Читать книгу Simply Scandalous - Carly Phillips - Страница 6

“TARGET AT ONE O’CLOCK.”

Logan Montgomery listened to his eighty-year-old grandmother and groaned. “You’ve been watching James Bond again, Gran.”

“Just Sean Connery. That Pierce Brosnan is too new and the other one is a pansy. He wouldn’t know how to please a real woman if she bit him on the—”

“Gran!” Startled, Logan shot a glance at his grandmother.

An impish gleam lit her knowing gaze. She’d learned to use shock value to her advantage, he thought wryly. “I think that’s enough.”

“You never used to be a prude.”

He stifled a laugh and chose to warn the irrepressible older woman instead. “And you never used to go so far. Better watch yourself.”

The white-haired woman gave an unrefined, unladylike snort. “If you aren’t careful you’ll end up a stuffed shirt like your father.”

“With your influence? Not a chance.” He drank from a glass of hundred-dollar cham pagne, tasting bubbles and little else. Damn waste of money. A cold beer would taste a hell of a lot better, especially on such an unusually hot and balmy May afternoon. “So tell me why you summoned me to the annual Garden Gala.”

He’d hoped he could ignore the formal invitation, hand-delivered to his house, as it had been hand-delivered to dozens of others. Although the Garden Gala was as much a part of Montgomery tradition as baseball was a part of spring, Logan didn’t feel the same sense of anticipation for this event. His grandmother, Emma, was a different story. He adored her.

“Because of her.” His grandmother waved a wrinkled finger in front of his eyes. “Over there by the Dogwood tree. She catered this whole party herself. Talent personified.”

Logan narrowed his gaze. He couldn’t see much besides the overwhelming sea of floral prints on the female guests and the stark black-and-white uniforms worn by the help. “All I see is a bunch of penguins,” Logan muttered.

“I believe waiter or waitress is the politically correct term,” Emma said.

“Couldn’t you get the judge to relax the dress code for God’s sake? These poor people look like they’re attending a formal wedding, not serving cocktails on a spring day.”

He liked parties as much as the next guy but this uptight excuse for a gathering wasn’t the way he’d choose to spend a Saturday afternoon.

“Your father has his standards,” Emma said in her haughtiest voice, in imitation of her son, Judge Montgomery. “He believes the help should dress as such. Ridiculous,” she muttered. “The man ought to come into the twenty-first century. Anyway, enough about Edgar for now. Look around. What else do you see?”

Logan took two steps to the right so he could see around a ridiculous-looking parasol held by one of his mother’s friends, to protect her skin from the nonexistent sun and impending rain.

“Well?” A bony elbow nudged Logan in the ribs.

He looked once more and was rewarded by what he saw at the elaborate bar set up in front of the pool house, on the perfectly manicured lawn—a delectable-looking creature in uniform. She stepped around the bar and into full view. The clouds had begun rolling in but this woman radiated pure sunshine. Not even the standard waitress uniform looked ordinary on her supple curves.

She reached over to clean the bar of used glasses, and Logan was treated to a backside view that was just as enticing. Black running shoes, obviously worn for comfort, and black tights with a vertical seam ran up the length of her well-toned legs. As she reached forward to sweep the top of the bar with a damp rag, the hem on her black miniskirt inched higher. He stepped closer in time to catch a hint of lace peeking beneath the black hem. Interest replaced curiosity and the temperature outside hitched up a notch. So did strategic body parts. He stuck one finger inside the constricting collar of his white shirt, giving himself some breathing room.

She rose to her full height, which wasn’t much. Petite, with blond hair pinned on top of her head, she couldn’t have been more than five foot three. Considering he had one sister who had traipsed more friends through the house than he could count on both hands, Logan considered himself an expert on all things female.

And this female intrigued him. His gaze traveled over her form-fitting white blouse, which was buttoned to her chin but failed to hide well-rounded breasts, lingered on the belt cinched over a small waist and settled on the white socks pulled over the sheer stockings. She wasn’t a typical waitress by any means.

Didn’t matter if he looked from the bottom up, or the top down, he liked what he saw. A smile edged the corners of his mouth.

“Quit drooling and tell me what you see.”

“A damn sexy penguin,” he muttered.

“Call her what you want,” Emma said, resigned. “She’s the solution to your problems.”

“Didn’t know I had any.” Another glance as she swung back around the bar and he grinned. If he had a problem, he sure wouldn’t mind this woman being his solution.

“Do you want to put an end to Montgomery expectations or do you want your parents and their big-money friends to keep hounding you to run for public office? No peace, no quiet. And bye-bye low profile job at the public defender’s office. Once next Saturday is over, your life will be out of your hands.”

“You don’t have to sound like you’re enjoying this,” Logan muttered. But instinct told him his grandmother wasn’t just trying to shock him now. Emma lived in this mausoleum along with both of Logan’s parents. She was privy to details Logan wasn’t and shared that information willingly. He turned his attention back to the older woman.

“You can keep telling them no thank you.” She patted her perfect bun into place as she spoke. Not even the humidity touched Emma’s coiffure. “But your daddy’s been stubborn as a mule and insistent on having his own way since he was in dirty diapers.”

He stifled the urge to laugh again. She didn’t need an audience. “You’ve really got to watch your mouth.”

“Nonsense. Age gives me the right to say and do whatever youth prevented me from saying or doing. The expression is young and stupid, not old and stupid.”

Logan grinned. “I know now why Dad wants you in a home.” He gazed at the outspoken woman who had given him and his sister their only source of love and affection growing up. In their best interests, she’d undermined his parents’ efforts at making their children clones of their own public-perfect selves. She’d accomplished her goal with his sister.

But with Logan, the only son, things had been more difficult. Though he’d traveled his own path, many of his choices—college, law school and his stint as district attorney—had paralleled his father’s.

No one believed he intended to chart his own destiny. Not even the past two years spent working on the wrong side of the tracks, at the public defender’s office, swayed his family’s beliefs. To all the Montgomerys, Logan was the next generation, destined to follow in past footsteps.

Except to his beloved grandmother. To Emma, Logan was the grandson she’d raised, a man with his own beliefs. He turned his attention back to what she’d said minutes earlier. “Okay, let me have it. What’s happening on Saturday?” he asked.

“I thought you’d never ask.” She nudged Logan, urging him to walk with her. Resigned, he followed the sound of the crinkling taffeta of her long day-dress until she reached her destination. Emma gestured across the patio to where his father was holding court. “In one week your father and his conservative cronies plan on announcing your candidacy for mayor of our fair city. Hampshire needs some young blood and you’ve been handpicked. Perfect son of the esteemed Montgomery family on his first stepping-stone to even higher office.”

“Never happen,” he said.

“That’s right and I’ll tell you why. We’re going to publicly disgrace you. Free you to live life outside the realm.”

He drew a deep breath and forcibly stopped himself from rolling his eyes at her theatrics. “I don’t need scandal to free myself from the family. They can talk politics until doomsday, but without a willing candidate, they’ve got nothing.” And Logan was completely unwilling.

“You drove all the way out to Hampshire, so at least hear me out.”

As usual, the older woman had a point. Besides, he had no place else to be and the view from this angle was good.

Logan folded his arms over his chest. “You mentioned a plan,” he prodded. “So how can she save me?” He pointed to the blonde across the way.

Emma nodded. “You need a public trashing and who better to ruin your reputation than a woman born into poverty with a family history of prostitution behind her?”

He choked on champagne bubbles. “You’re exaggerating.” He glanced at Emma’s target.

She’d left the covering of the bar and now tread with a light step, gliding among the guests, talking quietly with the help serving hors d’oeuvres. Her air of authority set her apart from the other hired help. So did the miniskirt she wore in place of the black pants favored by the rest of the waitresses. A black bow tie nestled below her chin, accentuating her heart-shaped face. How had he missed that before?

“She owns Pot Luck, the caterers. She doesn’t attend every event her company caters, but I insisted she run this one.”

“Of course you did,” he muttered.

“She’s a woman after my own heart. Remember the charm school the cops closed down last year?”

“Vaguely. I was out of state.” He’d graduated from Columbia Law School and snagged a job at the Manhattan district attorney’s office, working there until Emma’s mild heart attack this past year brought him home. He wanted more time with his family. Other than his sister, Grace, with whom he’d bunked in Manhattan, Emma was the only family who counted.

“Well, she and her sister,” Emma said, pointing to the caterer, “inherited that business. Turns out the previous owner, her uncle, was operating a call-girl service in disguise.”

“But she wasn’t involved.”

“Well, no, but it’s family scandal. And to make things even better, she used to work for them when she was in college.” His grandmother clapped her hands in growing excitement.

“She was a prostitute?”

“Bite your slandering tongue. She taught classes for the testosterone impaired. All on the up-and-up. But think of your parents’ reaction if you brought home a woman whose family had dabbled in prostitution. A woman who instructed the single man on how to score.”

Certain she had done no such thing, Logan refused to touch that outrageous comment. “I don’t bring women home,” he said instead.

Why should he? His parents would take it as a sign the prodigal son was ready to settle down. Logan couldn’t say he wasn’t itching for steady companionship. He was. He couldn’t say he didn’t long for someone to come home to at the end of the day. He wanted that, too. But he’d yet to meet a woman who interested him enough to forsake all others, let alone one he could imagine looking at across the dinner table each and every night for the rest of his natural life.

“You would if you met the right one,” his grandmother said, with a gleam in her eyes that alarmed him.

The old lady had an agenda. Logan only wished he knew more. Just because Emma was admitting her scheme aloud didn’t mean she was revealing all.

He knew her too well to be anywhere near complacent, but he decided to humor her for now. “My social life is plenty full, Gran. Too full to settle for just one female out of the bunch.”

His social life was full, all right. Full of renovation and restoration. Logan was busy, just not busy playing the field. But a white lie wouldn’t hurt anyone, least of all Emma, who needed to believe Logan was happy and on the lookout for the future Mrs. Montgomery.

While he met, dated and appreciated females as much as any man, he didn’t see a long-term relationship in his future. The women he met at the P.D.’s office and the opposing counsel he ran into around the courthouse cared more for what the Montgomery name could do for them than in Logan himself. Same for the women in his parents’ illustrious social circle. They sought only to marry and keep their steady income streaming in. All were disappointed and disinterested once they discovered Logan lived off his salary and kept himself isolated from the family legacy.

A marriage for the sake of appearances, like the one his parents shared, didn’t interest him. No one benefited from a loveless union—especially not the requisite number of children, born only for show. Children raised by servants and ignored by their parents.

“Open your eyes, son. You never know what’s in front of you. Now, as I was saying about your father and his mayoral ideas. If making your point in private doesn’t work, we can always resort to the headlines. Judge Montgomery’s Son Dating Ex-Hooker. Not that I’m in favor of that approach, mind you—Catherine deserves better.” She pointed to the woman in the corner.

At least now she had a name. He’d need one if he wanted to get to know her better.

“You know how the papers exaggerate about sex,” Emma said. “You’ll be a dropout candidate before you know it.”

He let out a groan. Humoring her was getting more difficult. “I hate to break it to you, Gran, but sex scandals don’t affect approval ratings anymore.”

Emma shrugged. “Maybe not but I can see you’re interested. So go for it with Cat and get caught. My money says the embarrassment will be enough. Your father will call off the campaign.”

Logan shook his head. “You really do have an overactive imagination. There’s no reason to go that far. A press conference minus the candidate will take care of any expectations.”

“And how would that affect your job at the public defender’s office? I happen to know it’s a first step toward opening your own law office down on the docks.”

“Both are my business and as much as I appreciate your concern, I can handle my life without help.”

As if on cue, a large hand slapped Logan on the shoulder. “Good to see you, son. I knew you wouldn’t miss a chance to mingle with your supporters.”

In a move she’d perfected over the years, his grandmother raised an eyebrow and nodded her head, as if to say, I told you so.

He met his father’s gaze. “Of course not. These people are very important.” To Emma, Logan added silently, which was the only reason he’d chosen to attend.

His father puffed out his chest and beamed, obviously misconstruing Logan’s agreement. Logan didn’t bother to explain. The judge would never listen.

“I’m glad you agree. Now you’ve got to learn the art of working a room,” Edgar said.

“What room?” Logan asked, deliberately playing dumb. He glanced at the sky and the clouds that had been steadily rolling in. “I thought this was an outdoor garden party, not a political fund-raiser.”

“I like your sense of humor, son.”

Behind the judge’s back, Emma caught Logan’s attention with a wave. She rolled her eyes and they shared a silent laugh at the judge’s single-mindedness.

“Glad you’re amused,” Logan muttered.

“Yes, but you know as well as I do that behind every event there is a purpose,” the older man said. “The fact that you showed up for this is telling.” He adjusted the lapels of his jacket.

Logan waited a beat before walking around and placing an arm around his grandmother’s shoulder. “The only thing my appearance should tell you is I wouldn’t miss one of Emma’s extravaganzas. Beyond that, I have no purpose or hidden agenda.”

He gave the older woman a loving squeeze. Her frailty stunned him a moment before he reassured himself. Behind the aging body lay an agile mind and a generous spirit.

“I promised him a good time, something you’ve never learned how to have.” An irreverent gleam sparkled in the older woman’s gaze.

The judge shot his mother a warning look then faced Logan once more. “We need to talk.”

Logan studied his father. With his dark double-breasted suit and air of authority, Judge Montgomery appeared every inch the man in control of his domain. Too bad for him Logan no longer lived within that realm, nor could he be manipulated. “There’s nothing to discuss.”

The judge shook his head. “I want what’s best for you, son, and that means putting you in public office.”

“Placing me in office is what’s best for you. You want me to carry on the political tradition. I want to live my own life.”

“You’re young.” He clapped Logan on the shoulder. “You’ll come around.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You’re probably right. After all, I bought my house even after you put a down payment on a penthouse apartment in Boston. I took the P.D.’s job even after you pulled strings at Fitch and Fitzwater, the leading firm downtown.” He shrugged. “I suppose if you hold your breath long enough, I might come around after all.”

Edgar narrowed his eyes. “This is your influence,” the judge said to his mother.

“If so, I’m proud of him. And you should be, too,” Emma said. “Shame on you, Edgar. I raised you better than this.”

“Logan, see to it your grandmother gets some rest. She’s cranky. We’ll talk more later.” He issued his commands and, without awaiting a response, he turned and strode toward his guests.

“He’s determined,” Emma said.

“I’m more determined.” But Logan was also tired of the battle. A part of him wished he didn’t have to fight his father for every step he took in his own life.

“Still think you don’t need my help?” Emma asked.

“I love you for your concern but I can handle the judge alone.”

“But her kind of help would be so much more fun,” his grandmother said, her gaze shifting from him.

Logan followed her glance at the woman standing on a chair, adjusting a speaker, and he had to agree. Still, no matter how tempting, he wouldn’t use an innocent woman as a pawn in his family’s game.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t pursue this attraction and get to know her for his own reasons. As Emma had probably predicted, she fascinated him in a way few women did and he wanted to know why. He placed the champagne glass down on a passing server’s tray.

“I’m here if you need backup,” Emma said.

He kissed the older woman’s weathered cheek. “I’m sure I can handle it,” he said wryly. He glanced across the lawn to where Catherine had settled back into bartender mode.

She handled the bottles and glasses with ease. Logan grinned at the sight. One of the cocktail waitresses paused and whispered something in her ear. Catherine bolted from behind the bar and headed toward the house. Without her presence, the bar loomed as empty and boring as the party had minutes earlier.

Logan sighed, seeing opportunity vanish at least for the moment.

“She’s got the goodies,” Emma said. “She’ll be back.”

“I believe drinks or liquor is the politically correct term these days.” He couldn’t help but needle his grandmother.

His gaze followed Catherine’s retreating form. The well-shaped bottom and trim waist were a sight to behold before she disappeared inside the open French doors.

Emma cleared her throat. “From your perspective I’d say she’s got the goodies,” she said with a laugh.

He chuckled. “I’d say you were right.”

A SEXY MAN HAD been watching Catherine for the last fifteen minutes. He had dark hair, model-like looks, and a penetrating stare that made her muscles weak and her heart flutter. She couldn’t imagine what sparked his interest when there were dozens of other women at the party. Female guests dressed in silky dresses and flowing chiffon skirts, beautiful women with perfectly manicured nails and hair straight from the beauty salon.

Catherine’s sneakers—comfortable shoes for a day of working on her feet—squeaked as she crossed the gleaming marble floors. She cringed and kept going. Years had passed since she had felt this…inadequate, she thought, coming up with the right word. She glanced down at her working outfit, the same one she wore to any party her company catered. Instead of feeling comfortable in her own skin, she felt out of place and transported back in time, to when she and her sister had been the Luck girls from the wrong side of the tracks.

Catherine shook her head and raised her chin a notch. There was no sense denying it. The rich were different. But Catherine had worked too hard and come too far to let insecurities hit her now. She’d survive this party. As long as the threatening rain held off…and her chef didn’t bail out.

She and her company Pot Luck couldn’t afford the disaster. With Kayla, her business partner and sister, pregnant and under doctor’s orders to stay in bed, Catherine was handling more than usual. Between doing the food prep work for today, substituting as bartender, overseeing along with her manager and planning upcoming bookings, Catherine was overworked and stressed. As soon as the temperature warmed, people clamored to organize outdoor events and Pot Luck was booked solid.

She couldn’t complain about being busy, but she did long for future days when all they would have to cater was full-scale parties like this one. But for now Pot Luck accommodated any request—from complete party packages, to hors d’oeuvres only, to simple decorations and party favors. Some day, once their reputation was more firmly established and the bank account posted a hefty surplus, they could be more discriminating—and Catherine could make more use of her culinary background as well. After this event, someday could arrive faster than she’d ever imagined.

The Montgomery party had been a coup and Catherine had no problem with rearranging her schedule to accommodate Emma Montgomery. Success here would mean referrals to the wealthiest people and most prestigious companies in Hampshire. She wouldn’t allow anything to ruin this chance, especially not a temperamental chef who was her oldest friend.

She entered the state-of-the-art kitchen where stainless steel and chrome gleamed from every corner of the room. “Nick, you’re a hit!” Catherine made her way around a long center island and placed a kiss on his clean-shaven cheek.

“The duck isn’t cold,” he denied, whacking at a large chunk of meat with a knife.

“I never said it was. The guests love the hors d’oeuvres. They’re going to spread your name from here to downtown Boston.”

Another loud whack sounded against the cutting board. “I’m already famous in Boston. I don’t need to take abuse because your help can’t get in here fast enough to serve hot food.” Beneath his anger and frustration, she recognized the concern and warning. Someone had been complaining about the temperature of the food. She cringed. She’d take care of her lazy help, but first she had to calm the chef.

Catherine glanced at his exaggerated pout. She’d grown up with Nick. She knew when to worry and when a word or two would smooth things over. She snuck a peek inside the large oven and inhaled an enticing aroma. “This smells heavenly. I don’t know another chef who can create the way you do.” She returned to his side. “The food is almost as good-looking as you are.”

The knife slammed into the wooden board again and he glanced up, dark eyes narrowed. “Don’t try to flatter me, Cat. It won’t work.” His gaze settled on her for the first time and he touched her cheek with one hand. “You’re red.”

“The day is so overcast I forgot the sun-screen.” Catherine shrugged. “Besides we can’t all bronze like you.”

“You’re fair. You ought to be more careful.”

She rolled her eyes. For as far back as she could remember, Nick had looked out for her. He had classic Mediterranean looks and most women would have snatched him up at the slightest chance. Not Catherine. Lovers came and went; best friends were for life. “If you’re so worried about me, stop yelling at the help.”

“They’re incompetent.”

“I’ll talk to them. I promise.”

“It’s a start. What’s going on out there? Is Mr. Right mingling among the guests?”

“Back off, Nick. Just because you’re engaged doesn’t mean everyone else wants the brass ring.” Catherine had no desire to have this conversation with Nick yet again. “Look, the bartender never showed. I’m already pulling double duty and I can’t afford to have the help leave in tears. Now will you lay off the girls?”

He raised an eyebrow. “If you promise to use this party as an opportunity. There are men out there, Cat. All types of men. Tall and thin, fat and balding, rich and richer. Take your pick.”

A sexy stranger with dark hair and compelling eyes filled her mind. She pushed the thought aside. Before she’d entered this immense house filled with elegant women, she’d believed herself over the painful memories associated with her lower-class upbringing. Just working this party, being surrounded by delicate perfection, brought the painful memories back full force.

Sexual attraction from across a crowded room meant nothing when she and the stranger were obviously worlds apart. “You know the guests here are way out of my league,” she told her friend.

“Only because you think so, not because it’s true. You spend too much time alone.”

Catherine shrugged. “At least the company’s good.”

Nick groaned.

“Is it my fault every guy I’ve dated isn’t the one?” Catherine had yet to meet a man worth risking her heart for. Despite what Nick thought, she certainly wouldn’t find him here.

“You walk away before any guy can prove himself. Take me, for instance.”

She rolled her eyes. “I turned you down when we were sixteen and you survived.” She glanced at her watch. “I promise nothing else will leave this kitchen cold. Back off the help?”

“Consider opening your eyes to the men out there,” he countered.

“I’ll consider it,” she lied. “You’re a prince,” she called over her shoulder, adjusting her bow tie as she ran out of the kitchen.

She darted back outside, dismayed to find the clouds darker and heavier than five minutes before. The storm was rolling in faster than predicted. Winded from her sprint out of the kitchen, she rested her hands on the bar and closed her eyes. She inhaled deep, then exhaled, searching for calm. Too much hinged on getting through the rest of the afternoon without mishap.

A deep masculine drawl captured her attention. “So tell me what put the frown on that beautiful face.” She’d never heard that voice before but her body reacted instantly. She knew who it belonged to. She just didn’t know how in the world to handle him.