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“That was also the day I decided to become a chef like my brothers. Like the man who might have been my father had he still been alive.”
He gestured farther up the wall to a picture of a man. Strong jaw and chin, dark eyes and hair. Handsome. Arthur Madewood. Below hung a picture of Arthur and Vivian on their wedding day.
“Don’t they look like they belong in a 1940s film? I’ve never seen a more attractive couple,” she said. “I wish I could have met her.”
“I wish you could have met her, too.” He stepped down, bringing himself closer, the air hanging heavily around them.
He brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek. Her mouth parted at his touch. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her head slanted to get closer to his warm hand. Her body betrayed her. She was supposed to be strong, professional, but never had a simple touch from a man been so potent, or had the ability to cause her entire nervous system to short circuit.
What was she thinking? You can’t have the hots for your boss, Sterling. No way. No how.
But the bigger question, the burning question, remained: why was he touching her?
They’d agreed on one night and one night only. Yet here, on this staircase, she had the distinct impression that their encounter was nowhere near complete. She broke eye contact and he hustled up the stairs.
They toured the second-floor library and the attic. She had her work cut out for her. But the stress of trying to figure out a plan disappeared when she walked into the bedroom that belonged to Vivian Madewood.
Gold. Wood. Heavy floral tapestry. Her bedroom looked like the set of a historical romance movie. “Wow.”
“You like it?”
Sterling looked over at him. “Who wouldn’t?”
He had a repulsed look on his face. “Uh…me. And my brothers. We always joked that Liberace puked up the furnishings for this room.” He chuckled.
“You know that Liberace was all sparkles and sequins, right?”
He smiled. “I do now.”
A king-size bed lay in the middle of the room with a heavy red duvet. A long dresser sat against the left wall with an oval mirror attached. The en suite bathroom was in the corner of the room, and to the right, double doors, partially open, invited her to venture inside and see what other treasures awaited.
“Is that the closet?” she asked.
Jack nodded and gestured to the door. “Take a peek.”
Her stomach tingled with anticipation as she approached the doors. She’d once seen photos of Vivian’s closet in a feature article of Toronto Life magazine. Although Penn would be the one to know designers without even looking at the label, Sterling could still appreciate the clothing, especially since she had never, ever, owned her own piece of high-end fashion. It was a dream that seemed so far away. A dream she didn’t think would ever happen. Not if her parents kept screwing her over financially. But now was not the time to be thinking about that.
She pushed open the double doors and the space lit up immediately, no need to even flick a switch. The colors were just as rich, the clothing just as elaborate as the magazine photos had shown, and it took her breath away.
The space was much too big to be considered a closet. More like a room. Clothing lined both sides and the far wall. In the middle on both sides, a unit made up of shelves housed hundreds of shoes. Red soles peeked out from the bottoms of a few pairs and others were blinged out with double Cs affixed to the tops. Black, silver, gold, and pink. High heels, flats, sandals, and strappy elegance. Oh yes, Carrie Bradshaw would be drooling at the sight of this hidden sanctuary.
She slid hanger after hanger of designer clothing along the metal poles, admiring the elaborate colors and designs in this monumental, spectacular closet. Penn would have a severe case of the green-eyed monster if she ever walked through here.
“I’ve never seen anything like this.” She looked over at Jack, who stood in the doorway with a smile on his face. “At least not in real life.” This closet was the work of one woman, over years and years of gracing the most prestigious and elite parties in the city. Money may not be able to buy love…but it definitely bought a closet full of things that could take its place.
He walked farther into the room. “This is one of the rooms I’m having trouble deciding what to do with.” He ran his hand along the color-coded line of clothes.
There was only one thing to do with a wardrobe like this when all you had were men to hand things down to. “It should be donated to charity, don’t you think?”
“That’s a great idea.”
Her heart skipped a beat. He was open to charity. A definite product of his environment.
She opened one of the drawers affixed to the unit. Lacy undergarments stared back at her. She quickly shut the drawer—there was a fine line after all, and going through a strange man’s mother’s underwear was crossing it.
“She liked to support local designers, but the stuff back there was too edgy for her taste.” He pointed to a section of the closet in the corner, filled with bright colors, shorter-cut dresses, and styles that were definitely more Penn. “This is one of the times I wish we had a sister. She’d take all of this and it would be done.”
“Women would kill for this stuff.” She raced to another part of the room, to a small section of dresses. Her eye caught on a floor-length gown. “This looks like something Jackie Kennedy would wear.”
