Fowler Sisters: Stealing Rose Part 17

"It went really well. My father was a part of it via Skype and it was ... good to talk to him." She smiles and nods, but that pretty smile doesn't quite meet her eyes and I know she's not telling me everything.

Which is fine. Really. I'm not telling her everything, either. How can I? My life is f.u.c.king chaos at the moment. I should be home, back in the States. I should be cleaning up the mess Mom made, I should be meeting with Cash so he can give me the lowdown on the interview he's setting up for me, but no. I'm in London, because I don't want to leave this beautiful woman sitting by my side.

My priorities are all f.u.c.ked up. I want what I can't have, the story of my life.

"How many beers have you had anyway?" she asks when I make a quick grab for the fresh one the barmaid delivers.

"Too many." I point at Nigel, who's laughing hysterically at something Ryder is telling him. "It's all his fault."

"Nigel?" She sounds surprised. "He's harmless."

"Not really. Wait until you have to hear him drone on about a certain Clare. Then you won't think he's so harmless," I mutter against the rim of my gla.s.s before I take a swig.

"Ah, Clare. Really? He's still talking about her?" She shakes her head with a sad smile. "She likes this one." She points at Hugh.

a.s.shole. Stealing my friend's woman. s.h.i.+t. Maybe I am drunk. "I think that one likes you." I tilt my head in Hugh's direction, thankful he's talking to Violet and not making eyes at my girl.

Rose blushes. She actually f.u.c.king blushes. Christ, she's cute. "He does not."

I crane my neck to check him out. He's still chatting with Violet, but I see the way his gaze slides to Rose every few seconds, lingering on her face, her chest, her whatever he finds particularly appealing.

Can't help but wonder if he would find my fist connecting with his nose appealing? Probably not.

"Yeah. I think he does." I can grudgingly admit he's a good-looking f.u.c.ker with the dark hair styled in an expensive cut, the high-end suit he's wearing, and that gleaming smile that probably cost a fortune.

I hate him.

"Well, it doesn't matter, because I'm here with you." She leans into me, her mouth right at my ear, her lips moving against it when she speaks and making me s.h.i.+ver. "I missed you."

Her confession pleases me more than I care to admit. "Yeah?" I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, my gaze roaming over her pretty face. "Did it really go okay? The meeting?"

She shrugs and pulls away from me, reaching out to grab her drink and take a sip. "It went as well as I expected."

"And that means?" I press. I'm not one to push. If she doesn't want to share details of her personal life, I can deal with that. I'm sharing the most intimate experience with this woman two people can have. I know her body inside and out. But we don't talk about personal things. Our private lives. She mentioned she gave notice at Fleur and that surprised me, but she never went into detail and I didn't push. We told each other that first night, lying in bed together in the hushed quiet of the hotel suite, that we wouldn't push. We wouldn't ask too many questions.

I regret making that promise. More and more as each day pa.s.ses by.

It's stupid. How can we ever turn this into something more if we don't really talk? Does she want to turn this into more? Do I?

I go back and forth. Having Hugh Watson show up is not helping my case, either. He's the type of man she should be with. One who's her equal, not a criminal who's faked through most of his life and doesn't know how to let a woman get close.

"It means that my relations.h.i.+p with my father is what I would call strained at best." She looks sad. I hate it. I want to chase away her sadness and make her feel good. Help her forget.

"My relations.h.i.+p with my father sucked too," I admit, feeling the need to share something. A bit of my life I've never really talked about with anyone. Mitch.e.l.l knows what happened to my dad and so does Whitney, but we've never really spoken of it. No one talks about suicide.

No one.

"Really?" She sounds curious but she says nothing more. Probably doesn't want to press for more.

I nod and draw my finger through the ring of condensation my gla.s.s left on the dark table. "I was a s.h.i.+t growing up."

"Nooo," she drawls with a little laugh, making me chuckle.

"It's true. I was spoiled rotten. He created the monster and then I think he regretted it." I know he did. He created a monster out of all of us, including himself. Spending money like it was nothing, buying us whatever we wanted. Eventually, all that cash he spent became money he obtained illegally. Money he stole from clients. Investors who had faith he would do them right. Instead he did them wrong.

And then he did us all wrong by ending his life like a chickens.h.i.+t.

"Do you guys still talk?" she asks, her voice as gentle as the glow in her eyes.

"No." I take a deep breath. "He died a long time ago."

Her eyes go instantly dim and she settles her hand on my arm, the sympathy written all over her face so clear. "I'm so sorry," she murmurs, her fingers squeezing. "I lost my mother, too, you know."

I nod in answer. I watched the doc.u.mentary on Dahlia Fowler. They mentioned the girls' mother and that she died when they were young, but they didn't offer many details.

"I don't remember her, though. I was too small." The look on Rose's face ... I can only describe it as heartbreaking. "I wish I'd known her. I wish I had the chance like Violet did and especially Lily, since she's the oldest. There's only a couple of years between me and Violet, so she doesn't remember her much, but at least she has something, you know?"

That we're having this conversation in the middle of a crowded pub surrounded by people is frustrating beyond belief. I want to take her hand and drag her out of here. Go back to the hotel where we can talk some more, and then get her naked and offer her comfort in the only way I know how.

"You two look awfully serious," Nigel interrupts, trying his best to look terribly serious as well but failing miserably. His stony expression cracks in an instant when we both turn to him and he bursts out laughing, clutching his gut like it was the funniest thing ever.

Clearly he's beyond drunk.

"He's had way too much," I tell Rose.

"Nigel." She shoves at his shoulder, which makes him stop laughing. "You didn't text Clare this afternoon, did you?"

"Erm, why would you ask that?" He tugs at his collar, pulling at the already loosened tie that hangs limply around his neck. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Bulls.h.i.+t." Rose points her finger at Nigel, and he looks caught in the crosshairs and scared s.h.i.+tless. "Caden told me you've been texting her."

Nigel sends me a look. "Traitor," he mutters, and I consume my beer, feigning innocence.

I'm enjoying this, as weird as it is to admit. It feels good. It feels ... nice, hanging out with friends at a pub and drinking beer and eating bad appetizers. I've got a good buzz on, but no one's buzz is as good as Nigel's. The man is clearly feeling no pain, hanging on Hugh, asking him what the secret is, which sends them into a twenty-minute deep discussion about increasing Nigel's s.e.x appeal among the ladies at the office.

Un-f.u.c.king-believable.

But I let it slide because hey, I can get along with the best of them. I'm excellent at faking it. No matter how much it infuriates me.

No matter how much it hurts.

Chapter Sixteen.

Rose

After the meeting at Fleur and dealing with my father-his disappointment in me palpable even through the computer screen-I needed to escape. I needed a drink. I needed to laugh and let loose and feel free.

More than anything, I needed Caden.

I thought Daddy would be pleased, seeing me there with Violet, working at Fleur even after I gave my notice, but he actually said to Violet, "What is she doing here?" and that about broke my heart.

Something Daddy is becoming quite an expert at.

Hugh asked if he could accompany us to the pub and I readily agreed, though Violet shot me a look. One that said, You should consider this man. He's perfect for you.

Yes, I'm that good at interpreting my sister's looks. After living with her my entire life, I've become somewhat of an expert.

Talking with Hugh in the cab we took over to the White Swan, sitting snugly against him on the bench seat, Ryder on my other side while Violet sat across from us on the fold-down seat chattering away on her phone, I could sense Hugh's interest.

If Caden weren't around, I could be interested too. Hugh is almost unbearably handsome. Brilliant blue eyes, dark, almost black hair, and a finely tuned body beneath the expensive suit. He's intelligent, good at engaging in eye contact and easy conversation, and he has a nice smile, a pleasant laugh, and a deliciously deep voice with a lovely accent.

But I don't want Hugh. I want Caden. I like Caden. The moment I saw him sitting at the table with Nigel inside the pub, the both of them apparently drunk and laughing and looking like they were having so much fun, my heart leapt. His gaze caught mine and when I saw the disappointment there for the briefest second, the guilt hit me, swift and strong, stealing my breath. Did he see something between Hugh and me? I'd laughed at something Hugh said when we first walked in, and he touched me, but I didn't feel any sort of sizzle, no connection from his fingers on my skin.

Not like when Caden touches me. He looks at me and my knees grow weak. They're weak now, while I'm sitting in the chair next to him, leaning my head on his shoulder, the alcohol buzzing through my veins. He's talking to Ryder about soccer or some such nonsense and his voice vibrates in his chest, I can practically feel it in his shoulder, and I close my eyes and smile blissfully.

"Rose, are you all right?" Hugh asks.

My eyes pop open like a doll's and I sit up, offering him an embarra.s.sed smile. "Just a little tired," I admit.

His smile is warm. "You were magnificent in the meeting this afternoon."

Hmm. There's a word I don't think anyone's used to describe me before. They usually save that sort of praise for Violet. "Thank you," I murmur.

"No, really. Your ideas are very innovative. We need more new blood here in our office, especially American blood." His smile fades and he leans in closer. "Fowler blood is especially good, since you are the leaders of this company."

I really hope he's not trying to b.u.t.ter me up because he's wasting his breath. "How long have you worked at Fleur?"

"Three years. I came here from Harrods."

"The department store?"

He nods. "I was one of the perfume buyers. I started out working in the men's department when I was sixteen. I got hooked into the retail cycle but was promoted rather quickly, and was working at corporate within five years of my starting work there."

"That's amazing." I have no idea how old he is and I'm not about to ask, because that would be rude.

"You're probably wondering how old I am, aren't you?"

I feel my cheeks heat with embarra.s.sment. "Maybe. But that would be awfully cra.s.s of me to ask, right?"

"I'm twenty-nine." His lips quirk to the side. "Older than every one of you at this table, I bet."

"I suppose." Definitely older than me and Violet and Ryder. Nigel, he can't be over twenty-five, twenty-six, and Caden ... I have no idea how old he is. And that's just weird. Why haven't I asked him? Why hasn't he told me?

He doesn't tell you a lot of things.

Isn't that the truth?

"How old are you?" Hugh asks.

"You should never ask a lady her age," I chastise teasingly, making him grin.

"Forgive me, madam." He bows and I laugh.

"I'm twenty-two."

"Ah, so young. And so incredibly smart." I see the interest flare in his eyes again. It's hard to miss. He's not being inappropriate or anything, but he's definitely flirtatious. "Beautiful, too."

There go my cheeks again. "Thank you."

"How much longer are you in London?" he asks.

"I'm not sure." I'm hedging because I honestly don't know how much longer I can stay here and avoid my father and my job. I need to return to New York. I have things I need to take care of there. The plants in my apartment are probably dead, though Lily just texted me a few days ago, asking if I wanted her to stop by and check on things. I did and thanked her profusely.

Good thing I don't have pets. I got so wrapped up in Caden and our whirlwind holiday romance I forgot about everything but ... him.

"I could show you around if you like," Hugh says casually, his expression neutral. "I've lived in this city my entire life. I could take you to the best restaurants-"

"The food here isn't that great, you know," I interrupt, earning a laugh from him. "Sorry, just being brutally honest."

"You're right. That's why if you stick with me, I'll steer you to the best food this city has to offer."

He's being so nice. If circ.u.mstances were different, if Caden weren't sitting next to me, if I were here on my own and this friendly, handsome, kind man was asking me out I would readily say yes.

But I feel Caden stiffen beside me. He's gone unusually quiet and I didn't even notice. He's probably heard every bit of my conversation with Hugh. I feel sick to my stomach, as if I've somehow betrayed him, and all traces of happiness evaporate from within me, just like that.

"Thanks for the offer," I say sadly, "but I'm afraid I have to decline."

Hugh's eyes dim the slightest bit, but otherwise he appears completely unruffled. "No worries. Some other time perhaps?"

"Yes. That sounds good." I nod and slide from my chair, smoothing out the wrinkles from my dress. I don't make eye contact with anyone as I say, "I'm going to the restroom. I'll be right back."

I leave the table without another word, not looking back, keeping my head held high as I make my way through the crowd. The pub is full of young professionals just off work, most of them dressed like we are. Suits and dresses, ties loosened and high heels kicked off. Lots of raucous laughter and pounding of their beer mugs on tabletops; everyone's having fun.

So why do I feel so miserable?

Shoving the women's bathroom door open, I rush to the sink and turn the faucet on so I can splash water on my face. It's total deja vu, remembering this almost exact moment from a week ago, when I hid in the bathroom to escape Caden and he followed me in here.