He let my father manipulate him. Today at the engagement party, they're announcing that St. James Architecture is merging with Hayes Tech to form a mega conglomerate. If I show up alone looking sad, my father will use it as proof that I'm unstable. He'll try to push me out of the CEO chair. He'll try to give my company to Preston.
She looked at Bruno, her eyes hard. You aren't just a date, Bennett. You're a shield. If I have a new mysterious, handsome man on my arm, the narrative changes. I'm not the jilted X.
I'm the woman who moved on to something better. Something better? Bruno scoffed, looking at his worn shoes. Evelyn, I buy my shirts at Costco. These people will eat me alive.
Not in the suit I'm about to buy you. The car screeched to a halt in front of a boutique that had no sign, just a gold number on a black door. They were ushered inside by a man with a tape measure around his neck who greeted Evelyn with a kiss on both cheeks. "Marcel, I have an emergency," Evelyn said. "I need him to look like he owns a private island.
I need him to look like he could ruin Preston Hayes's life with a phone call." Marcel looked at Bruno. He circled him like a shark. Good bone structure, terrible posture. The grief carries in the shoulders. No.
Bruno stiffened. How did you Marcel sees everything? Evelyn said, sitting on a velvet ottoman. Fix him. For the next hour, Bruno was poked, prodded, and pinned.
When he finally stepped out of the dressing room, he didn't recognize himself in the three-way mirror. He was wearing a midnight blue bespoke suit cut perfectly to accentuate the breadth of his shoulders and the taper of his waist. The white shirt was crisp, the silk tie a deep charcoal. Marcel [clears throat] had even trimmed Bruno's hair and shaved the scruff into a deliberate stubble. Bruno Bennett didn't look like a junior draftsman anymore.
He looked dangerous. He looked powerful. He turned to face Evelyn. She had changed, too. She was wearing a blood red dress that clung to every curve with a slit up the leg that screamed defiance.
She had fixed her makeup. The red lips were armor. She stood up, her breath catching slightly as she looked at him. "Well," Bruno asked, feeling awkward. "Do I pass?" Evelyn walked up to him.
She reached out and adjusted his lapel, her fingers lingering on the fabric over his heart. You look, she hesitated. You look like trouble. Is that good for today? It's perfect.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a watch. It was a Patek Philippe. It probably cost more than Bruno's house. She clasped it around his wrist. It was my grandfather's.
Don't lose it. And Bennett. Yeah. From this moment on, you call me Evelyn, not Ms. St. James, not boss. And you don't look down.
You look everyone in the eye. You are Bruno. Let's say Bruno Black, an independent consultant for sustainable urban planning in Europe. You're based in Zurich. We met at a conference in Milan 6 months ago.
Zurich? Milan? Got it? Bruno muttered. And if they ask about my family, you don't have one.
You're a lone wolf. That's why you fit with me. Bruno felt a pang of guilt about erasing Sophie, even for a few hours. But he nodded. They got back into the car.
The drive to the St. James estate took 40 minutes. It was a sprawling mansion in the Medina suburbs, gated and guarded. As they approached the long driveway lined with Bentleys and Ferraris, Bruno felt his palms sweating. My father is going to test you, Evelyn warned. Arthur St. James is a predator.
If you show fear, he wins. Preston will try to undermine you. Clara will try to charm you. And what do I do? Evelyn grabbed his hand.
Her palm was cold, but her grip was iron. You hold my hand. You smile and you lie like your life depends on it because mine does. The car stopped. The valet opened the door.
The flash of cameras was instantaneous. Click, click, click. Bruno stepped out. The rain had stopped, leaving the air crisp and cold. He buttoned his jacket, took a deep breath, and turned to offer his hand to Evelyn.
She took it, stepping out into the light. She looked radiant, terrifyingly beautiful. She squeezed his hand, a signal. It's showtime. They walked up the grand stone steps toward the entrance where the family was receiving guests.
Bruno saw them immediately. There was Preston Hayes, tall, blonde, classically handsome, but with a weak chin. He was laughing, holding a glass of champagne. Next to him was Clara St. James, younger than Evelyn, softer, wearing white. She looked like a princess, but her eyes darted nervously around the crowd, and behind them, sitting in a highbacked chair like a throne, was Arthur St. James.
He was an old man, but he looked like he was carved from granite. He held a cane with a silver head, and his eyes were tracking Evelyn like a hawk, tracking a field mouse. The conversation in the courtyard died down as Evelyn and Bruno approached. The silence rippled outward until all eyes were on them. "Evelyn," Preston said, his smile faltering.
"You, you came?" "Of course I came," [clears throat] Evelyn said, her voice smooth as silk. I wouldn't miss my little sister's big day. She stepped aside, revealing Bruno. Preston, Clara, father, Evelyn said, her voice ringing clear across the courtyard. I'd like you to meet Bruno.
Arthur St. James leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he scanned Bruno's suit, the watch, the posture. And who? Arthur rumbled, his voice like gravel. Is this? Bruno stepped forward.
He didn't wait for Evelyn to speak. He remembered Marcel's advice. The grief carries in the shoulders. He let the grief go. He let the anger take its place.