Читать книгу A Precious Inheritance - Paula Roe - Страница 14

Four

The next few days passed with Vanessa occupied with her job and its familiar dramas—runny noses, sticky hands, finger painting and Bob the Builder. At night she fed, washed and cuddled Erin and Heather, steadfastly refusing to read more into Saturday night than what it was: a way to apologize for his bad behavior.

“A date?” Stella, Bright Stars’s office manager and Vanessa’s friend, had excitedly exclaimed when Vanessa finally owned up to it. “Who with? Not Juan?”

Their UPS guy? “No!” Vanessa had laughingly replied.

“One of the fathers, then. Alec Stein.” Stella clicked a button on the computer and the printer whirred into action.

“He’s happily married with three kids!”

“Tony Brassel?”

Vanessa shook her head. “Old enough to be my father.”

“Not for some of us,” Stella huffed, crossing her arms across her generous bosom. “John Bucholtz?”

“No. Look, it’s not anyone we know, all right? He’s from New York.”

“Is he rich?”

Oh, yeah. “I didn’t ask to see his bank balance, Stell.”

“Huh.” Stella turned back to the printer and bundled up the papers in the tray. Her tight black spiral curls bounced around her face, emphasizing her smooth caffe latte complexion. “Make sure you wear something nice.”

Something nice.

Hours later, after she’d put the girls to bed, she stood in front of her open wardrobe and sighed at the meager selection. Jeans, jeans, pants, jacket, shirt, shirt, shirt…

Reluctantly, her gaze made its way to the back, where a dozen sealed clothing bags hung on sturdy wooden hangers.

Dresses from another world. A world she’d decided never to set foot in again. A world that no longer held any attraction or relevance, not when she had babies to look after and her days were filled with a real job that involved real people. People who entrusted their babies to her.

She reached out, drew a finger across one hanger. It had been awkward, stepping back into the role of rich socialite in New York. Like putting on an ill-fitting outfit, something that wasn’t designed for her height, weight or coloring, then walking down Fifth Avenue and feeling millions of eyes staring at her. Did she really want to do it again?

But…

Her finger settled on the zipper and toyed with it. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit that sometimes she missed wearing a pretty dress and high heels. There wasn’t much opportunity for dressing up these days. She hadn’t had anything resembling a date since before the girls were born.

Her mouth thinned. Even before then: Dylan was not a man who’d enjoyed going out in public.

She gently shook her head, scattering those thoughts. It wasn’t a date: Saturday night was her opportunity to convince Chase to sell that manuscript to her. An opportunity to use all the charm and social skills her parents had paid for. Her purpose as the daughter of Allen and Marissa Partridge had been to sway would-be clients to her parents’ practice, charm their colleagues, various political cronies, D.A.s and judges alike.

What was one more?

Ignoring a small tug of uneasiness, she pulled down the zipper with a determined swipe then yanked the cover off.

The Valentino gown sparkled under the light, the bodice of the striking tangerine halter-neck dress shot with silver thread immediately drawing the eye. She turned, pressed it up against her chest and stared at her reflection in the wardrobe door.

Orange generally clashed with red hair, but this particular shade didn’t. If anything, it picked up on her titian highlights and brought out the porcelain paleness of her skin. Her mother’s skin and hair.

She turned one way, then another. Right. Silver shoes, hoop earrings. A diamanté clutch.

She ran her eyes critically over the long pleated skirt, across the asymmetrical hem. When she finally met her gaze in the mirror, she was surprised to see a smile reflected back.

“It probably won’t fit,” she said aloud then paused to frown. A few seconds passed, then, “Well, let’s just see, shall we?”

* * *

The doorbell on Saturday night caught Vanessa on the tail end of her makeup ritual.

“Hmm…early. A sure sign he’s eager to see you, sugar,” Stella said as she bounced Erin in her ample arms.

Vanessa stuck her head out of the bathroom to glare at her friend. “It’s ten minutes, Stell.”

“Still, it’s interesting.” She cooed at Heather who was on her mother’s bed, making her way over to the long strand of pearls Vanessa had left on the edge. In one quick movement, Stella scooped them up and put them on the dresser, replacing the necklace with a Winnie-the-Pooh rattle.

“Goo!” Heather grabbed the rattle and gave it a healthy shake. Vanessa grinned.

“Can you go and let him in? I’ve got this one here.”

While Stella went to the door with Erin, Vanessa scooped up Heather, breathing in her newly washed baby scent all wrapped up in a pink onesie.

With one last look in the bathroom mirror to analyze her makeup and hair, she gave a final nod and walked out.

“Mr. Chase Harrington awaits you in the parlor, Lady Partridge,” Stella announced from the bedroom door. As she took a step inside, her face creased into a comical display, lips forming a silent, theatrical, “Oh my God!”

Vanessa huffed back a laugh. “Calm yourself down,” she whispered, before giving her friend a gentle nudge as she walked out.

He was back in the living room again, same stance, same commanding presence. But this time she glimpsed a flash of blue silk tie and black suit beneath that luxurious coat.

“Vanessa.” Her name rolled off his tongue like something naughty, sending a flush rushing up to her cheeks.

“Chase,” she replied, shifting Heather onto her hip as she replied to his smile with one of her own. Oh my God, indeed, Stell. He was a stunning specimen. Hard to believe he’d had no date for tonight.

“And who’s this?” He stepped forward and it took all of Vanessa’s composure not to reel back.

“Heather. Meet Chase Harrington.”

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Partridge.” He smiled and held out his hand and Heather silently studied it, then him, for a few moments.

That’s right, honey, you keep your eye on him.

Finally her chubby face broke out in a smile and she thrust out the rattle.

“Why, thank you.” As Chase accepted the offering with a grin, Vanessa felt her breath catch. The genuine smile, the unthreatening distance and the way he bent down to her level…this guy was not only familiar with kids, he actually liked them.

To say it threw her was an understatement.

“You look beautiful.” Startled, she met his gaze and realized he was talking to her. “Don’t you think your mama looks beautiful, Heather?”

“Boo!” Heather replied obligingly then held out her hand for the rattle.

Chase promptly returned it with a chuckle. “Ready to go?”

“Sure.” Vanessa glanced back down the hall, to Stella, who had witnessed the entire exchange with a goofy grin.

“Erin’s in bed already,” Stella said as Vanessa handed Heather over with a kiss.

“I’ll just be a moment,” Vanessa said over her shoulder before walking swiftly into the girls’ room.

“Mmm-mmm, that man is deeelicious!” Stella huffed under her breath, her brown eyes sparkling as she laid the baby down in her crib. “You see the way he was with Heather?”

Vanessa made an affirmative “hmm” as she stroked Erin’s cheek, then leaned in to kiss her. “Make sure you put on the night-light. And Heather’s still fussy about her pacifier.”

“I know the drill, missy. You just go and have yourself a good time.”

“It’s not a date, Stell.”

When she straightened, Stella was studying her, hands on her wide hips. “You’re both dressed up, yeah? He’s picking you up and you’re going someplace with food and alcohol? Sugar, that is a date.” She tipped her head for emphasis.

“It’s not—”

“Date.”

“We’re not—”

“Date.”

Vanessa gave up. “Okay. Date.” She pulled the blanket up over Erin then reluctantly made her way to the door.

Stella’s brows went up. “They’re fine with Auntie Stella at work, they’ll be fine tonight. Now, go.”

And with a not-so-gentle pat on the rump, Vanessa was dismissed.

With a deep breath, Vanessa emerged from the bedroom and grabbed her coat from the hook near the front door.

“Ready?” she said to Chase a little too brightly.

He nodded and held out his arm. When she took it, she swallowed the sudden urge to yank her hand straight back.

It was like touching iron draped in cashmere. Delicious and forbidden, something she wasn’t entirely sure she could handle. Or needed.

Yet there was nothing to indicate he’d felt it too, not when he smiled at her, nor when he led her out her front door and down the stairs with Stella calling, “Have fun, children!” from the top.

Not even when he chivalrously opened the passenger door on his shiny silver Audi for her.

Chase finally broke the silence a few minutes into the drive.

“Nervous about tonight?”

“No,” she answered way too quickly. His sharp glance had her adding, “It’s only my second night out since the girls were born.”

“Really?”

“Well, there was New York. And I don’t count last year’s Christmas party because I was home by seven.”

“So you haven’t been out for…”

“Eighteen months.” He slanted another look at her, one she couldn’t quite read. “What?”

“Hard to believe.”

“Not really. I have two babies and that tends to put off a lot of guys.”

“A lot of guys are idiots.”

She nodded slowly. “Some are.”

Then they lapsed into silence for the remainder of the trip.

As they drove down Pennsylvania Avenue, the gentle flutter in Vanessa’s stomach had morphed into a serious case of butterflies.

There was no guarantee she’d actually see any familiar faces. And even if she did, it wasn’t as if she was scared or anything. But her father had demanded her presence in his world and she’d done that for years, so her sudden disappearance must have raised some eyebrows.

I wonder what they told people.

She glanced over at Chase, his shadowy profile completely focused on the road.

Honestly, what’s the worst that could happen? She’d put on her game face and be Vanessa the Socialite, Chase’s polished arm decoration for a few hours. Maybe she’d bump into an acquaintance or two and have to charm her way around the questions. Either way, she’d been doing this since she was eleven, so it wasn’t as if it was difficult.

Second nature. Easy as pie.

And she’d also have time to work her charm on Chase Harrington, although exactly how she’d get him to change his mind was a bit of a mystery at the moment. Despite her lack of planning, she wasn’t about to give up on that manuscript just yet.

She rolled her neck gently, feeling the familiar pull of shoulder and back muscles stretch and pop into position as Chase drove into the parking garage.

Game on.

* * *

She was a vision of aristocratic beauty and poise, Chase thought as they mounted the steps to the impressively lit Jefferson building. She’d done her hair into some kind of Elizabeth Tayloresque updo, the sleek style and halter neck emphasizing her bare shoulders. Her smooth, pale skin glowed, a welcome change from the endless array of tanned bodies. Her only jewelry was a pair of simple silver hoop earrings, and the understatement made her dress—a swirly orange confection—an eye-catcher.

They were nearly at the top of the second flight when her gaze met his and she gave him a small smile.

A smile that somehow made his blood beat a little faster.

And then, something happened. As they took the final stairs and light, warmth and sound hit, her entire demeanor changed.

It was like a curtain coming down: one instant she’d been smiling at him, the next, every single muscle had tightened, pulled taut into a facade of sickeningly familiar aloofness. When he blinked it had spread to her whole body, from her straightened shoulders to her tilted chin and firm posture.

The Perfect look. The superior, I-am-so-much-better-than-you sheen that made him stiffen in involuntary disgust.

He’d had a moment of uncharacteristic conscience-wrestling during the drive over, debating whether to confess he’d deliberately asked her out knowing a bunch of people from her former life would be here. But then he’d shrugged it off. She’d said yes, right? She was a smart girl: the thought must’ve occurred to her too.