolled her eyes but continued. “This is the biggest infusion of art and technology yet. It's garnered international attention, and our gala guest list has respected artists, scientists and business leaders from all over the world. The fundraising opportunities are insane.”

  “Okay, so it’s good for our community. Investors like that. They also like returns. I see our logo is on all the event advertising, but it’s minimal, so obviously we're not considering it advertising. I’m guessing this is tax-deductible?”

  “Adrian took care of that. Every dime Atwood Technologies has put into this as a company—”

  “We'll recoup in nickels. Tax breaks aren’t all they’re cut out to be.”

  Emily sighed. “I told Adrian it wouldn’t be good enough.”

  Lee took a bite of his sandwich. He chewed it carefully, slowly, staring at her the entire time. Her face was creased in worry, obviously sweating bullets. “Lee if you pull out at this point, I could lose my job.”

  He shrugged for a moment, pretending to consider it. As much as he hated to admit it, if Adrian had helped her prepare this exhibit, there probably was going to be a decent return to it. But he wasn't going to respond immediately. Watching her squirm in her seat, waiting on his answer before she’d even breathe, was enjoyable.

  “I think,” Lee began slowly, “if we're recouping half our investment while attracting money for the arts community here in Atlanta, we've made an excellent deal here. When's this gala so I can put it on my calendar?”

  She immediately beamed with relief. “Next Saturday night. Seven o'clock,” she grinned. “Oh my God, Lee, thank you so much.”

  “Great. So I'll pick you up around six. You still live in the same place?”

  Emily stared at him, only managing to blink for an awkward ten seconds. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “We both need dates. I don’t want to be accosted by gold-diggers looking to replace my wife—ex-wife, Jesus Christ—and you don't want to keep having to rely on your boss for a date.”

  “Why do I need a date? We're living in an unprecedented time of female empowerment. I can go alone.”

&nb
sp; “Because we're also living in an unprecedented time of male idiocy, and the last thing you want is to spend another night having to deal with men by yourself while also hosting an event of this magnitude.”

  “I can handle myself, Lee. Just fine. Besides, I can imagine all the comments the Atlanta elite would have to throw around. ‘Those Atwoods sure like to keep it in the family,'" she mocked.

  “Aw, let ‘em talk. It’s no fun being an Atwood if you can’t be controversial from time to time.”

  “Don't you mean all the time?” Emily challenged. “And besides, I’m not an Atwood. You can’t drag me in on your drama.”

  “That’s not what your voicemail said, Emily Atwood.”

  “Like anyone leaves voicemails anymore.”

  Lee wrapped up the remainder of his sandwich. He’d have to finish it later if he were going to make it back to the office in time. “Well, lunch was mediocre, and the company was, ultimately, disappointing—”

  She scoffed in false offense.

  “But the business deal wasn’t bad. See ya’ around, Emily.”

  He hadn’t made it three steps before she piped up. “5:00.”

  “I’m sorry—what was that?”

  Lee turned to see her crossing her arms tight across her chest again, damned cleavage pressed tight against her arms and even more strained against the material. “You can pick me up at 5:00. I’ll have to be here early to play host, and so should you, since this is all your company’s doing.”

  Lee smiled, but he couldn’t let her win that easily, visible cleavage or not. “No can do. I’ll be coming back from Tokyo that morning and jet lag—”

  “5:00 or I’ll mention to Maisy that you desperately need a date to the gala.”

  His mouth curled into a smile. “You’re a bitch, you know that, right?”

  “I’ll see you next Saturday at 5:00. And if you’re even a minute late, you can go alone,” Emily said. “Have fun at your investors’ meeting.”

  Lee gave a single-syllable laugh. “And there it is.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I can finally see what Adrian actually liked about you.”