Читать книгу Challenging Matt - Julianna Morris, Julianna Morris - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

ON SATURDAY EVENING Layne smoothed the front of her dress as she regarded herself in the mirror. Her aunt had just finished doing her hair for her, twisting both sides and fastening it with enameled combs that matched the green silk of Layne’s evening dress.

Still peering at her reflection, Layne turned sideways and sighed. Thin ribbon straps crisscrossed over her shoulders, holding her dress up, and the thing sort of swirled to her waist, and then to her feet. But nothing, not even a clever bra, could give her a respectable silhouette.

“I didn’t want to buy something new that I’d never use again, but I don’t want to be a laughingstock. Do you really think no one will guess this started life as a bridesmaid’s dress?” she asked her aunt.

“Honestly, it’s fine without the cape over the shoulders,” Aunt Dee replied. “And naturally that bow had to go.”

“Yeah, that looked stupid on me. I’ll never forgive Carla for making me wear it. You’d think she’d be nicer to her own cousin.”

She twisted, trying to see the back of the dress. Aunt Dee had removed the girlish bow and created a slim belt to cover any evidence of its removal, saying it would make the “lines” of the gown more classic. Since her aunt was an artist with exquisite taste, Layne would have to take her word for it. She didn’t object to wearing pretty clothes every now and then, but too much froufrou made her resemble an over-decorated birthday cake.

Leaning forward, she checked the light makeup her aunt had applied—just a few touches to her lashes and eyelids, along with lipstick. “And you’re sure I don’t need any other makeup?”

“Not with your complexion.”

Layne collected the matching purse that came with the dress. “Then we’d better get going. I’ll never look as good as you, anyway.”

“Nonsense. You’re lovely.” Her aunt smoothed a hand over her midnight velvet gown. It was high at the neck, with crisscross straps down the back that made it look classily provocative. “I haven’t worn an evening gown in ages.”

“It’s for a good cause.”

They walked out to the car and Layne patted the roof of her classic 1966 Mustang. Much to her parents’ displeasure, her aunt and uncle had given it to her as a high school graduation present. The light turquoise color wasn’t original, but it suited Layne. The Mustang had been Uncle Will’s first car and they’d carefully restored it for her, including the installation of the latest modern seat belts with shoulder straps—they’d been indulgent, not reckless.

She drove downtown to the fancy hotel where the gala was being held. Inside she produced her invitation and they were motioned into the ballroom. Layne wrinkled her nose at the assembly; big, glitzy parties with “the beautiful people” were way out of her comfort zone. Nevertheless, she circulated with Aunt Dee around the room, keeping watch for Matthew Hollister.

It was an hour before they saw him. She nudged Aunt Dee. “There he is.”

“Surrounded by women.”

“Maybe that’s why he never got married. I mean, who’d want to deal with that every day?”

Dee didn’t reply as they maneuvered closer. They’d almost succeeded in getting within speaking distance when Matt noticed Layne and his expression froze. He drifted farther away, and they spent the next twenty minutes trying to get near, while he kept finding ways to shift himself away from them.

She looked at her aunt, expecting to see frustration, but something very different was smoldering in Dee’s eyes. She rarely got angry, but now she was furious. “He really thinks he’s important, doesn’t he?” she muttered.

Layne eyed Matt, tall and elegant in his suit, surrounded by his harem of adoring women. He actually appeared dignified, a major feat for a man who was famous for a bare-chested photo in a hot tub, tipping a champagne flute to the camera.

“I suppose it’s a question of perspective. He’s rich, his mother is from one of the oldest families in Seattle and he’s famous in more ways than one. In his world, he is important.”

“Well, I’ve had enough,” Dee said abruptly, but instead of turning for the exit, she thrust her glass into Layne’s hand and determinedly marched toward Matt Hollister.

Uh-oh. Layne quickly calculated how much wine her aunt had actually consumed, and realized it was quite a lot. Dorothy Hudson did not hold her liquor well.

“Layne, you made it.”

Harried, she realized it was Noah Wilkie. “Yeah. Hi, Noah.” She put the two glasses she held onto a waiter’s passing tray. “Hate to run, but I need to...” She gestured vaguely as she hurried toward her aunt.

“And what are you going to do about it?” Dee was demanding as Layne reached her.

Matt smiled charmingly, though when he saw Layne, his eyes began to glitter. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hudson, I don’t know what you’re talking about. And this is hardly the setting for a business discussion.”

“It’s as good a place as any.”

“Aunt Dee, please. Not here, and not this way,” Layne said a low, urgent tone. While the admiring crowd had faded away at the prospect of an emotional scene, Noah had followed and he was watching the confrontation with a curious expression.

“Aunt Dee?” Matt repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, I should have told you. I was going to, but then you weren’t...uh....”

“I remember,” he said grimly.

“Peter Davidson is your stepfather and you worked at the company,” Dee announced. “You must be able to tell me more.”

“Aunt Dee, Noah Wilkie is here,” Layne told her urgently. “Remember what I told you about Noah? He works at the—”

“I’m entitled to information, Layne. I’m tired of being put off, with one excuse after another.”

Noah had obviously perked up his ears and Layne grimaced. Terrific. Aunt Dee was running her mouth off in front of the biggest gossip in Seattle. Even if he didn’t write about the incident, he was bound to mention it to someone at the magazine. It was part of the reason she’d wanted to attend the gala with her aunt, instead of Noah.

“Layne, Aunt Dorothy, I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” exclaimed a familiar voice.

It was Layne’s sister, Jeannette, looking flawless from the top of her blond head to the tip of her Prada shoes. Her gown wasn’t a recycled bridesmaid’s dress; it was probably a designer outfit that had cost a fortune. She could afford it as a fast-rising pharmaceutical executive. As for the shoes, Layne only knew they were Prada because Jeannette never wore anything else.

“Hi, Jeannette. I didn’t know you were coming, either.” She should have guessed, though. It was the sort of high-toned party Jeannie attended all the time.

“Oh, yes, the mayor invited me. My company is a major contributor to his favorite charity.” Jeannette turned and gave Matt a dazzling smile. “Matthew Hollister, right? I’m Jeannette McGraw, senior vice president of the Wilcox Pharmaceutical research division. It’s so nice to meet you.”

Layne glanced at Matt Hollister, seeing without surprise that he no longer appeared annoyed. Men were usually overwhelmed when they met one of her older sisters—Jeannette and Stephanie were extraordinarily beautiful and successful. So maybe it was a good thing Jeannie had shown up and provided a distraction. Aunt Dee was looking puzzled, but calmer, while Noah appeared starstruck at the sight of so much womanly perfection.

“Would you like to have a drink with me, Mr. Hollister?” Jeannie asked.

“Delighted, but call me Matt.”

“And I’m Jeannette. I’m very interested in the business model you want to apply to the research on finding a cure for ALS. I’ve never heard of a nonprofit using that approach.” All at once she looked at Layne and Dee apologetically. “But how rude of me. You were speaking with my sister and aunt. We can have that drink later.”

Matt gave them a cool glance. “No need to wait—we’re done.”

Their voices faded as they walked away and Layne nudged a dazed Noah with her elbow. “You’re married, remember?”

He dragged his attention away from Jeannie’s shapely backside. “What...that’s ridiculous. I’m crazy about my wife.”

“Good. Jeannie has broken more hearts than I can count. All she needs to do is smile and they shatter.”

“Is she really your sister? You don’t look at all alike.”

“Yeah, she really is.” Layne was resigned to the question. She took after her father’s maternal grandmother. If she hadn’t looked so much like Great-Grandmother Harriet, she might have suspected she was adopted, or that she’d been sent home from the hospital with the wrong family. There was no justice to being the little sister in more ways than one—both Jeannette and Stephanie topped her by at least five inches. Her mom, too.

Oh, well.

She mentally shrugged; it could have been worse—she could have looked like Great Grandmother Petra.

“Come on, Aunt Dee,” she said. “Let’s go home and have hot chocolate and some of the biscotti you baked yesterday.”

Dee spared a single glance in the direction Matt had disappeared with her other niece. She looked deflated and embarrassed. “All right.”

Layne hurried her out, hoping Noah would be so consumed with the memory of Jeannie’s flawless femininity, he wouldn’t remember the interesting bit of dialogue that had come his way. After all, even though Matt Hollister didn’t seem bothered by press coverage, she knew the rest of the Eisley family abhorred being in the news for anything except ribbon cuttings and Eisley Foundation success stories.