Читать книгу Personal Relations - HEATHER MACALLISTER, Heather Macallister - Страница 10

“MAN, DID YOU see her face?”

“Oh, yeah. I think just a little more and we’ll have them.”

BY THE TIME she got to work, Brooke was a seething cauldron of rage. What Courtney had actually said was a “seething cauldron of repressed rage” but Brooke didn’t think her rage was going to be repressed much longer.

The only reason she didn’t go directly to Chase Davenport’s office after Jeff had helpfully supplied his business card, was that she had three scheduled interviews this morning.

Brooke was a personnel assistant for Haldutton oil. She’d gradually, but doggedly, worked her way up the corporate ladder and now administered screening interviews for clerical job candidates. When she got her degree in a year, she’d be in a strong position for promotion.

Brooke had spent seven years in night school working toward a business degree. She’d desperately wanted to finish before Courtney went off to school, but getting this far was the best she could do. She wanted to set an example for Courtney, to show her how much she valued education. To let Courtney see how hard it was to work and go to school at the same time.

Courtney wasn’t going to have to do that. After all, it was Brooke’s own fault that she’d had to get her degree the slow way. Courtney shouldn’t have to suffer for Brooke’s poor judgment.

And now…and now after all the long nights and the hours and hours of study, the sacrifices…Did Courtney think she actually enjoyed being a drudge? If Brooke were feeling really sorry for herself she’d dwell on all the valentineless Valentine’s Days she’d had in the past few years.

No, she hadn’t had time for a relationship. She’d tried dating a couple of guys, but frankly, they hadn’t been worth missing sleep over.

There’d be time next fall, she thought. Next fall when Courtney went off to one of the colleges where Brooke had sent applications. The same ones she’d applied to, but had had to turn down the acceptances.

Damn it, Courtney was not going to get married and throw away her future.

SO YOU THINK you can do a better job of raising him than I did you? Chase’s father’s words whispered through his mind.

Yes, he had thought he could do a better job with Jeff. The boy needed a stable environment. All children needed security, not a father who traveled most of the time and when he did come home, would announce that it was time to move again.

Once, Chase and his mother had lived in a hotel room for a month while they waited for their new house to be ready. Two days before they were to move in, his father had laughingly told them they were moving on and wasn’t it lucky that they hadn’t unpacked yet?

Jeff’s mother had been just as bad. So, when Jeff had asked to stay with Chase during high school, Chase had readily agreed.

And now this.

Man, wouldn’t his father get a laugh out of it when he heard.

No, Jeff wasn’t getting married, at least not any time soon.

Chase reached for his cell phone and looked at the number Jeff had programed in. He supposed nobody was home now, but tonight, he was going to find out how much it would take to buy off Courtney Weathers—and her sister.

BROOKE MANAGED to suppress her anger for the duration of her interviews, although none of the applicants passed her screening. She hoped it wasn’t a coincidence.

At ten forty-five, her hand shaking so much she couldn’t punch the number on the telephone, Brooke had to shut the door to her tiny office. She started to jog in place, hoping to work off some steam.

Jogging didn’t cut it, even after she kicked off her pumps, so Brooke resorted to old-fashioned jumping jacks. The jumping part was fine, but her panty hose gave her trouble during the jack part. She was ready to take them off as well, when a sudden easing in pressure heralded a run in her stockings. At least something could run in this small place.

Bare legs were better than a giant run, so Brooke ripped off her panty hose, tossed them in the wastebasket, did four more jumping jacks and breathlessly punched out Chase Davenport’s office number. While the number rang, she looked at the business card. He was a commercial property agent for the MacGinnis Group. In other words, a glorified salesman. A slick, glorified salesman, she added when she remembered the silver Porsche.

Brooke got his voice mail, but didn’t want to leave a message and punched zero for assistance.

“Mr. Davenport is at lunch,” the receptionist confirmed. “And is scheduled to go directly off-site from there.”

“Off-site?” Brooke asked.

“To visit one of our properties.”

“Oh. And when do you anticipate his return?”

“May I tell him who is calling?” the receptionist countered, frankly a little late for true professionalism in Brooke’s opinion.

“I’m in the Haldutton personnel department. We’d like to check a reference.” Brooke’s face had heated even before she told the lie. Which wasn’t exactly a lie—not much of one, anyway. She was extremely interested in Jeff Ryan’s references.

“It’s difficult to predict, but you could try back around three-thirty.”

Brooke thanked her and hung up before the receptionist could ask for her name again.

Three-thirty. There was no way she could do jumping jacks until three-thirty.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to. She even managed to choke down a light carbohydrate-less lunch so her mind would be clear when she went to do battle.

She was calm. She was focused. She was rational.

And then the phone rang.

“Hi, Brooke! Are you busy?” Courtney sounded way too happy.

“What’s wrong?”

There was a disgusted sigh. “Nothing is wrong. Why do you always think that?”

“Where are you?”

“With Jeff. Rehearsals were canceled while the choir director works with the soloists, so we thought we’d come downtown and go ring shopping! Jeff is getting the money from his brother right now. Want to come?”

Ring! Unfocused, irrational thoughts bombarded her. “I—I have an appointment this afternoon,” Brooke said. “In fact, I should be leaving right now.”

“Okay!” Courtney said breezily. “Just thought I’d check. You wouldn’t want me to settle for a ring that was too small, would you?”

Brooke saw an out. Jeff would probably freak when he saw the price of diamonds. “Oh, most definitely not. After all, you’ll be wearing this ring forever. It’s got to be special. You don’t want it to look chintzy.”

“Well, no.” Courtney sounded uncertain.

“All your friends will see it.”

“Yeah, they’re gonna be jealous.”

“Just remember the four C’s.”

“What are those?”

“Cut, color, clarity and size.”

There was a short silence. “That’s only three C’s.”

“Well, the other one means size.”

“Oh. It probably doesn’t begin with C because it’s the most important.”

Brooke was too frazzled to contradict her. “Whatever. Have a good time.”

“Okay, bye!”

Brooke gripped the phone and tried to take deep, calming breaths, but only succeeded in making herself light-headed.

Carat. The fourth C was carat. Oh, well, never mind. She’d planted the seeds of greed and it might make Courtney think twice about marriage.

That didn’t sound right, but she wasn’t going to worry about it now. Grabbing her purse from the bottom file drawer at her desk, she headed for Chase Davenport’s office.

“HEY, MAN, like, I need to borrow some major bucks.”

Chase winced and tilted back in his chair. “How major?” he asked Jeff, keeping his voice deliberately casual. “Concert ticket major? Car major? Spring break trip major?”

“Engagement ring major. You know, a real diamond.”

Ice formed in his veins. “Jeff.”

“And I’m not talking about a promise ring here. I want the real thing—like my mother has.”

Zoe’s diamond size had increased with each marriage. The one she had now could serve as the practice rink for the Olympic ice-skating competition.

“I see.” Chase straightened, thinking quickly. “Why don’t we talk about this when I get home tonight?”

“’Cause Courtney and I are going ring shopping now. No rehearsal today, so we’ve got time.”

“Jeff—”

“Courtney’s asking her sister to come with us to make sure we get a good one. She said something about C’s and that size was important.”

A red haze crossed Chase’s vision. “Make sure you inform Courtney and her sister that any major withdrawals from your trust account must be approved by me.”

“Well…like, that’s not going to be a problem, is it? I mean, if you’ve got issues, I can always ask my mom.”

Who would see nothing wrong with her son buying a diamond.

Back off, back off. “Hey, it’s your money, but I couldn’t look your mother in the eye if I let you buy an inferior stone. You know how she is about diamonds. Just don’t buy anything without me seeing it first.”

“Hey, no prob.”

Yes, prob. Big prob.

CHASE DAVENPORT worked in a nice, shiny building several streets over from Brooke’s own office building. She was able to reach it through Houston’s underground tunnel system, though she had blisters on the backs of her heels by the time she arrived.

As she took the escalator from the tunnel and emerged through the atrium, she was relieved to see that his company, the MacGinnis Group, was, like hers, one of the last bastions of proper business dress, with none of this business casual nonsense. Brooke was very happy to wear a suit, thank-you-very-much. It gave her authority and kept her comfortable in an office that was air-conditioned ten months out of the year.

When she reached the ground floor, she headed for the rest rooms and combed her hair, checked her makeup, and applied the Band-Aids she carried in her wallet to her blisters.

She wanted to look mature—intimidatingly mature, since Chase so clearly wasn’t.

The fact that he might not have returned to his office yet didn’t occur to her until she was actually asking for him at the reception desk.

“Brooke Weathers,” she gave her name to the receptionist, who sat in the center of a round room with hallways leading off it like a spider in the center of her web. “Tell him it’s personal.”

The receptionist murmured into her headset, then looked at Brooke in pseudo sympathy. “Could you be more specific?”

The nerve of him. There were so many things she could say—Sure, tell him I’m from the free clinic. I have the results of his tests and thought he’d like to hear them in person. Or…He’s behind on his Porsche payments and I’m here to repossess. Even better, Tell him the rabbit died.

Honestly. Anyone who ignored the “personal” label did so at his own risk. However, tempting as it was to be flippant, Brooke merely said, “Tell him I’m Courtney Weathers’s sister.”

The receptionist was relaying that information when a door off one of the hallways opened.

“I heard.”

A man in a crisp long-sleeved shirt rolled to his forearms stood staring at her. Although several dozen yards and a blond receptionist separated them, Brooke felt the tsunami-sized waves of hostility headed her way.

He wasn’t the pudgy, balding, affable goof she’d been expecting. Nope. No pudge, no bald spot and an expression of glacial politeness.

He jerked his head to indicate that she should join him in his office, then disappeared inside.

Make that an expression bordering on politeness. Brooke hesitated, unwilling to concede a battle so early.

On the other hand, the important thing here was not her pride. Her goal was to keep Courtney from doing something she would surely regret. And that was the only reason Brooke ignored the fact that Chase Davenport had all but told her to heel, and followed him into his office.

WELL, THE SISTER hadn’t wasted any time getting over here once she heard Chase had a hold on Jeff’s wallet.

Yeah, after Jeff’s mother had divorced Chase’s father, she’d made a couple of lucky marriages and now had more money than even she knew what to do with. Chase had hoped Jeff hadn’t known exactly how much money Chase was managing for him, but someone, probably that flake of a mother of his, must have told him. He’d probably bragged about it at school and the result was this: trouble in a navy blue suit.

She was mad, he could tell that right off. She held her chin up and looked him right in the eye. Ordinarily, he’d like that in a woman, but this sure wasn’t ordinary.

And neither was the internal wallop he got once she came close enough for him to see that she was a toned-down version of her sister. The hair wasn’t as short, wasn’t as black, the lips weren’t as red, the body wasn’t as thin—and the few pounds had been put to excellent use.

But his response was just the natural response of a male in his prime to an attractive female. It was biological. Nothing to get worked up about.

He deliberately ran his gaze over her, taking in a suit that showed signs of wear and hadn’t been all that expensive to begin with. Still she’d made the effort. Too bad the red lines on her feet from her shoes, and the fact that her legs were bare, undermined the professional image she was trying to convey.

Chase made a very comfortable living selling and managing commercial property, mostly because he was good at judging a potential client’s net worth. He’d been wrong a couple of times, but that was when he’d first started out and had been fooled by the “good ole boys” who’d dress down and pepper their speech with double negatives and college football talk. That was when he’d taught himself to notice the details—like the expensive ostrich boots, the custom hat, and the pinkie rings that they wore with the plaid shirts and faded jeans.

It was all in the details—and the details here said gold digger.

He smiled. Piece of cake.

From his power position behind his desk, he watched her cross no-man’s-land—the distance between the door and his desk. He didn’t bother to stand. He saw her glance at the overstuffed chair with the sprung seat. All but the tallest of men would sit in that chair and discover that they were inches shorter than Chase. She’d probably disappear altogether.

If only it were permanent.

He gave her a once-over. She wasn’t all that bad, considering. With the nose and the swingy haircut she was kinda cute.

No, not cute. Cute was appealing and appealing was bad. Not cute.

Cute in this case was being used as a weapon. She probably disarmed all her victims with that cultivated lil’-ole-me cuteness.

Fortunately, he was immune. “What can I do for you?” he asked, feeling his lips curl in a smirk.

“I’m Brooke Weathers,” she said and held out her hand, not extending it fully. If he intended to shake her hand, he’d have to rise from his chair.

Very good move on her part. She was clearly no stranger to negotiations and that was important to know.

As Chase decided whether to insult her by ignoring her gesture, their eyes locked. Hers were brown. The thought came out of nowhere. Certainly, he didn’t want to notice her eye color. Or the freckles dancing across her nose that made him think of summers spent at the beach in Galveston.

Freckles weren’t cute. Freckles were a sign of sun damage, he told himself.

He was going to shake her hand, he decided. There was no advantage to be gained by insulting her. This wasn’t about power, this was about getting Jeff out of the mess he was in.

Chase slowly rose to shake her hand. They touched, palms sliding together. Warming. Fusing. So many sharp tingles pricked his hand that he looked down, expecting to see that she had one of those joke buzzers.

No buzzer.

Must be static electricity, but it was giving him one heck of a jolt.

Her hand was cool and trembled slightly. A traitorous part of him noted her nervousness and wanted to reassure her.

“Have a seat,” he offered gruffly and resumed his own.

She wasn’t falling for that and perched on the padded arm of the chair.

She looked cute.

Maybe thinking of her as cute wasn’t a bad thing. He’d outgrown cute. Jeff hadn’t, which was why he was in this mess. But Chase wasn’t attracted to cute, summer beach bunnies with freckled noses anymore.

Besides, the women he worked with had banished the word “cute” as belittling.

He smiled. “You look cute sitting like that.”

“I want to discuss Courtney and Jeff with you,” she said as though he hadn’t spoken.

Chase leaned back, his body language deliberately insulting. “I thought you might.”

It backfired.

She let her gaze drift over his face and sweep across his shoulders, her eyebrows making a subtle not-bad-but-buddy-I’ve-seen-better quirk upwards.

Chase felt sweat gather in his armpits.

She continued her survey, her gaze bouncing down his ribs. His stomach contracted involuntarily. A smile whispered across her mouth and her gaze rolled south of his belt and stopped.

Stopped.

A drop of sweat trickled down his side. His throat went dry as he battled self-consciousness.

Oh, she was good, he reluctantly conceded, forced to adjust his posture before he embarrassed himself.

As soon as he did so, she gave him a limpid look.

Okay, round two to the sister. “It sure didn’t take you long to get over here after you heard about the ring,” he snapped.

“Can you blame me?”

“Someone in your position? Not at all.”

“Then you must have known I would disapprove.”

“Well, gee. Sometimes our plans just don’t work out the way we want them to.”

He saw her grit her teeth. “Understand that I want the best for Courtney,” she managed to say.

“I’m sure you do.” He straightened. “Just how much is that ‘best’ going to cost?”

She looked momentarily confused. “It depends on which college she attends.”

“College. Well, that’s a twist I hadn’t expected.” He glared at her. “I guess this beats filling out all those scholarship forms.”

“What are you talking about?” The confusion was back in her eyes. What an actress. Must be where Courtney got it.

“I’m talking about this shakedown.”

“Shakedown?”

“Yeah, this great little hustle you’ve got going here.” He opened a drawer, withdrew a leather-covered triplicate checkbook and register. “Tell me—how many other boys’ parents have contributed to your sister’s…scholarship fund?”

She stormed to her feet, the very picture of affronted virtuous femininity. “No one has contributed anything!”

“Then they’ve got stronger nerves than I do. So you’ve got a break here. How much?”

Her mouth opened and closed. Chase supposed she hadn’t been ready for him to capitulate so quickly.

“Are you trying to bribe me into giving my consent to their marriage?” she asked.

“Consent?” He gave a crack of laughter. “Cut the act, sweetheart. I’m offering to buy you off, and you know it.” His pen hovered over the checkbook. “Let’s see…private school, I don’t think so. Courtney looks like a junior college girl to me.”

“Wait a minute—”

Chase dropped his smile. “This is a ‘take-it-or-leave-it’ offer.”

“Suppose you explain exactly what I might be taking or leaving.”

He finished scrawling on the check, ripped it out and tossed it across the desk. “You and your sister take your hooks out of Jeff and throw him back into the pond. There are bigger fish out there.”

“I suppose that’s your clumsy way of saying that you don’t want Jeff to marry my sister and it’s worth—” She picked up the check and stared incredulously. “Ten thousand dollars? Are you kidding?”

“More money than you’ve ever seen in one place, right sweetheart?”

“Oh, please. This is your brother—”

“Stepbrother. And a former one at that.”

“Still—shouldn’t there be another zero?”

“That’s all you’re getting.”

She tossed the check back at him. “This may be all Jeff’s future is worth to you, but I’ll have you know that my sister is worth a heck of a lot more than ten grand. Besides, I’m really concerned about how out of date you are with college tuition costs.”

“News flash—that sister of yours isn’t exactly baccalaureate material. The only degree she’s after is her MRS.”

“What time warp did you beam through? Comments like that are politically incorrect now.”

He gazed up at her. “Actually, I was paying her a compliment. What I felt like saying was that your sister has mistress written all over her. She’s going to be some rich, old man’s plaything. At best, she’ll be a trophy wife.”

BROOKE’S KNEES gave out and she sank deep into the chair.

Who did he think he was? More importantly, who did he think she was?

He leaned forward and slid the check toward her. “Your sister’s not bad looking. Use this and fix her up a little. Buy her some nice clothes, a good haircut, maybe a nose job—but get her the hell away from my stepbrother.”

A hot fury burned away the desensitizing layers of composure Brooke had grafted onto her emotions. It had the effect of exposing all her feelings to an intensity she hadn’t experienced for years.

Everything was…more. The afternoon sun coming through the window was brighter. The air from the heating vent was dryer, the breath mint she’d eaten before coming in here was mintier.

Chase’s shirt was crisper, his jaw sharper, his eyes colder.

And the dimple in his chin was deeper.

It looked old-fashioned—kind of forties Hollywood. She hadn’t noticed many men with clefts in their chins these days.

But this wasn’t about the cleft in his chin, or his jaw, either, or her pride. This was about…about…

Yes, it was, too, about pride, damn it!

He, this jerk, this old-fashioned male chauvinist pig, thought that Courtney wasn’t good enough for his brother. He didn’t care that two young people were making a major life decision based on their hormones. His only objection was that Courtney wasn’t good enough or classy enough for his—for Jeff.

Brooke was furious and it hurt to breathe. She couldn’t draw enough air into her lungs anyway.

“Courtney is worth ten of Jeff! Marriage to her would be the best thing that could happen to him. He might even grow up.”

Slowly, Chase rose and leaned over the desk, propping himself on his fists. “He doesn’t need to grow up that way. Right now, he’s still young enough to believe in hearts and flowers and getting tickets to the prom. He doesn’t need to know that there are women out there only interested in him for his money.”

“What money? He had to borrow a few dollars from Courtney to pay for pizza the other night. I know, because she had to borrow the money from me.”

“I’m not talking chump change, and you know it.”

Actually, pizza was more than chump change to someone who was watching every penny. That had blown Brooke’s lunch budget and she’d had to brown bag it twice to get back on track.

“You’ve seen the kind of car Jeff drives,” he continued.

“The ten-year-old Honda?”

Chase flushed. “That’s my car. It runs great. Jeff’s is the silver Porsche. His mother gave it to him.”

“Then what are you doing driving it?”

“His grades weren’t up to par the past six weeks and that’s the deal. He maintains a B average, or we switch cars.”

“Oh.” What a great incentive. How could this jerk have thought of it?

Unless he wanted Jeff to blow off his grades so he could drive the Porsche. But as much as she wanted to believe that, especially after his next comment, she didn’t.

He eyed her. “You’re not trying to tell me you didn’t know he’s sitting on a nice little trust fund.”

“Not until you just told me. And it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.”

“Tell me another one.”

“Jeff doesn’t look like a trust fund kid.”

“He hasn’t been one for all that long,” Chase grudgingly conceded.

Their eyes met. Brooke’s anger had unaccountably cooled and as it did so, she found herself replaying their argument. He must have been doing the same because at that moment, his eyebrows drew together and he echoed her thoughts. “Let me get this straight—you’re against them getting married?”

“If it means Courtney giving up college, you better believe it.”

“Oh.” He straightened, his forehead still creased as he looked down at her. “Then that means—”

“We’re on the same side,” Brooke finished.