Читать книгу Falling For Gracie - Susan Mallery, Susan Mallery - Страница 10
ОглавлениеGRACIE WALKED INTO Bill’s Mexican Grill promptly at noon only to find her friend Jill already seated and waving her in.
“You’re always early,” Gracie said as she approached.
Jill stood and hugged her. “I know. It’s a disease. I’m thinking I need a twelve-step program.”
Gracie stepped back from her friend and looked her over. “Very fabulous,” she said. “Would I recognize the designer?”
Jill wiggled her hips as she turned in a slow circle, modeling her tailored shirt and trim pinstripe slacks before she took her seat.
“Armani. I’m still working through my big-city lawyer clothes. Tina, my assistant, keeps ragging on me about dressing too fancy for Los Lobos, but if I don’t wear them to work, where will I?”
Gracie sat next to Jill and fingered the sleeve of her silk blouse. “I’m guessing not for cleaning the bathroom.”
“Exactly.” Jill leaned forward and grinned. “I’m so happy to see you. It’s been ages. What? Five months?”
“Just about. We were last together at your wedding up in Carmel, where I have to say you were far more interested in the groom than in me. This despite the fact that I made you a pretty fabulous cake. What is up with that? I’m your oldest and dearest friend. He’s just some guy.”
Jill laughed. “You’re right. He’s some guy. Some great, amazing, hunky—”
She broke off when the waitress approached to take their drink orders. Gracie asked for diet soda while Jill chose iced tea.
Her friend had changed, Gracie thought. In the past few years Jill had been on the legal fast track at a huge law firm in San Francisco. She’d worn stiff suits, worked impossible hours and had tamed her fabulous curly hair into a sleek, painful bun at the nape of her neck. Now she looked... Gracie smiled. Soft. All feminine and comfortable in her skin. Long cascades of curls tumbled down Jill’s back. The shadows were gone from under her eyes and she seemed to glow.
“You like married life,” Gracie said.
“I love it. Mac is amazing. I was a little nervous about being a stepmother, but Emily is wonderful and very patient with my mistakes. My only regret is that we have to share her with her real mom. I wouldn’t mind having her around all the time.”
“Wow. That’s so cool.”
“It’s just how I feel. I adore them both.”
Gracie grabbed Jill’s left hand and studied the diamond ring guards surrounding an impressive solitaire.
“I like a man who isn’t intimidated by a good-sized rock,” Gracie said with a grin.
“Mac knows how to do it right,” Jill admitted. “In many ways.”
Gracie held up both hands. “If you’re going to talk about sex, I’m not listening. I can be blissfully happy for your newly married self, your great husband and perfect stepchild. I won’t even begrudge you a dog, but I draw the line at sex.”
Jill patted her hand. “Because you’re not getting any?”
“Exactly. David and I broke up three months ago and I haven’t been inspired to start the whole dating nightmare again.”
The waitress returned with their drinks and chips and salsa, then asked if they were ready to order.
“What’s good?” Gracie asked.
“They make a delicious taco salad,” Jill said.
“Works for me.” She had her antacids in her purse for the inevitable attack later.
“Make it two,” Jill told the waitress. “Thanks.” She turned back to her friend. “I thought you really liked David. What happened?”
“I don’t know. Nothing. Everything. He was great, but...” She sighed. “I want sparks. Is that so horrible? Not an actual fire event but a few singes would be nice. I want to be excited when I know I’m going to see the guy I’m with. I want to use words like amazing and heart-stopping, not nice or very pleasant. David was very pleasant. We got along. We never fought. We never...anything. How can I get serious about a guy when I barely notice if he’s there or not?”
“Despite your earlier attachment to a man we will not name, you’re not a drama queen,” Jill said.
“Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I’m so concerned about reverting to stalker girl that I’m not letting myself care about anyone.” She picked up her drink. “I could be a drama queen if I wanted.”
Jill smiled. “Sure you could.”
The idea had appeal, except Gracie knew that she actually preferred order in her world. Surprises were all good for presents, but in the rest of her life, she liked predictability. Which might explain a long series of really dull guys.
Besides... “I think Vivian got all the drama queen genes in our family. She and Tom had a huge fight yesterday over the bachelor party and she was threatening to call off the wedding.”
Jill’s eyes widened. “Do you think she will?”
“I haven’t a clue. But if she does, I’m going to be very cranky about coming up here and renting a house for six weeks. I have orders lining up like crazy.”
“I thought you would have stayed with your mom,” Jill said. “Couldn’t you use her oven?”
“It’s not just the oven. It’s the refrigerator and freezer, not to mention an entire dining room table for decorating and most of the cupboards for my supplies. Plus I like to stay up late and work. The cake part is easy—it’s the individual decorations that take forever.”
What she didn’t mention was how uncomfortable she felt in her mother’s house. She hadn’t lived there in so long, it had ceased to be home. She was trying to fit in and not doing a very good job of it so far.
“Is it weird to be back?” Jill asked.
“Yes and no. I feel different, but no one sees me that way. I’m still Gracie Landon—in love with Riley Whitefield.”
Jill picked up her iced tea. “You know he’s in town.”
Gracie narrowed her gaze. “Don’t you start in on me. I’ve already heard that from my mother’s neighbor, my landlord, the clerk at the grocery store and some woman on the street whom I don’t remember at all. It’s more than scary—it’s a Twilight Zone moment.”
“It’s the articles in the newspaper,” Jill said. “Even people who’d never met you felt they were a part of the romance.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Have you seen him?”
Gracie hesitated. She didn’t know how to say she had without spilling Alexis’s private business.
“You have!” Jill leaned forward. “I want to know everything. Start at the beginning and talk slowly.”
Gracie sighed and picked up a chip. She turned it over then bit into it. “You can’t say anything,” she told her friend when she’d chewed and swallowed. “I was checking out something for Alexis and no, I can’t tell you what.”
“So you ran into him at the store or something?”
“Not exactly. I was sort of lurking around his house.”
Jill’s brown eyes widened. “You have to be kidding. You were spying on him?”
“No. I was spying on someone else. But he caught me and it was horrible and awkward and I think he’s going to be getting a restraining order against me.”
Jill grabbed a chip. “What did you think? Isn’t he still amazing looking?”
“Oh, yeah. Dark, brooding, dangerous.”
“Sexy,” Jill added. “I love the earring. I tried to talk Mac into getting one, but he’s pretty much ignoring me on that.”
“I’ll admit the earring is appealing.”
“And his butt. The man has a fabulous butt.”
“I didn’t get a chance to check it out, but I’ll put it on my to-do list.”
Jill threw the chip across the table. “Oh, please. Don’t get all superior with me. We’re talking about Riley. I refuse to believe you can stand in the same room as him and not feel something.”
“I felt humiliation and a burning desire to be somewhere else.”
“That’s not what I mean. Come on, Gracie. There had to be some attraction between you.”
No way she would admit to that, Gracie thought. Too dangerous with the potential to make her look far too foolish. Plus it would be all one-sided. “He’s firmly in my past where he will stay. Do you think I’m proud of what I did to him? I hate that everyone remembers it and talks about it. The last thing I’m willing to do is fuel the fire. What’s he doing here, anyway? And running for mayor? What’s up with that?”
Jill straightened. “I can only discuss things that are public knowledge.”
Gracie stared at her friend. She was careful to keep her lips pressed together so her mouth didn’t hang open, but she was pretty sure her eyes had bugged out.
“You’re his lawyer?”
“I’m handling some things for him.”
Gracie didn’t know what to say. “How long will he be in town?”
“That depends.”
“You’re not being the least bit helpful.” Gracie took a sip of her drink. “Do you know why he’s running for mayor?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to tell me?”
“No.”
“You’re not very much fun, you know that?”
Jill grabbed a chip. “I know. I just can’t.” Her expression turned wicked. “But if you see him the next time you’re spying at his house, you could ask him yourself.”
“Not even for money. I don’t want to have anything to do with Riley ever again. The humiliation would be too great.”
“Fair enough. As long as you’re sure he’s not the one.”
Gracie looked at her and laughed. “If he’s the one, I’m converting to Catholicism and taking my vows.”
* * *
FRANKLIN YARDLEY LIKED WATCHES. He had an impressive collection he stored in a custom-made drawer in his dresser. Every morning after picking out a suit and tie, he carefully chose the watch he would wear for the day. Omegas were his favorite, but he had three Rolexes because everyone expected a man in his position to wear one.
“It’s all about perception,” he reminded himself as he glanced down at the Omega partially concealed by the cuff of his monogrammed cotton shirt.
Still, he wasn’t interested in a watch for himself today. He turned the page of the jewelry store catalogue and paused when he saw the display of ladies’ watches. No, he was shopping for a very special someone.
A simple but elegant Movado caught his eye.
“Perfect.”
It was fancy enough to impress the lady in question, but not so flashy as to call attention to itself.
He made a note of the jewelry store and then checked his calendar. He would need a day or so to get the twelve hundred dollars he would need to buy the watch. It wasn’t as if he could put it on his credit card. Sandra, his wife, might never have worked a day in her life, but she kept track of every single penny. Somehow he’d assumed the daughter of a self-made millionaire wouldn’t care about things like budgets and spending, but Sandra did. She believed that since the wealth in their marriage came from her, she had the only say on how it was spent.
Still, after twenty-eight years of marriage, Frank had made his peace with her tight purse strings and had figured out more than one way around them.
She often commented on his nice things, the ones she hadn’t bought for him, but he never explained, not even when she told him to his face she didn’t trust him. He didn’t particularly care what she thought—she would never leave and she looked good at parties. It was more than enough.
Frank slipped the catalogue into his leather Tumi briefcase, then unlocked the desk’s bottom drawer. Under the city seal and several other important documents was the checkbook for the account especially set aside for the mayor’s discretionary funds. Frank liked to think of it as his private play money. He tucked the checkbook next to the catalogue and pushed the buzzer that would summon his assistant.
The door to his private office opened and Holly walked in. Tall, blond, raised in San Diego and all of twenty-four, she had the perfect pretty looks of a third-generation surfing family. But behind those big blue eyes and high cheekbones was a brain of extraordinary sharpness.
“I have the figures you requested,” she said as she put a folder on his desk.
Hers was the figure that interested him the most. He imagined how pleased she would be when he gave her the watch later this week.
“It’s not good,” she added. “Riley Whitefield is gaining in the polls. People are starting to listen to his message.” She frowned slightly, drawing her perfect eyebrows together. “They’re saying we should discuss the issues more. I think you should give a few more speeches.”
He adored everything about her. The way she talked, the way she worried, the way she said “we” as if they were a team.
“What issues do you consider most relevant?” he asked.
Delight widened her eyes. “You really want my opinion?”
“Of course. You’re my connection with the good citizens of Los Lobos. They’ll tell you things they would never tell me.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. I guess being the mayor sort of separates you from everyone.”
“Why don’t you close the door and we’ll brainstorm some topics,” he suggested.
She did as he requested, then took the seat across from his. “Taxes are always an issue,” she said. “But there aren’t any bond measures on the ballot.”
“What’s Whitefield discussing?” he asked.
“Zoning, more money for schools, ways to bring tourists to town in the winter.”
“I’m not sure I want more tourists around,” Frank said.
Holly nodded. “They’re a pain, but they dump lots of money into the economy.”
“Sounds like we have our work cut out for us.” Frank paused as if considering something, even though he’d long since made up his mind. “I don’t suppose...” he began.
Holly leaned forward, her expression eager, her firm, young breasts swaying gently under her blouse.
“I was thinking you’d like to draft a couple of speeches for me.”
She sprang to her feet and stared at him. “Are you serious? You’d let me do that?”
“I think you’d do a terrific job. You’re bright, talented, ambitious. Are you interested?”
She laughed. “Absolutely. I could have two drafts to you by the end of the week. Is that soon enough?”
“Of course.” Even better, he had a feeling her “drafts” would be word perfect. He rose. “Thank you, Holly. This means a lot to me.”
“I’m really excited by the opportunity.”
“I’m the one who’s excited. I’m taking advantage of you. You’re the kind of woman who makes a man go far.”
Her smile turned knowing as she walked toward him. When she was only a few inches away, she reached for the waistband of her skirt.
“You’re the kind of man who makes a woman want to do almost anything.”
Her skirt dropped to the floor. Unable to tear his gaze away, he gave silent thanks.
She wasn’t wearing any panties.
* * *
GRACIE TURNED THE CAKE onto the cooling rack and expertly tapped the bottom with just enough force to let everyone know who was in charge. A challenge, considering the moody, temperamental oven she had to work with. One of the joys of renting. She counted to five, tapped again, then lifted in one clean motion that left no room for second chances.
The pan slid off perfectly, leaving the golden cake resting on the rack.
“I love it when a plan comes together,” she said with a grin as she studied the multiple cooling layers that would make up a simple but elegant bridal shower cake.
Her exposure in People magazine, not to mention a couple of raves in the wedding issue of InStyle had turned her small cake business into a growing concern. For reasons not clear to her, celebrities now considered her a “must have” for their weddings and sometimes their showers. Sort of like wearing a Vera Wang original.
“I’m not about to complain,” she said happily as she crossed to the refrigerator where she’d carefully stacked all the fleurs-de-lis she’d made in advance of decorating the cake. All three hundred and fifty. She would actually need about three hundred and thirty—the rest were for breakage.
The design—an elegant creation in white and gold—was a replica of a cake featured in a Renaissance painting. The bride-to-be, a popular actress with a career of movies on Masterpiece Theater, loved all things old. Gracie loved the challenge of something other than flowers, doves and hearts.
She walked to the counter, prepared to make yet more decorations in advance of assembling the cake, when her cell phone rang. For a second her heart fluttered, as if anticipating some wondrous event. The problem was, no one that exciting would be calling.
Oh. Yeah. Riley.
A quick glance at the display of her cell phone told her the caller was her mother, or at least someone at the hardware store.
Heartbeat quickly slowing to normal, she pushed the talk button.
“This is Gracie,” she said.
“Hi. It’s your mother. I’m confirming the meeting about the wedding. You’ll be there, right? There’s so much work to do to get things ready for Vivian’s special day. I’m hoping you’ll have some great ideas, what with all your wedding experience.”
Gracie still felt the aftereffects of the previous evening when she’d been reprimanded by Alexis and left feeling more like an outsider than ever.
“Is the wedding still on?” she asked. “Vivian seemed pretty upset.”
Her mother sighed. “Oh, this happens about once a week. She’s flighty and impulsive, which isn’t a good combination. But marriage will settle her down.”
Gracie was of the opinion one should be settled before getting married, but that was just her.
“Sure. I’ll be there. Should I bring anything?”
“Just your patience. You’re going to need it.” Her mother named the time and place, then excused herself to get back to customers at the store.
Gracie hung up and set the phone back on the counter. She’d been worried about coming home for a lot of reasons she hadn’t been able to articulate. Now that she was here, she could easily list them, explain them, even file them by category.
There was Riley—not just that the town hadn’t forgotten, which it hadn’t, but also her reaction to him. One would think that half a lifetime away from him would reduce his appeal, but one would be wrong. Second, her relationship with her family. She remembered a lot of screaming and fighting with her sisters, but also a lot of good times. Now Alexis and Vivian were strangers to her, but close to each other. She felt like the odd man out and she didn’t like it. Finally, there was her mother. She felt an awkwardness, a strain just under the surface, but she couldn’t explain why it had happened. Was it because she’d been gone for so long? Or was there something else she didn’t see?
She turned back to her cooling cake and wrinkled her nose. This was one of the few times she wished she did something else for a living. Something that didn’t give her too much time to think. What she needed was a distraction...a really big one.
* * *
RILEY SAT IN A leather chair that had been custom-made for his uncle. Donovan Whitefield had taken over the family bank on his thirty-fifth birthday and hadn’t missed a day until he’d died forty-two years later. He’d been stern and difficult, a man who didn’t take vacations, forgive mistakes or appreciate the foibles of others.
Or so he’d been told. Riley had never met his uncle. For nearly five years they’d lived in the same small town, but their paths had never crossed.
Riley turned in the chair and looked at the large portrait on the tall wall opposite the door. The office was stately and elegant, befitting a bank president, and the painting reflected all of that. Donovan Whitefield had been immortalized standing behind this very desk, staring out into the distance, as if the future beckoned.
Riley thought it was all a pile of shit. If he had his way, he would take the portrait down and burn it. But he couldn’t—not until he won the damn election and all this was his. Until then, he played the game, and that meant sharing office space with an old and crabby ghost.
There was a quick knock on his door, then the heavy carved wood swung open.
“Good morning, Mr. Whitefield,” his assistant said.
Riley shook his head. “I’ve told you it’s not necessary to knock. You are never going to find me doing anything secret or suspicious.”
Diane Evans, a sixty-something woman who had worked all her life, barely blinked.
“Of course, sir,” she said in a voice that told him she would continue to knock until the last minute of the last day of her employment.
Riley knew he wasn’t in a position to complain.
Diane was efficient, quiet and knew everything about running the bank. If it hadn’t been for her counsel, he would have floundered more than once. He might be able to sniff out oil in the middle of a typhoon in the South China Sea, but the world of financial institutions was new to him.
Diane had guided him through the past seven months without mussing a single strand of her short, graying hair.
“There was a call about the children’s wing of the hospital again,” she said evenly. Not by a flicker of a lash did she let on they’d had this conversation at least three times before and each time he’d not only refused to donate, but he’d instructed her not to mention it to him again.
He motioned for her to come in and take a seat on the far side of the desk. She moved quietly on her sensible shoes, then perched on the edge of the leather and wood chair, her back perfectly straight, her shoulders squared, her tweed suit covering her like an ugly coat of armor.
“You did promise to think about it, sir,” she said.
“Funny. My recollection is that I told you hell would freeze over before I gave them a penny to build the Donovan Whitefield memorial children’s wing.”
A pad of paper materialized in her hand, along with a pen. “Perhaps if I explained the needs of community again,” she began.
“Perhaps if you got off me about this,” he said.
She looked at him. Nothing about her serene expression changed. No eyebrow raised, no corner of her mouth turned down. Still he felt her disapproval all the way to his bones.
“It’s for children, Mr. Whitefield,” she said. “Local children who shouldn’t have to go into Los Angeles to get the care they need.”
He figured he owed her. She’d stayed late every time he’d asked, she’d saved his ass over and over and she’d never once thrown the memory of his grandfather in his face.
“I’ll think about it,” he said slowly. “On the condition you stop knocking and stop calling me Mr. Whitefield.”
Diane rose to her feet. “Very well...” She hesitated, then pressed her lips together before saying, “Riley. I’ll let the committee know you’re considering a donation. In the meantime I have those reports your requested and Mr. Bridges is here to see you.”
Despite the fact that the donation would cost him about fifteen million dollars if he did it, Riley still felt a measure of victory. Who knew he had it in him to negotiate with his secretary and win?
Zeke Bridges strolled in three minutes later. Tall, personable, with an air of trustworthiness about him that made you want to buy insurance from him, he’d been Riley’s first choice to run his campaign for mayor. Zeke wasn’t just well liked by most folks in the town, he had experience.
“The numbers are up,” Zeke said as he slumped into the chair Diane had vacated. “Way up. We’re gaining on Yardley every day. Those newspaper ads really made a difference. The old guy has to be running scared, which means we’re going to have to watch for some kind of counterplay, but I’ll keep on the polls so we’ll know if he starts to creep back up in the numbers.”
Riley grinned. “You’re polling people? Zeke, it’s Los Lobos and I’m running for mayor, not president.”
“Sure. Make fun of me. But the truth is campaigning is all about the right information. We have to get it and use it to our advantage.”
“If you say so. You’re the expert and that’s why I pay you the big bucks.”
“Just remember that. We’re only a few weeks away from the election. Every event is crucial. Sure we’re ahead, but it wouldn’t take much to derail the whole campaign. Yardley’s a popular incumbent and people usually don’t like change.”
“I promise to remain cooperative,” Riley said. He had to win this election, and for ninety-seven million reasons Zeke knew nothing about.
Zeke took him over the schedule for the next couple of weeks. There would be a few public appearances and some ads on local cable. When Riley had approved everything, he leaned back in his chair.
“There’s just one more thing.”
“Sure. What?”
“What you do on your own time is your own business, right up until it impacts my campaign.”
Zeke frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Your secret life. You’re disappearing at all hours and not telling your wife where you are, which is your business, but she came looking at my place because that’s where you told her you were going to be, which makes it my business.”
Zeke swallowed hard. “Look, Riley, I’m sorry but I—”
Riley cut him off with a quick shake of his head. “There’s no sorry. There’s only the campaign. I’m only going to ask you this once. Are you doing anything that could have a negative impact on my bid for mayor? Before you answer, let me remind you that Los Lobos is a small town and people finding out that the head of my campaign is screwing around on his wife would be a big negative.”
Zeke pushed to his feet. “I’m not cheating on Alexis. I would never do that. I love her.” He turned away. “It’s not that. It’s not anything that matters to you or the campaign.”
“Then what is it?”
Zeke turned back to him. “I don’t have to tell you that.”
“What if the information is a requirement of your continued employment with me?”
The other man looked him square in the eye. “Then you’re going to have to fire me because I’m not going to tell you what I’m doing. It’s not about you and it’s not about Alexis. That’s as much as I can say. Is it enough?”
Riley didn’t want to be dealing with this right now, not with the election only a few weeks away. While he could replace Zeke, he didn’t want to.
“If you’re not going to tell me, you should at least tell your wife,” Riley said. “She’s worried. Making her think you’re running around isn’t the best way to prove you love her.”
“Agreed. I’ll explain things to her.”
“By telling her what you’re doing?”
Zeke shook his head. “I can’t do that. Not yet. But it’s not bad. You have to believe me.”
Riley had learned a long time ago not to trust anyone. As much as he liked Zeke, he wasn’t going to change his rule for him.
“If whatever it is you’re doing spills over into the campaign, I won’t just fire you, I’ll do what I can to ruin you,” Riley said. “Do we understand each other?”
“Sure.” Zeke jerked his head toward the portrait on the far wall. “I know you never met your uncle, but I did. You probably don’t want to hear this, but you’re a lot like him.”
No, Riley didn’t want to know. “Thanks for sharing,” he said dryly. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
When Zeke had collected his papers and left, Riley stared at the door for a long time. He wanted to believe the problem was solved, but the tension in his gut told him otherwise. Zeke was up to something and Riley wanted to know what.
He picked up the phone and pulled a piece of paper from his shirt pocket.
“Hi, this is Gracie,” a female voice said after two rings.
Riley grinned. Whoever would have thought he would one day be calling Gracie Landon on purpose?
“It’s Riley. I talked to Zeke.”
“And?”
He outlined their conversation.
“Alexis isn’t going to be satisfied with that,” Gracie said.
“I’m not either. I’m going to follow him tonight. See where he goes.”
“I want to come with you.”
His first instinct was to say no, but then he remembered who he was dealing with. The Gracie he knew would simply follow him, which meant they would be a very conspicuous parade.
“Fine. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty. Are you back at the old house?”
“No. I’m renting a place.” She gave him the address. “This is pretty cool,” she said when he’d written it down. “I’ve never been on a stakeout before.”
“Great. This is the perfect opportunity to round out your stalker past.”
