Beah picked up the tiny square and popped it into her mouth, where it melted on her tongue. She moaned and immediately reached for another square. “Oh, the cake is just amazing. Light and full of flavor. Please give your cook my compliments.”
“Thank you.”
Beah tipped her head to the side, instantly suspicious when she saw a touch of red on his cheekbones. “You baked the cake?”
Paris shrugged. “And the chocolate éclairs, and the brandy snaps.”
“Really?”
“Baking helps me relax, helps me think. I’ve been baking since I was a kid.”
Wow. Now that was something she’d never expected to hear. Her reclusive art collector was a world-class baker. Keeping her eyes on him, Beah popped the tiny éclair into her mouth, chewed. Then she picked up a brandy snap, ate it and leaned back, placing the small plate on the side table next to her. “The lemon cake is even better than the other two, which were excellent.”
She waited, her heart in her mouth, for Paris to smile and eventually it came, along with a hint of approval. Yay, they were on their way to being...well, not friends, but not serf and lord, either.
The butler arrived with fresh coffee and after drinking a cup, Beah started to gather the papers she’d placed on the sofa next to her. She was putting her laptop back into its bag when Paris’s next question sent chills galloping over her skin.
“Tell me, are you really going to leave Murphy’s to join Michael Summers?”
Beah felt her laptop start to slip and she grabbed it, feeling like the air in the room had disappeared. If Paris knew about her plans, who else in the art world did?
Did the Murphy brothers know? Had someone told them? But how would they know since her discussions with Michael were private? Whom had he told? And how far had the rumors gotten?
Pretty far, if Paris Cummings, reclusive as he was, knew about her plans.
“Uh...”
Paris held up his hand. “I see the thought has crossed your mind. Are you unhappy at Murphy International? Do they not treat you well?”
That wasn’t why she was leaving. They’d been good to her, as Beah quickly explained. She could see the question in Paris’s eyes, his lack of understanding.
A few weeks ago, she would’ve had a pat answer for him: she felt constrained, she wanted the freedom to make her own business decisions, to work with other auction and art houses. She wanted to spread her wings. But for some strange reason, she tried to give Paris the full truth. “I need something more, something different...”
“And you think going on your own, cutting your ties to the Murphys, will help you find what you are looking for?”
Beah rested her elbows on her knees and placed her chin in the palm of her hand. She should shut down this conversation, tell him she hadn’t made any irrevocable decisions yet, but the kind, almost paternal look in his eyes pinned her to her seat.
“Are you sure you will find what you need by changing your career?” Paris asked.
Beah frowned at him, not understanding. “Sorry?”
“Maybe you are looking for a change in the wrong place. Maybe more work isn’t what you need.”
Beah straightened and squared her shoulders. “Work is all I have, Paris.” And she wasn’t sure whether she was reassuring him or herself.
Paris stood up and slid his hands into his expensive suit pants. He sent her a slow smile. “Then, my dear, you are going to end up like me. Living in a fancy house with an incredible collection and more money than I can spend.”
Beah followed him to her feet. “That doesn’t sound bad,” she quietly stated.
“It’s not. Until you find yourself in your kitchen at three in the morning, baking because you are so damn lonely you can’t breathe.” Paris surprised her by dropping a kiss on her cheek. He pulled back and gripped her shoulder. “You’re not going to find what you’re looking for by working more, Beah. Trust me, I know. Benson will see you out.”
Beah stared at him, both flummoxed and touched by his obvious concern. At the door, Paris turned and pointed his finger at her. “Talk to the Murphys about your plans. Because if I’ve heard the rumors, they will have heard them, too. And if they haven’t, they will. And soon. Get ahead of this, Beah. You owe them that.”
Paris slipped through the door and Beah folded her arms across her chest and rocked on her heels. She cursed softly, fighting her need to panic. But knowing deep down in her soul that Paris was right.
She needed to get ahead of this, no matter how hard it was to do.
In the conference room, Finn glared at Ronan when he raised another issue to add to today’s agenda and cursed his brother’s chattiness. Ronan used to hate meetings as much as Finn did, but these days he was the only one trying to keep these directors meetings short and sweet.