Hourglass (Hourglass #1)

Hourglass (Hourglass #1) Page 4

I really hoped he was alive.

I gave myself a mental shake. What was I doing? Lips weren’t on my checklist. And when it came to guys—drop-dead gorgeous or not—I never got caught staring. But if the slow grin spreading across his face was any indication, I just had. Shoving my feet back into the killer heels, I searched the room for Thomas and Dru but couldn’t see them. I looked back at Tuxedo Guy. He was walking straight toward me.

Time to go. I reached out to leave my glass on the edge of the piano, then watched, shocked, as it went right through and crashed to the ground, a thousand little glistening diamonds on the ceramic tile.

My brother materialized immediately. “Are you okay?”

“No. Unless you see the jazz trio?” Please, please …

“Don’t see them.”

“Then no, definitely not okay.” The phantom musicians kept playing. I hadn’t attempted to come into physical contact with any of them—probably the only reason they didn’t fade away.

They. Three at once? And a piano? I’d never seen a whole scene before. I couldn’t breathe. “I need air. I need air!”

“Excuse us.” Thomas smiled at the real live people nearby, the gracious host aiding his slightly hysterical sister. He guided me across the wide room to the French doors that led outside. It was a horrifying journey. I tried to pretend I didn’t see all the eyes following us. We exited onto the patio, empty due to the chill in the air from the earlier rain.

I took a deep breath, willing the adrenaline rush coursing through my system to slow down. “How many old buildings do you plan on renovating for public consumption? Just so I can prepare myself.”

At least I didn’t live in Europe. Whole centuries of long dead people walked around over there. In the U.S., I only had to deal with a few generations of those who could be confused for living in the present time. When Thomas and Dru had tried to plan a day trip to the annual Cherokee Indian Fair in North Carolina, I had flat refused. No historical reenactments. Ever.

“I can’t believe it’s this bad,” Thomas said, patting my arm in an attempt to extend comfort. I just shook my head. Now wasn’t the time to come clean about the meds.

Especially since the guy in the tux was walking through the open double doors.

“Do you see him?” I whispered, covering my eyes with my hands and peeking out between my trembling fingers, shaken by the thought of another vision so soon after the jazz trio.

“Do I see who?”

“Him.” I motioned for Thomas to look over his shoulder. If Tuxedo Guy wasn’t a living, breathing human being from this century, I was going to beg to be recommitted.

“Yes, I see him,” Thomas answered, the words ripe with relief. “That’s Michael.”

“Who’s Michael?”

“He’s the new consultant I was telling you about.”

Chapter 4

Tuxedo Guy looked even better the closer he got to us—tall, wide shoulders, smooth skin, those lips. I couldn’t believe he worked for a place called the Hourglass. Fifty-year-old bespectacled men with paunches should work for the Hourglass. Not a prince too gorgeous to be walking around with the peasants. He couldn’t be much older than me. Maybe he was an intern. Maybe Thomas got him on the cheap because he played in the minor leagues instead of with the big boys.

“Were you going to tell me he was here?” I said under my breath to Thomas, my emotions raging in the space between anger and horror.

“I was going to let him observe you first.”

“Like some kind of specimen?” I hissed. “Where’s my glass jar?”

I was ready to launch into a tirade but stopped when I realized Tuxedo Guy stood two feet away, eyeing me as if I might suddenly burst into flames.

“Michael Weaver, meet my sister, Emerson Cole.” Thomas’s hand on my back pushed me slightly forward, the motion suggesting he thought Michael and I should shake.

Michael looked from Thomas to me and tentatively held out his hand. I shuddered, turning away to hide my face in my brother’s shoulder. Even if Thomas’s acknowledging his presence proved he was currently alive, I didn’t want to touch Michael. When I looked back at him, he’d slipped his hand into his pocket.

The door to the patio opened once again, and this time it was Dru. I assumed Thomas hadn’t given her the latest news about my hallucinations, with all the preparations for the opening they’d done that day. I didn’t want her fussing over me.

“I’m sorry I’m so clumsy.” I waved her away as she started to hover, the motion helping to hide the shaking of my hand. “Everything is fine, go back inside.”

Dru has the kind of blue eyes most people describe as icy, which I really don’t understand, because ice is clear. Right now they exuded worry.

“You’re not clumsy; that’s why I’m concerned,” she said, ignoring my protests and placing her hand on my forehead before moving it to my cheek. “Are you sick? Are you feeling faint? Do you need food? Do you need to sit?”

“Couldn’t be better. Really,” I lied through my perfect teeth. What I needed was a way to escape the jazz trio I could still hear and the gorgeous consultant standing beside me. I really wished he were a little less male model, a little more tax auditor. I felt distracted enough already.

“In that case, Thomas, I hate to pull you away, but Brad from the bank wanted to talk to you regarding that property on Main.” She raised her well-groomed eyebrows, so I knew it must be a lucrative deal. “I can stay here.”

Thomas’s pained expression exposed his inner battle. I let him off the hook. “Go. You too, Dru. Make money.”

“No, I’ll stay with you, sweetie. I want to make sure you’re okay.” Dru tucked her arm around my waist to give me a quick squeeze.

“No. Really. Go. I’m fine,” I insisted.

“Will you stay with her?” Thomas asked Michael, his voice as serious as if he were negotiating my dowry. Or a real estate deal. “I don’t want to leave her alone.”

I shot Thomas an evil look. He was so going to pay for that later.

“Absolutely,” Michael answered.

I jumped at his voice, the sound putting every cell in my body on alert. It was mellow, husky. I’d bet he could sing. After I assured Thomas and Dru again that I was fine, I watched the only familiar people in the building walk away and wished desperately to be anywhere else in the world … except maybe Colonial Williamsburg.

I exhaled deeply, looked up at Michael, and offered a smile. When he returned it, my breath caught in my throat.

Buttered biscuits and honey.

“You’re not what I expected,” I said, hating the way my voice broke slightly in the middle of the sentence.

“I’ve heard that before,” he said, scoring major points by pretending not to notice.

“I’m glad you’re close to my age.” Please be close to my age. “Makes me feel like we’re on an even playing field.”

“I didn’t realize we were playing a game.” His dark eyes narrowed slightly. He was probably already wondering if he was getting paid enough to deal with me. “Should I call you Em or Emerson?”

I frowned. I didn’t recall anyone calling me Em in his presence.