Steele Read online

  Driving up in front of the Bryant, however, she changed her mind. She was a weed stuck in a jar of roses – out of place. She pulled into a slot marked guest parking and her heart pounding, made her way to the entrance.

  The doorman smiled, and she returned it. Then it hit her she had no idea where in the building Calix lived. She halted just inside to take in the acre of marble and glass then proceeded to a small desk on the left.

  A woman looked up and smiled.

  “I’m looking for Calix Steele. He … he said to come …”

  The woman nodded and reached for the phone, dialing three numbers. “Good afternoon, Mr. Steele. There’s a young woman in the lobby for you.” She covered the speaker temporarily. “You’re Flynn?”

  Flynn nodded.

  “Yes, sir. It is … I’ll send her right up.” She hung up the phone and nodded toward the elevators. “He’s waiting. Tenth floor.”

  Flynn hesitated. Tenth floor. “What room?” she asked.

  The woman’s brow furrowed. “The tenth floor,” she repeated. “He owns the entire thing.”

  Stunned, Flynn bobbled. She swiveled toward the elevator. “Sure. I … I knew that.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Flynn’s expression made Calix want to laugh. He didn’t, but only because he’d seen it before. The starry-eyed, what-am-I-doing-here look newbies always assumed when they realized who he was. He typically didn’t walk around wearing a sign with his name on it, so obviously she’d realized it after dropping him off.

  He’d heard it in her voice over the phone as well. She felt insignificant. But she wasn’t. She’d dominated his mind the last twenty-four hours, rising constantly in his thoughts until he couldn’t sleep for the image of her face sparking in his vision.

  “Won’t you come in?” he asked, reversing.

  She stepped inside, her eyes shifting around the space, and ended with her gaze on his face. He didn’t speak, couldn’t at first, for reading all the questions crisscrossing it and comparing them to his own.

  She brushed her hair off her shoulders, revealing a patch of bare skin that sent his thoughts skipping another direction. With her hair down, she was a different creature, a nymph beckoning him closer, and he was her happy victim, willing to do whatever she asked. He blinked back the vision and gestured toward the living room. “I’d like to speak with you first,” he said.

  “Speak? With me?” Her voice rose with each question.

  He nodded, brief. “And offer an apology.”

  Her expression changed to one of curiosity. Her brow wrinkled, and she ran one finger down the side of her nose. “I can’t see how you owe me one.”

  “Please …”

  She stared at him a moment longer then walked around the couch and took a seat, her posture stiff and uncomfortable.

  He didn’t comment on it, but sat opposite her and reclined, one hand curved over the arm of the chair. “I didn’t mean to make you feel awkward today,” he said. “My car really did break down on your doorstep. It really is my father’s. He died when I was young. My mother really would want it repaired.”

  “But you didn’t tell her it was broken,” Flynn said.

  He dipped his chin. “No need. I’m sure it’s fixed, so she’ll never know.”

  “You don’t like to tell her things,” she added.

  Again, he nodded.

  Flynn sat back then, angling herself a bit sideways. “Like I said, you didn’t do anything wrong. I appreciate you sharing … personal things … with me.”

  “I’ve been asking myself why,” he said. “Why does one lovely, young woman make me want to confess?”

  Flynn didn’t appear upset by that question at all. In fact, she tilted her head. The motion sent her hair swishing to one side, elongating her neck, and he rested his gaze there for quite some time.

  “So why?” she asked.

  He raised his eyes to her face. “You are everything I hate about women.” This remark did make her squirm. He raised one hand. “Let me finish. I’ve long said anyone I was interested in would need to be of one type … an embellishment, something I wear like a jewel for the world to admire, then put away at the end of the day until I need her again.”

  “That’s …”

  Again, Calix lifted one hand. “One hour with you, and I realized I’d created a fictional creature remarkably like my mother.” He silenced, turning over his thoughts. “I hate her.”

  Flynn winced.

  “She’s empty-headed, emotionless, and superficial on one hand, controlling on the other. I like neither one. When I was a boy, if I needed any help, I asked my nanny … never my mother or father.” He paused. “You’re going to say that’s terrible.”

  Flynn smiled, the look brightening her face.

  “I agree. I saw that yesterday, too, and I decided to be different, to find some way to become all the things they are not.”

  Her smile faded, concern rising on her lips. “If I can say something?”

  He waved her on with one hand.

  “Seems like you’ve been trying to do that on your own for a while. Maybe you need to take a new tactic entirely. Maybe you should ask for help.”

  “Ask who for help?” he asked.

  She stared back at him, then rose to her feet and made a slow spin, her gaze traveling around the room. “This is more money than I’ll ever see in a lifetime. I could fix thousands of cars for wealthy clients like you and never be able to buy this couch, let alone decorate a room to this measure.” Her gaze settled on his face. “You are blessed. You want to be different, then ask God to help you.”

  God. There it was again. Atlas spoke of God. Atlas’s wife spoke of God. Now, Flynn as well? But God was a vapor, a lie concocted by men desperate for some explanation for things out of their control. He hadn’t fallen to that level yet. Atlas had. He’d been desperate for Meghan, at that point, mostly likely willing to do anything he had to in order to have her. Whereas, he was merely interested in Flynn. She was attractive. She made him think. It went no further than that.

  He kept it to himself, disappointed in their conversation, yet unwilling to let her go, and saw that, perhaps, in that, he’d weakened somewhat. He stood up in front of her and extended his arm. “If you’re ready, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Her eyes said she knew he’d avoided answering. He looked away.

  They made their way out of the building and into the lot. He climbed in the passenger seat, and she eased away into the city traffic.

  “You have to tell me which way to go,” she said. “Aren’t many places I can’t find. Dad used to tell me I should be a taxi driver.”

  He leaned his head back on the seat. “Take the highway east. We’re driving toward the Bellamy Estates.”

  Her face winged his direction. “Did you say ‘Bellamy’?”

  Calix smiled. “I did. Atlas Bellamy, who has graciously offered to show you his automobiles.”

  Flynn’s fingers gripped the wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. She started to shake. “This is … I can’t believe … First you, then him. This doesn’t happen to a girl like me.”

  Calix coughed once, drawing her gaze. “This doesn’t happen to a guy like me,” he returned. “Humor me, Flynn. I want to make you happy.”

  She gave a weak smile and faced forward.

  If she was overwhelmed before, she was blown away now. Atlas Bellamy’s house was less a mansion and more a castle jeweled and adorned for an exotic queen. A sweeping drive led between a row of ancient oaks that ended in a spectacular fashion, green lawn, and a plethora of flowers leading up to the front door.

  Flynn parked at the base of the front steps where Calix directed, but made no motion to get out. She was surprised at his laugh.

  “It’s too much, huh?”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say yes, but she didn’t. His place had been too much for her. Atlas’s was a fantasy.

  “It’s a lot like him,” Calix continued. �
�Likeable, but imposing. Don’t worry, though, he doesn’t bite.”

  He got out and came around, opening her door. She stood, and they faced one another. His apology had actually been a confession, of sorts. Once again, he’d felt the need to explain himself to her. But what he’d said had covered the real issue, the attraction drawing them together. He’d wanted to reason it out for himself. That’d been plain with his remarks about women. What she couldn’t figure was if he still wanted a woman like that or he didn’t. Did he expect her to change? Because it wasn’t going to happen.

  “After you,” Calix said, waving her ahead of him.

  She turned toward the front steps.

  He’d also been silent about God, as good as saying he didn’t believe, and, from what she could tell, didn’t want to believe. This put her on tenuous ground. Flirting with a billionaire was one thing. Flirting with an unsaved, disbelieving billionaire was another. All that she was, all she’d become in her twenty-three years, she owed to learning to pray at her father’s side. No one could take the experience of that way from her. It’d be like telling a swimmer they couldn’t swim when they’d already done so.

  Calix leaned past her to knock on the door then withdrew. A couple minutes later, it opened to reveal an older man she could only guess was the butler. He certainly looked stiff enough.

  “Good afternoon, Navy.”

  “Mr. Steele, Atlas said you’d return … with a friend. He’s rowing. You’ll find him by the machines.”

  This was a curious statement. Calix didn’t appear fazed by it, however, but nodded. “We’ll find our way.” Placing his palm in the middle of her back, he urged her indoors and left down a hallway.

  She drank in the extraordinary opulence, twisting every direction at once, and awakened, stepping out the other side of the house into a lush garden. The heat filmed her skin instantly.

  “What did he mean ‘the machines’?” she asked

  Calix ushered her down a narrow, paved path. “Rowing machines. Atlas would, of course, have his own. He and I used to compete.”

  She glanced up at him. “You rowed?”

  “Long ago. He was better than me, but I didn’t mind. You can’t be jealous of him. When you meet him, you’ll understand why.”

  All the lead up to meeting the “guy in the news” made her want to know him more and more. They approached a long, rectangular building, entering through a door at one end, and her gaze landed on a fit, trim figure hard at work on a rowing machine. He was older than Calix, but in extremely good shape. In fact, if she hadn’t read he was married, she’d have looked harder. That said, his attractiveness was night and day from Calix’s. Calix was a custom-designed expensive silk suit, wrapped in plastic and unworn. Atlas was tropical heat and body sweat slithering over every curve.

  He spotted them and slowed. “Miss Burckhardt, isn’t it?” he asked. He waited while the machine came to a halt, then climbed out. Removing a towel from a metal hook, he dried his face.

  Flynn nodded, what trepidation she’d had evaporating. “I can’t believe I’m here,” she said, “and you’re you and he brought me.”

  Atlas laughed and brought his gaze to Calix’s. “I can see why you like her.”

  This was an interesting remark. Calix had told him he liked her? She resisted the urge to look at him, instead concentrating on Atlas’s outstretched hand. She took it, her face warm at being so close and warmer still at his squeeze of her fingers.

  “I’m charmed,” he said. “Calix called me last night, saying he had a new friend who loved cars, and I couldn’t imagine what had him so enthusiastic. He’s naturally reserved.”

  Atlas saying all this with Calix nearby shot through her, but then, she figured Calix must have expected it.

  “He sprung this on me,” she replied. “I was just going to return his vehicle, but he said we had to go somewhere.”

  “And he was right,” Atlas returned. “I’ve tried to talk him into buying a new car for years, but he resists. I think he’s punishing himself.”

  He appeared to be totally serious with that remark. Again, she denied herself the right to see Calix’s face.

  “Well, let me escort you to the garage, then I’ll run up and take a shower. No one likes a smelly host.”

  The garage was some distance away, and Flynn felt as if she’d had her daily exercise by the time they reached it. Walking out of the narrow hallway into what was big enough for a dozen vehicles, she paused to catch her breath, and lost it all over again at sight of so much money.

  “I … don’t know what to say,” she whispered. “This is like rolling around in whipped cream.”

  Atlas chuckled in her ear. “Roll away. The keys are on the wall.” He nodded across the room.

  She turned. “Keys? I … I can drive them?”

  He nodded. “You didn’t come all this way to stare. Did you?”

  “But you don’t know me. What if … what if I damage one?”

  He smiled wide. “Then you can fix it.”

  She inhaled. Right.

  “Besides, you came with him, and that’s good enough.”

  Flynn switched her gaze, for the first time allowing herself to see Calix, and couldn’t look away. There, on his face, was something she couldn’t believe. It vanished in an instant, and she began to doubt. Admiration. Did she or did she not see he was proud of her? But how could that be? How could a man she’d just met have any admiration for her at all?

  “We’ll be here when you get back,” Atlas said.

  She moved her eyes to his face. “Okay. But I warn you, this may take a while.”

  “In that case, you and he will stay for supper. My wife will be home. I’d love you to meet her.”

  Meet Atlas Bellamy’s wife? What stories could she tell?

  “Sounds good,” Flynn replied. Though she’d wake up tomorrow and not believe this day happened. Not believe and be a little sad because it couldn’t possibly continue. Some things only happened once in your life, and she was sure this was one of them.

  “Come, friend,” Atlas said, reversing into the house.

  Calix obeyed, trailing behind Atlas back down the long hall and into the great room. Atlas, contrary to what he’d said to Flynn, took a seat.

  “What’s the truth?” he asked.

  Calix stared down at him, contemplating his answer, and decided Atlas would see through any lie he told. He descended into a chair and hung his head in his hands. “I can’t forget her.”

  The weight of Atlas’s gaze was hard on the top of his head, so he didn’t look up. Partially, to avoid what he’d find there. Condemnation? Pity? Atlas knew his upbringing, knew how hard it’d been, but they never talked about it.

  “So you bring her to me?”

  He raised his head then. “I brought her to see the cars. You saw her face. She was happy.”

  “What I saw,” Atlas said, “was her looking at you. This isn’t about cars. This is the same thing that kept me chasing after Meghan and her coming back to me.”

  “But she’s not like us.”

  “Neither was Meghan, and that was a huge hill to climb.”

  Calix didn’t respond right away, and Atlas stood.

  “I really am going to take my shower,” he said. “Wait here.”

  He disappeared from the room and was gone some twenty minutes. He returned, perfectly dressed, looking like he’d been that way all day. “I called Meghan while I was upstairs. She’s going to handle supper. She’s excited to have a woman to talk to.”

  Calix nodded.

  Atlas’s gaze took in a hard edge. “I, of all people, know how you feel. You keep asking yourself why no other woman ever made you feel this way, why it wasn’t someone people expected you to find.”

  Calix stood from the couch and crammed his hands in his pockets. “Why wasn’t it?”

  “Because God knows who you need.”

  A frown formed on Calix’s lips before he could stop it, and Atlas’s already intense
expression grew more so. He heard what he was about to say before it was spoken and knew his own response.

  They’d argued only once that he could recall. Atlas, of course, had won because he won everything. He’d been furious at the time, then later, grateful. Atlas always had a more level head on issues, whereas his own judgment was clouded by his past. But being called out over issues of faith was too much, even given Flynn’s words about it.

  “You are fighting your way upstream,” Atlas said.

  “What’s wrong with that? I’m not allowed to choose my own direction?” Calix waved one hand outward. “Society is full of churches and synagogues, religions and faiths. Thousands of people believe in nothing. I’m happy you’ve settled what side of the issue you’re on, but so have I.”

  “At the expense of what?” Atlas was infuriatingly casual.

  “Who says there’s any expense at all? Why can’t we each be ourselves and leave things be?”

  Atlas didn’t respond right away, but Calix knew it wasn’t because he didn’t have a reply. He always had a reply. He simply knew when and how to deliver it.

  He drummed his fingers on his sleeve, then stilled them. “You brought her here, not just to see the cars, but to get me to tell you not to like her. But if you wanted that, you should have taken her to meet your mother.”

  Heat steamed Calix’s face. Though he knew Atlas meant no direct harm by the statement, it still upset him.

  “When are you going to do the very thing you always say that you want?” Atlas continued.

  Calix released his held breath, willing the tightness in his chest to relax, but found, instead, his teeth grinding together. “Which is what?”

  Atlas spoke evenly. “Cast off your mother’s influence and make up your own mind. Do you like Flynn or not?”

  Calix snapped out his answer. “Yes.”

  A cough from the doorway spun him around. Flynn gazed in at them, her eyes wide. “I … I appreciate the drives,” she said. “It was generous of you.”

  Atlas inclined his head.

  “If I can say something?”

  Calix held his breath, half-expecting her comment to be about him. But her face calmed.