Behind Your Back - Cameron Chelsea M. - Страница 27

I snap my attention back to Mr. Beaumont and notice he has his wife on his arm. Bridgette Beaumont. She shares Saige’s red hair and not much else. She’s… fragile. Like a glass vase holding a bouquet of beautiful flowers that would shatter if you bump it too hard.

Her smile is dazzling under the lights. And fake. So fake.

We reach Saige’s parents and I focus first on Bridgette.

“Saige, dear, who is your friend?” Of course her mother misses nothing. Her tone is pleasant, but her eyes take in everything. From the cut of my suit to my hair to my shoes and my cufflinks. Making sure I’m up to her standards. I hope there isn’t a thread out of place, because this woman will notice it.

“Mother, this is Quinn Brand. Quinn, this is my mother, Bridgette Beaumont,” Saige says, her voice changing and sounding eerily like her mother’s. I wonder if they practiced when she was younger, or if it was just natural to imitate her mother.

“Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Beaumont,” I say, and she gives me a limp-ish handshake.

“Nice to meet you as well, Mr. Brand. I can’t say Saige has told me much about you,” Bridgette says with a quick-as-a-blink glare at her daughter. Saige just smiles sweetly.

“That’s my fault, I apologize. But Quinn and I have just recently become acquainted.” Smooth. Very smooth, Saige.

“Well, I hope I’ll get a chance to hear more about you,” Bridgette says and then it’s time to face Mr. Beaumont.

As I predicted, he betrays nothing as he turns to face me.

“Quinn Brand, it’s nice to meet you,” he says, holding out his hand. His shake is just a little bit harder than it was when we first met. He’s telling me to tread carefully. Don’t worry. I will.

“Very nice to meet you, sir,” I say, laying it on a little thick.

“Well, now that is out of the way, we’re going to go dance. Bye,” Saige says, grabbing my hand and yanking me away before I can say another word. I let her drag me toward the temporary dance floor that’s been set up. A string quartet plays standard waltzes and suddenly I’m back in my kitchen where classical music flows through a scratchy radio speaker and I’m standing on my mother’s feet and she’s counting out the beats of the music as we step and turn around the small space.

I take a breath as Saige puts her hand on my shoulder, squeezing my other hand in hers as she takes position.

“You bragged about your waltzing skills, Quinn Brand. It’s time to show me what you’ve got,” she says with a smile on her face. I slide my hand around her waist and wait for a break in the music so I can start.

There it is.

I take a step and she follows. Then another, and another. Saige moves with me seamlessly, as if we’ve been practicing. Her moves are graceful and smooth. I raise our linked arms and she spins under, a brilliant smile on her face.

She comes back to hold position and we resume the waltz again.

“Okay, I believe you. You’re either a natural, or you’ve had a lot of practice,” she says as we move across the floor and then back. I know there are other couples around us, but all I see is her.

“I’ve had practice,” I say, and fight the tide that wants to drag me into the past. For some reason when I’m with Saige, it’s nearly impossible not to get pulled back there. I don’t know what it is about her, but she brings those memories to the surface. I don’t like it.

“Well, whoever taught you did a good job,” she says, as if she senses I don’t want to talk about it. I decide to turn the conversation back to her.

“And who taught you?”

“My dad,” she says with another smile. “On his feet in the kitchen when I was little.” I nearly stumble, but catch myself at the last moment.

“Something wrong?” she asks. There is no way she didn’t pick up on my stumble.

“Nothing. Just lost track of my feet for a second,” I say, smoothing my face into an embarrassed smile.

“Well, I’ll help you find them,” she says, pulling me closer.

We dance for a long time. Saige never misses a beat and we chat about this and that as we dance. I keep careful watch on her parents, but they seem to be too busy talking to notice us. I’m not fooled. I know they’re watching me closely. I know you’re there, Mr. Beaumont. I see you.

Cash passes by me on another trip to the bar, but he doesn’t make eye contact. He’s got a woman on his arm in a bright red dress and seems completely captivated by her. At least, to the outward observer. But he’s reserved with her. Not his jolly self. He’s put on his own persona for tonight so as to escape notice. He knows how to play his part.

He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck, which is his way of asking me if everything is going well. I wait a few seconds before I raise my arm as if I’m adjusting my watch. That’s the “all clear” signal.

Trays of appetizers pass by and I grab a few. There is never enough food at these things, just a few bites on a huge plate. Wish they’d serve burgers or something filling at least.

“I’m starving,” Saige says in my ear. It’s like she knew what I was thinking.

“I think dinner will be served soon,” I say back. She sips her champagne and makes a face.

“Yeah, rich people food.”

I nearly snort as I take a sip of my own drink. It’s top of the shelf stuff, but I’d rather have beer.

“What do you mean by rich people food?” I ask.

“Oh, you know,” she says, draining her glass and then putting it on a tray. “Those little tiny bits of food on those huge white plates. I mean, if they want to make it look like a decent amount of food, they should put it on smaller plates.” I’ve thought the same thing myself.

“Tell you what. After we leave, if you’re still hungry we’ll go grab something.”

“Burgers?” she asks as her face lights up.

“Absolutely.”

We finally sit down to dinner and I’ve got Saige on one side and another couple I don’t know on the other. Saige’s parents are on her other side. This could be tricky, but nothing I haven’t done before.

The conversation is mild and basic. Mostly Saige’s parents just want to know about me. Not that Mr. Beaumont doesn’t already, but I give them the same information I gave him when we first met.

Saige adds commentary here and there and I have to stifle a laugh more than once.

We’re both right about the food. If it’s possible, I’m even more hungry than I was when we started.

After some more polite conversation and coffee, I’m ready to go. I need to use the restroom, but I know if I leave Saige’s side, Beaumont will seize the moment and come find me. So I stay.

She yawns and leans against me. I’m surprised she’s so open in front of her parents, but I let my arm rest on her shoulder.

“I’m exhausted.”

“Would you like me to escort you home?” I ask, being careful with my words.

“That would be great,” she says, her eyes fluttering closed as if she’s exhausted.

She gets up and goes to speak with her parents. I stand back as she kisses both of them on the cheek.

“It was lovely to meet both of you,” I say and they agree.

Saige and I walk out and she smiles at me.

“I’m not really tired. I was just sick of being in there. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love dressing up and dancing and sipping champagne, but I reach a saturation point.” She sort of skips in her heels as we reach the valet area.

“I totally understand,” I say. The car pulls up a few moments later and I hold the door open for her.

“Hungry?” I ask when I get in.

“God yes,” she says, and I hit the accelerator.

Fifteen

“Mr. Beaumont is here to see you,” Grace says on Monday morning. Honestly, I thought he’d contact me before now, but I’m ready for him.

“Send him in,” I say. I wait for Grace to open the door and Beaumont to come in before I look up from my computer.