The Photograph
: Chapter Two

Aelin

As the door shuts behind the new owner of Holloway, my throat tightens while my stomach hits the bottom of my ribs.No.

I turn my back on the rest of my judges and shuffle my designs with shaking fingers to regain my composure.

What did I say that made him leave? Is that why they contacted me so late?I swallow my disappointment—heartbreak—clear my throat, and resume my presentation.

At the end of my allocated half hour, I pack up my dreams, thank the two people who had the decency to listen to me until the end, and shake Ann’s hand.

The pretty woman folds both her hands around mine. “We’ll be in touch, Aelin.”

No, you won’t.

Forcing a smile while my chest hollows, I thank them again for their time and exit the room.I’ll wait until I get home to cry.

In the elevator, my portfolio under my arm and my purse dangling on my fingers, I shut my eyes tight and breathe deeply.My presentation was good, so why…?

When tears press behind my eyes, I straighten up and take another deep breath. My cell chimes with Em’s ringtone. I read her text.

When do we start? The Champagne is chilled!!

I turn off the screen and slide the cell in my purse. If I respond now, I’ll cry. I bet that with all his I’m-the-manly-man tallness, Gabe Matthews is a loud chewer. I sigh.Loud chewer. Loud chewer.

Once outside, I grunt at the ‘G&M Investments’ silver sign on the side of the building mocking me under the gleaming sun and raise my hand to hail a cab.How did I manage to—

“Aelin?”

I swing around toward the baritone timbre, crane my neck up to Gabe Matthews who sets the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen on me.

“Mr. Matthews, hi again.”

He tilts his head down and his lips twitch. “I’ll give you a ride. Where are you going?”

Home to cry myself for days.I lift my smile to the man who crushed my dreams. “Thank you, but it’s probably out of your way.”

He extends his arm toward a black luxurious car beside which a driver waits with his hands clasped in front of him. “I don’t mind. Please.”

Mr. Matthews doesn’t take no for an answer. Fantastic.

Tightening my grip around my portfolio, I shake my head. “I’m fine, thank you. Have a good rest of the day.”

I put more distance between us when I turn toward the street traffic and wish for a taxi.None in sight.Just my luck.But I have to ask, and I have nothing to lose, so I wheel back and blink fast, a little surprised by his closeness.

“Mr. Matthews?”

“Gabe, please.”

“What did I do wrong?”

The corner of his lips curve up for a split second.Is he smiling? The nerve of him.“What do you mean?”

I hook my gaze onto his. “My designs for Holloway House are good, and I was going to restore it to its former glory while making it comfortable with all the amenities of this century.” Before he can reply, I inch closer. “You left before the end of my presentation.”You’re a rude loud chewer. “So, what did I do wrong?”

My never-to-be employer narrows his eyes. “You did nothing wrong. I asked Ann to select you.”

What?I gape at him. “Pardon me?”

The closed mouth smile softens his expression. “I had to leave to attend to urgent business, but you’re our final choice.”

My heart hurtles against my ribs. “You mean I have the contract for Holloway House?”

Burying his hands in the pockets of his well-cut black slacks, he dips his chin. “You do. Let me drive you home. We can talk on the way.”

Stepping beside him, I follow him to his car, shake my head when his driver reaches for my portfolio, and slide onto the cream leather seat. I turn to Gabe and… Wow. Even seated he’s imposing. And wide. He’s also really close.

I scoot back on my seat and shift to face him. In his late thirties with thick black hair that grazes his collar, he has piercing eyes framed by incredibly long lashes that soften his full arched brows and strong jawline. He’s very attractive in an imposing kind of way.

When he cocks a brow, heat floods my face.Busted.

I clear my throat. “Shall I finish my presentation?”

Gabe’s baritone voice fills the car, and he shakes his head before slanting slightly toward me. “I’ve seen it. Tell me more about you.”

I sent my resume in my proposal, so he means something personal. Tongue tied,I lower my eyes while I wrack my brain to replace something he would replace interesting. Just as I open my mouth, the ring of his cell fills up the car.

“Excuse me, I have to take this,” he says.

Saved by the cell.I nod while relief washes over me. Nestling deeper in my seat, I focus on the window while he takes the short call, and turn toward him as he pockets his phone.

As the car slows down to a stop, I dive in. “Gabe, why did you buy Holloway House?”

He leans closer and the vibration of his bass voice skitters on my skin. “Why don’t you tell me?”

I blink fast. “You want me to … guess?”

Gabe nods, and the mischievous glint in his eye draws me in.All right, I’ll play.

“Well, you being on the selection panel tells me Holloway House is a personal project.” His expression remains unchanged—great poker face— “For … yourself or someone close to you … maybe?”

He makes a sound in his throat. “You’re right, it’s personal. So, I’ll be very involved in this project. Is this going to be a problem?”

How involved?“Not at all, but you’ve hired me, so, can I expect you’ll listen to my recommendations?”

“When can you start, Aelin?”And that’s a resounding no. But I don’t care, it’s Holloway.

I resist the pull of his rich, rumbling voice and clasp my hands in my lap.

Yesterday?“As soon as we sign the paperwork.”

Something hard flickers in his eyes.Or do my nerves make me paranoid?

“Can you sign tomorrow?”

This is it. It’s official. Nearly.My heart thumping hard against my ribs, I pull my cell out of my purse. “I’ll make an appointment with your office tomorrow.”

“Come by the penthouse at 2:00 PM.”

I still for a second. The last time I was invited to a penthouse for a sign-in, the experience wasn’t… “Your penthouse?”

He studies me with a slight frown. “Yes, this is a personal project, so you’ll be working for me, not my company. I’ll be out of the country, but Ann and Smithson will be there.”

Breathing out slowly, I nod. When the car stops in front of my house, I extend my hand to Gabe. “Thank you so much for your trust in me. I won’t disappoint you.”

He enfolds my hand, and the warmth of his touch radiates along my arm and flows down my lower back.

Oh, my…

****

Two weeks later, I groan as I push all my weight against my front door. Home. Finally.

After kicking off my heels on the shaggy wine-colored carpet of the living room, I inhale the mixed scent of Springwater air freshener, a hint of Cara’s cookies from this morning’s breakfast, and the remnant of the peppermint undertone of Emma’s perfume.

Cell in hand, I drop on my khaki sofa. My sister answers on the second ring. “Hey, angel, is everything okay?”

Flopping on my back on the orange and yellow cushions. “I’m great. Life is awesome and I love you.”

She chuckles. “So, Holloway’s going well.”

A large pillow falls on the floor as I hop on my knees. “It is. How are you doing, my Cara?”

Warmth and excitement wrap around her words like every time she talks about her art. “The relationship between French people and food is tumultuous and so much fun. I have at least four favorite dishes I have to send you.”

“Can’t wait. How’s Andreas doing? Who’s he? Do you like him?”

When she pauses, I sit on my haunches and tug on the fringes of one of the cushions.

There’s a catch in her voice. “He’s fine, I think he stayed in Prague when I came here.”

I worry about her being so strong all the time. “Are you lonely?”

A long time ago, we promised each other to never lie to each other about our feelings, however bad or scary they might be.

She hums and her voice is soft. “Sometimes.”

Her absence pinches low in my chest, and I hug a pillow against my stomach. “If it gets bad, promise me to call, so I can fly out and spend time with you.”

“I promise, angel. But you’re going to be busy for the next few weeks, and—”

I frown when she stops talking. “Cara?”

My sister chortles. “Sorry, angel, just making room for a couple who are, uh … enjoying each other.” She clears her throat. “O-okay. I’m going to move away, things are getting … very amorous over here. Tell me more about Holloway.”

Grinning, I do. Too fast and in too many details before Cara says, “Angel, it’s my goodbye meal, cooked by Pierre Antoine and everyone’s waiting for me…”

How can I be so selfish?“Oh, my God, I’m keeping you. Go. Enjoy. We’ll text soon.”

“Okay, love you, angel.”

“Love you, too, my Cara.”