Gladly Beyond Read Free Page B

“Natalia would be happy to fetch whatever you all would like.”
    Seated to the right of the Colonel, Natalia looked up from her laptop. About my age, Natalia radiated the typical poise and confidence of a beautiful woman well aware she was poised, confident and beautiful.
    Pierce kept stealing glances at her. Speculative, inviting sorts of glances. Had I just been too stupid-in-love to notice his behavior before? It was so blatantly obvious.
    “I’m fine, thank you.” I shook my head.
    Pierce did the same, flashing a wry grin.
    “I understand Claire has been trying to lay off the vino .” He tilted his head back, aiming his thumb toward his mouth.
    Stay classy, Pierce.
    I had been up half the night knowing the meeting today would be like this. That I would have to bite off my tongue to keep from rising to his cruel baiting.
    Professionalbeprofessionalstaycalm . . .
    But, of course, Pierce wasn’t done. He ratcheted up the posh British accent, moving from his standard condescending into full-blown sardonic.
    “You do have an ice princess image to rebuild, after all,” he said.
    Natalia suppressed a smug smirk.
    I chewed on my cheek. Don’t engage. Any response would only make me look bad. Every word out of my mouth needed to show my calm, un -psychotic demeanor.
    Sunlight bounced merrily around the room and, like the Colonel, ignored the tension crackling between Pierce and myself.
    “That’s enough, Mr. Whitman,” the Colonel snapped. Okay, so maybe not so ignorant. “Anyone who wants to work for me will remain professional at all times.”
    Pierce gave a mock-humble wince.
    “You show admirable restraint, Ms. Raythorn.” The Colonel turned to me. “Bit your tongue off yet?”
    “Not quite. This room is lovely.” I waved a hand, indicating the opulent space. The wealthy Colonel would have a museum-worthy palazzo as his office building.
    “Admirable topic change.” The Colonel nodded approvingly. “I like a gal who doesn’t let emotions rule her head.”
    “Thank you.” I ignored the gal . Pick your battles.
    Pierce rolled his shoulders—a telling, agitated tic.
    The room was lovely, with its gilded coffers and molding in colorful geometric designs. (Originally late Renaissance. Victorian remodel.) It was pure PBS Masterpiece Classic elegance, like those lush E. M. Forster period films my sixth nanny, Mrs. Henderson, watched over and over: A Room with a View, Where Angels Fear to Tread, Howards End . . . I always called the random women who tended me nannies , a rich-slumming euphemism more than a reality. At least Mrs. Henderson hadn’t had a parole officer—
    “Both Claire and I are here, shall we get started?” Pierce sat forward, clasping his hands, expression carefully neutral, obviously trying to make up lost ground. “I’m eager to begin.”
    Natalia’s perfectly manicured nails clacked as she typed. Pierce eyed her again.
    The Colonel leaned back in his chair. “We’re waiting for one more expert.”
    That was news to me.
    Drat. More competition.
    Pierce shot an eyebrow skyward. “I was under the impression Claire and I had been invited here exclusively. A third opinion is hardly necessary—”
    “My game. My rules.” The Colonel gestured toward the large double doors. “You don’t like my rules, you’re welcome to leave.”
    Which just underscored why everyone called him the Colonel.
    Pierce rolled his shoulders again.
    “I’m not sure my father is going to approve of this change.”
    “Boy, I don’t give a damn what your daddy has to say—”
    Crack.
    A tall man strode into the room. Head high. Gaze firm.
    Of course.
    It had been almost too predictable.
    Dante D’Angelo.
    The industry hot-shot who used well-oiled charm, and little else, to assess art.
    Basically, the one actor this melodrama had been missing.
    Dante nodded to us all.
    “Welcome, Mr. D’Angelo.” The Colonel lifted a hand.
    Natalia visibly perked, her body canting toward Dante. I got the distinct