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“Jim.” Saber heard a voice that filled the whole room, deep, resonating, and restrained. It made Saber shudder. She thought of the ferry horn from earlier.
She looked up at the stairs, where they came down from the upper floors, and there on the landing she first saw Ansel James.
2
The first thing she noticed about Ansel was his age, or lack thereof.
Her father was forty-two, young for the father of a high schooler, but Ansel could pass as his son if they looked anything alike, which they didn’t.
Ansel’s high, arched brows and aquiline nose gave him an elegant, reserved look that helped defray the effect of his youthfulness. There was no way this man was the CEO of anything. If he was in one of her high school classes, she wouldn’t question it. She glanced around the house, at the enormous fireplace and vaulted ceilings, and then back at Ansel. It didn’t make any sense that this man, who looked a few years older than her, owned this spectacular house. It made her feel strangely defensive, like she needed to explain why she, at seventeen, was only a senior in high school.
“Did Lia offer you a drink?” Ansel asked, gliding silently into the room, his eyes locked first with Saber’s dad. She noticed he was wearing black moccasin-type shoes in buttery leather, dark gray slacks in rich, neatly draped fabric, and a sumptuous wool blazer that was fitted beautifully to his broad, rounded shoulders. He certainly wasn’tbuiltlike a high schooler.
“Yes, thank you,” Saber said, and he glanced at her. She startled.
His eyes were amber, like a leopard’s, and the thought made Saber shiver. The direct intensity of his gaze was unsettling. His presence was so potent it made the world dissolve around him, like he was somehow morerealthan anything else. Like the house and everything in it was just set dressing for him, unimportant, and could be blown away like dust. She fidgeted and was the first to break his gaze to look back at her father.
“This is my daughter Saber,” Jim said. “Saber, this is Ansel James.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said, feeling like a little girl visiting her dad’s office.
He looked at her for a moment longer, and she could see the reflection of the fire in his eyes, now embers.
“Nice to meet you too,” he said in that hauntingly resonant voice. “I like your dress.”
Just then, Lia walked in with a tray of drinks. Saber noticed that Ansel took a glass of wine, deep and red, swirled it around, smelled it, and set it on the side table by the big, caramel-colored leather couch.
“Jim.” He began to speak, his tone professional and friendly, practiced. “I asked you here for a couple reasons. First, I wanted to chat about what your plans are for your organization, but in a very causal way, no pressure. I just want to hear what you think. Second, I want to get to know you a little better. I keep hearing good things about your leadership.”
Saber’s dad laughed and rubbed his hands together in a self-deprecating way. She realized how nervous he was, how much he wanted the evening to go well.
“Yeah, awesome,” he said. “My team, I guess I’m really happy with them. I trust all my lead engineers, I think we work well together, and I really like the little culture we’ve created.”
“I’ve noticed that.”
Her dad kept talking about the organization he was apparently manager of.
Saber felt her eyes glaze over with boredom and started looking around the room again. On one wall was a smallish piece of art in a simple pinewood frame that looked like a replica of a Winslow Homer painting. In one of her art history classes she’d written a paper about him, and the painting was so true to his style that it was unmistakable.
Her dad and Ansel had been talking for a moment, but Ansel interrupted.
“You like the painting?”
She had apparently been staring.
He smiled at her, and she flushed, looking over at him. Her dad looked at her with obvious expectation.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. It looks like a Homer.”
“There’s a good reason for that.”
Her eyes brightened for a moment and her mouth fell open.
“Can I look at it?”
“Only if I can talk about it. I’m embarrassed to say I’m very proud of my art collection.”
“Saber is an artist,” her dad said, and Ansel gave her an approving nod.
