Page 14 of Father Knows Best (A Family Affair #1)

eight

. . .

avery

The Secret

Sipping my coffee, I lean forward in my chair, studying the layout one last time.

Once I order the pieces for this staging, changing anything becomes exponentially more difficult, that’s why I like to visualize it all one last time.

Pressing the button on my desk phone, I hit the auto-dial for Brandon and wait until he picks up.

“Boss?” he answers. He always calls me that, though I don’t think of myself as anyone’s boss.

I think of myself as the visionary and planner, and Brandon as the executioner of said ideas.

But he uses the term as a way of reminding me that he’s grateful for this job, and I always appreciate gratitude.

“I’m doing a final visual on the Pacific Heights property before I put the pull order in,” I tell him, and since he’s the guy who pulls the pieces I need from our warehouses, I’m pretty certain he’d like me to be sure, too. “Can you bring the photos into my office one more time?”

His rough laughter fills the line. “You really are an old soul, you know?”

I smirk as I trace the blue line from the foyer to the staircase, making a mental note to make sure I have a runner for that section of flooring.

The marble is slippery, and I’m pretty sure Roberta’s first show for the property is a wealthy man in his late sixties.

We do not want slippery floors. Slippery floors and late sixties do not mix—just ask my grandmother.

“I can’t visualize alongside digital photos. You know that. I need my physicals to–”

“To lay out the design, I know,” Brandon laughs, finishing my sentence. “Sure thing, Boss. I’m in the warehouse unloading that order of mirrors but I’ll bring them up in the next few, okay?”

I find a spot on the design where I’ve placed a lamp, but there is no outlet, so I circle it.

“Perfect. Thanks, Brandon.” Ending the call, I finish my coffee and am about to touch up my lipstick before seeing Sutton in his office when Geo stops in, knocking gently twice on my already open office door.

My pulse skips a bit, and that’s not unusual.

At first, when Sutton and I got together, my reaction to Geo freaked me out.

I felt traitorous to Sutton. How could my pulse shudder that way for another man?

But then, after a weird week of introspection, I decided that it would be odd not to be affected by George Mercer. I mean, he’s absolutely gorgeous.

Still, I’m dangerously in love with Sutton. When I think of him letting me suck his cock and holding my head down as he comes down my throat? I almost come just at the thought. If he did it? I’d be toast.

I’m obsessed with Sutton. There is no questioning that.

But I can’t turn off the way my body reacts to an incredibly handsome and successful man. Even if that man is my soon to be father-in-law.

I’ve rationalized the guilt away because I’ve seen first-hand every single woman succumb to his charm.

So why should I hold myself to the unreasonable standard of beating the charm of the great-in-bed (watercooler chat), handsome as hell, wealthy as sin, charming and charismatic George Mercer? I can’t, I shouldn’t and I won’t.

But I also won’t pander to them, because I am in love with Sutton, who is also handsome and charming. I’m just saying, I no longer feel guilty over enjoying him privately, in my thoughts, when he happens to be in my presence.

Preferably not when my fiancé is about to punch his lights out. Or whatever that was going to be.

“Avery,” Geo says, nodding his head in greeting, giving me half of one of his charming smiles. I smile back, both of us pretending that last night never happened, and that everything is business as usual.

“Hey Geo, what’s going on? What can I do for you?” I ask.

He takes a step into my office, but his hand is still on the door handle. “I have a new property in a hot location, probably won’t be listed long. I have a few clients who will most likely make offers.”

I nod. “That’s great.”

Releasing his grip on the door, he steps inside further, and shoves his hands in his pockets–something I’ve noticed he does when he’s unsure of himself.

I know many people would not believe that George Mercer is ever unsure of himself, but I see it when he is.

I know it because Sutton is my fiancé, and he has, despite their rift, the same tells.

“Well, it needs to be staged, and I’m hoping to have the entire place done by the end of week.” His lips form a flat line as we blink at one another. “Do you hate me?”

I shake my head. “I don’t hate you but we’re finishing the Pacific Heights property this week.

Brandon’s bringing the photos up, and I’m putting the pull order in today.

” I glance at my watch and see it’s already half past two.

“He’s gonna be another half an hour I think, so if you have time now, we can get started? ”

Geo smiles, and though he’s smiled at me a million times in the last year, this one makes my insides warm. “Thank you for making time for me.”

I smile, ignoring the foreign heat clawing at my insides at the soft way he expresses gratitude. “Let me just grab my laptop and we can go over the property images, and I can work something up quickly based on what I have in the warehouse.”

He nods. “That sounds great.” Geo moves to the door and holds it open, and I snatch my laptop from my desk and brush past him, making sure to ignore the tonka and lavender that radiates off of him as I pass.

I attempt to trail behind him to his office but he waits, instead walking down the hallway side by side.

“That’s not how it was with Margot,” he says softly, catching my eyes and holding them so intensely that my lungs collapse, and I heave out a breath, quietly, my chest rattling.

“No?” I ask quietly, unsure of what I can ask, what is kind to him and not a betrayal to Sutton. I don’t know where to draw the line of normal interest and care or something greater. I don’t think I can go too deep into something greater.

It’s a scary thought, for so many reasons.

He shakes his head as we continue to walk, though our pace is unhurried.

“Why don’t you tell him otherwise?” I ask after too many pinching, narrow moments of silence wherein I feel as if the world only consists of me and George Mercer.

“Why don’t you set him straight?” I choke out, feeling the need to pad the space between us with words, words I mostly mean, regardless of how detached I feel from them right now.

We come to a natural stop, both conversationally and physically.

He nods up at his office door, then pushes past me only to open it, and wait for me to enter.

I nearly pass out as I walk inside, holding my breath, truly fearful to get an intense lungful of him.

“Thank you,” I murmur as I duck in and make myself comfortable at the table across from his desk–the place I usually sit when I work with Geo or he and his team.

“I just e-mailed you the first round of things you’ll need,” he says as he moves past me, settling into his desk, the red wing-back chair a beautiful, sunsetting contrast to his shadowed face and dark, grey eyes. “Get the light?”

I get up and flick the light on, and the intense shadows around his face disappear, and I don’t know what was worse (in a good way) —the dark, broody and mysterious shadowy version of Geo or the crystal clear in every beautiful detail version of him?

I have no complaints about either option.

“Settle,” he urges me back to my seat after I’m caught staring at him for a moment.

I sit back down and open my laptop, and begin pulling up my email.

“I can’t believe that’s been his perception of me all these years,” he breathes out, distress lining every crease and dip in his voice. He shakes his head, running an equally veined hand over his chest as his eyes gravitate to mine.

“How in the world could he think any differently if you didn’t tell him anything?” I retort in defense of the man not here, the man I love with my whole heart, who has also effectively helped me create who I am as a person today.

He is my soulmate. Of that I have zero doubt.

Geo shakes his head, looking listless and dazed for a moment, his eyes floating over his desk before locking on mine.

“She was the love of my life. I only had eyes for her. She was my everything.” He smiles, and I nearly gasp from the pain that explodes behind my ribs at the sight of his frail, broken attempt at pretending it doesn’t still hurt.

“But Margot… she loved attention and feeling… a certain way,” he says, shrugging.

“Desired. I guess that would be the best term for it. She always needed to feel desired and all her attempts to curb that need were endless… I was never enough. I never quite could make her feel desired enough.”

My heart comes to a shuddering, screeching halt.

“Desired,” I repeat, since coming to terms with this new information.

I never imagined Geo was a cheater, but after Sutton exploded yesterday, I’ve reconsidered and while I don’t believe it, it is within reason and believable.

I can’t deny someone else reasonably believing he could cheat.

He’s good looking, flirtatious, effervescent—perhaps a stereotype but when reframed through the lens of a stranger’s eye, Geo could be viewed as a cheater. Still, I’ve never felt that in my gut.

He nods. “I don’t know. I mean, of course all these years later I certainly have suspicions. Childhood trauma, a very challenging relationship with her own father—I think Margot was very lost. I just didn’t know how to help her then.”

I don’t know what to say, so I sit there, balancing my laptop on my thighs, fingers hovering over the keys, screen waiting.