Hey Big Spender

by Gemma Halliday

  It took me a little longer to steady myself in the sparkly silver five-inch heels Britton had loaned me. Like a newborn colt's first wobbly steps, I eventually found my stride and followed along.

  Piece of cake.

  Until we hit the dock. I navigated the wooden slats carefully, making certain each heel made contact with wood, not wedging in the space between. I was thankful that Britton had stopped to wait for me at the footbridge to the yacht.

  She slid a finger under my chin, forcing me to look up from my feet. "At least smile," she chided.

  "Sorry," I snapped, matching her pained smile. "You didn't have any cute wedges in your closet?"

  She waved a hand around at the upper-crust guests milling about. "Did you want to fit in with the guests or blend in with the staff?"

  "Whatever," I breathed. "Let's find Jerry so we can get this over with. I can't feel my toes."

  A genuine look of compassion softened her features. "You'll get used to it."

  I hoped. While I was no stranger to heels, these put me in a different atmospheric layer. I really liked my toes and the ability to feel them.

  I carefully stumbled after Britton's ever-graceful form. I almost thought I'd gotten the hang of it when I wobbled on the next to last step…and fell into the boat, landing in the strong, capable arms of one of the male guests.

  I smiled up into the handsome stranger's warm, brown eyes. "Thanks for catching me. That could've been ugly." I shrugged. "Uglier."

  He winked. "I'm always available for a damsel in distress."

  The tiny redhead at his side, dressed in a little black halter dress, goose bumps, and not much more, peered down her elevated, perfectly sculpted nose at us. "Damn, Dennis, get a room."

  With another wink, he muttered in my ear, "Later, babe," before dumping me onto the nearest leather seating arrangement. The cushion gave way to my sudden pressure, slipping out from underneath me. My butt dropped into the storage compartment beneath.

  My knight-in-shining-armor-turned-typical-male stomped along behind the redhead, toward an intricately carved bar. "It's not like that, Donna!" he protested.

  No one could say I didn't know how to make an entrance. All eyes were on me, but not in a good way. I gave my best effort to wiggle back to my feet with even a tiny piece of dignity still intact and my tiny dress still covering all of the important parts.

  While struggling to scoot to my feet, I glanced around for any sight of Britton. Beautiful people milled about the wide-open deck area, where L-shaped tan leather sofas stretched along most of the wall and wrought-iron tables topped with etched glass sat upon what I really hoped to be faux sheepskin area rugs. Others guests sat in overstuffed leather lounge chairs that rested upon polished hardwood floors. The bar was filled with guests at the far wall. Canned ceiling lights spotlighted them and the stark-white marble top of the bar. A couple navigated the tightly spiraled iron staircase that stretched toward the open upper deck; a small stairwell sat next to it in the corner, which undoubtedly led down below.

  Finally, Britton appeared and spied my less than ideal situation. Concern etched on her face, she quickly ran toward me. Luckily, she was a lot faster in those sky-high heels than I was. She offered a perfectly manicured hand to me, tugging me to my feet.

  "You okay?" she asked.

  "Peachy," I lied.

  "Jerry is up top." She motioned toward the staircase.

  I groaned aloud, and Britton nodded. Not just more stairs but a tiny, tightly wound spiral of death.

  "I'll be watching my feet," I muttered as I followed.

  "And I'll let you." She stopped at the bottom step, waving a hand upward. "You go first. That way I can catch you."

  I glanced over my shoulder at the dozen or so people. Their gazes simultaneously snapped away from me, idle chitchat filling the air again. Head held high, watching the steps in my peripheral vision, I navigated each one like a boss.

  Coming out into the brilliant sunshine, a cold breeze permeated my dress and ruffled through my hair, instantly puckering my exposed flesh. I'm sure my toes were cold too, though we'd never know for sure. I pulled the shawl tightly around my shoulders to hide the evidence of exactly how cold I was, which I feared my thin lace bra couldn't quite contain.

  I glanced out at the massive sparkling lake for a moment then turned toward the mini-Venice of waterways that made up the Tahoe Keys. The view was a skeletal riblike structure of man-made piers dotted with rental cabins and houses, most with their own docks just steps away from their doors.

  The small waves coming through the inlet from the lake felt a little bigger up on the top deck than they had on the lower level. I made sure to keep one hand on something sturdy, lest I repeat my earlier stunt.

  "Jerry!" Britton squealed.

  George Clooney's twin turned our way, and his handsome face lit up. "Britton, you saw my glitter! I'm so glad."

  "I wouldn't miss this for the world," she said, giving me a sly wink before air-kissing Jerry on both cheeks.

  "How long has it been since I've seen you?"

  "Practically ages!" Britton exaggerated.

  "You're right. A year or two at least. I think it was the last time I joined Dad at the Royal Palace." His strong arms enveloped her in a hug, the fingers of one hand trailing down her spine, coming to rest at the small of her back, threatening to dip lower.

  Britton spun out of his embrace as I came up beside her, expertly sliding her own hand over his, nudging his fingers upward to a safer spot on her back. "I think so. Dickie and I had you up to the penthouse for drinks."

  He snapped his fingers, pointing directly at her nose and lightly tapping it. "That's right." He smiled, but his face quickly turned somber. "I was so surprised to hear about his passing. I'm so very sorry for your loss, Britton."

  She fluttered a hand in front of her face, tears welling in her eyes. "Thank you, Jerry. I'm sorry to hear about your father as well."

  He nodded, his saddened stare dropping to his feet. "Thanks. I'm still processing it. That's the main reason for this party. I needed a distraction." He paused. "Is this the first time you've been on the yacht?"

  She nodded. "It's amazing," she flattered.

  "I should give you a tour. You know, I have an authentic Gustav Klimt oil on canvas in my stateroom."

  I sucked in a breath. "I'd love to see that!" I couldn't help the art curator in me gushing.

  Jerry turned my way as if noticing me for the first time.

  "Oh," Britton sputtered. "Have you met Tessie King, Dickie's daughter?"

  "I have." He patted my shoulder, forgoing the whole hug-and-groping thing, and smiled. "At the Palace when they found…"

  I rested my hand over his, bringing his words to an end. "You've got a lovely boat."

  Britton snagged two flutes of champagne off of a tray as a waitress walked by, handing me one.

  Jerry turned to face Britton, which basically left me staring at his back.

  The story of my life. At least I had champagne to occupy me for a bit.

  And eavesdropping.

  Tucking a stray curl behind Britton's ear, Jerry gushed, "You are such a stunning woman. Blue is definitely your color. It matches your eyes."

  Britton girly-giggled and flipped a hand at him, brushing his chest with her fingertips. "Well," she gushed, "someone works out."

  He flexed both arms, his back muscles straining against his fitted gray dress shirt. I leaned around, and, sure enough, he was making his pec muscles bounce.

  Classy.

  I downed my champagne, swapped glasses on the next tray that passed me, and continued to listen in on their conversation.

  "So, you were already in town when you got the news?" Britton edged gently, big false-eye-lashed doe eyes fixed on his face.

  His headed bobbed. "Yeah, Dad asked me to come. He said he had some business things to discuss."

  Britton fussed with his shirt collar, even though it was perfectly straight. I craned my neck around, noting
that his entire attention was firmly honed on Britton's cleavage now. She offered me a wink.

  "Huh," she muttered, crossing her arms under her chest to give them a boost as she heaved a purposefully large breath. "What kind of business things?"

  Jerry shrugged. "I never really got a chance to talk with him much before…" His words trailed off as his eyes blinked themselves away from her girls.

  Britton casually glanced my way. I flipped my hand in a rolling motion for her to keep digging.

  She reached into her tiny handbag, pulled out bright-pink lip gloss, and slathered it on. Slipping her lips slowly back and forth to spread it, she ended with a pucker, loud smack, and brilliant smile. "Any guesses at what he wanted?"

  Jerry tore his eyes off of Britton's lips with difficulty. "Huh?"

  "Your dad. Any idea what kind of business he might have wanted to discuss with you?"

  "Uh…" Jerry blinked, bringing himself out of whatever fantasy he'd been having about Britton's lips. "If I had to guess, it was probably about LeAnna."

  I raised an eyebrow. Interesting. "What about LeAnna?" I jumped in.

  Jerry turned my way, apparently surprised I was still there. "Well, I don't think it's a big secret that she's knocked up. The only question is, by whom?"

  I bit my lip. After the conversation I'd had with Mr. Taylor about his sterility, I had a feeling Junior wasn't too far off the mark on that one.

  But ever the loyal friend, Britton immediately came to LeAnna's defense. "How could he possibly think LeAnna would cheat on him?"

  Jerry snorted. "You've met LeAnna, right? Heck, my stepmommy even tried to get me in the sack once."

  Ew! I immediately scrubbed the mental image from my brain. Sure, LeAnna and Jerry were closer in age than she had been with Mr. Taylor, but would LeAnna really stoop that low?

  "Please tell me you didn't?" I pleaded.

  Jerry shook his head. "I don't even like parking my car in the same garage as my dad. There's not enough tequila on the planet to get me drunk enough to want to park there, if you know what I mean."

  "But what reason would LeAnna have to lie about her baby's father?" Britton asked, her forehead hinting at a frown-slash-twitch thing again. Clearly she didn't like hearing these things about her friend. "I mean, a simple paternity test would tell who the father is."

  "Sure," Jerry agreed. "After the kid is born. Which is why she was pressuring him to change the prenup now."

  "Prenup?" I asked.

  Jerry's handsome features contoured into a smirk. "LeAnna hasn't told you about the prenup then, I take it?"

  I shook my head and looked to Britton. She looked as surprised as I was.

  "My dad might have been stupidly in love with LeAnna, but he wasn't stupid," Jerry went on. "He had a prenup drawn up that basically says she gets nothing if she ever leaves him. Unless…" He paused for dramatic effect.

  "Yes?" Britton breathed, throwing in a couple of eyelash bats for good measure.

  "Unless she has a kid."

  "Wait—so are you saying that LeAnna got knocked up on purpose and lied to her husband about the real father just to bust her prenup?" I asked. Even for LeAnna that seemed pretty low.

  Jerry shrugged. "I'm saying she's been pressuring my father to have the prenup voided from the moment she peed on that stick. My best guess? That's what he wanted to talk to me about down here."

  "Just out of curiosity," I said, "what does your father's will leave to LeAnna?"

  Jerry shifted on his feet, suddenly looking a bit uncomfortable. "Well, you know I don't like to talk money at a party."

  Britton leaned in, laying a hand on his arm. "Oh, Jerry. You can talk with us. We're old friends," she said, practically purring the last word. I had to hand it to her—the woman knew when to turn on the charm.

  He cleared his throat. "Well, of course, as his son the bulk of his estate goes to me."

  "Of course," Britton cooed.

  "But, LeAnna will get the house in Napa and a, uh, decent amount to cover living expenses. My father was not an unkind man."

  "How much is decent?" I asked.

  "Er…" Jerry looked from Britton's pouty lips to me. "Five."

  "Thousand?"

  Jerry scoffed. "Million."

  I blinked, suddenly feeling a bit lightheaded, and not just from the champagne.

  "Jerry!" A leggy brunette in a hip-hugging spandex dress hailed him from the other side of the deck, waving a long, bangled arm in his direction.

  "Sorry, ladies," Jerry said, not actually looking all that sorry to escape us. "I must go mingle." He gave Britton one more air kiss before joining the brunette.

  I stared after him, processing all he'd just said.

  "Well, that didn't go very well," Britton said, pouting for real instead of for sultry effect this time.

  "For LeAnna," I amended. "If what he's saying is true—and she knew that her husband suspected the baby wasn't his—she's in a whole lot better financial place now. Five million dollars better, to be exact." The sum still made my head spin a bit. People had killed for a lot less.

  "But what about Jerry?" Britton countered defensively. "Remember, he doesn't have to split his inheritance now."

  I nodded. "True, but if the baby wasn't his father's, he wouldn't have to worry anyway."

  "Unless LeAnna convinced his father to void the prenup."

  She had a point. LeAnna had an uncanny way of making men do what she wanted. While I knew Mr. Taylor had suspicions about the baby, I wasn't sure even he would have been able to stand up to LeAnna's charms for long. I remember the way he'd referred to her as a sweet girl even while watching her flirt with a stranger.

  "And don't forget," Britton added, "if there is another man in LeAnna's life, he's got a heck of a motive too."

  "What could his motive possibly be?" I blurted out, Rafe's face popping into my head.

  "Well, for starters, he might not have liked the idea of another man raising his baby."

  That lightheaded feeling came back with a vengeance and not just from the champagne or the waves. Despite my protests about the timeline, I wasn't completely sure that Rafe couldn't possibly be the father of LeAnna's baby.

  I walked to a bench near the railing, sitting carefully so as not to dislodge another cushion. I stared out at the brilliant pinks, purples, and golds of the sun casting its fading glow over the lake, almost not seeing it. I knew there was no way Rafe would be able to murder a man. Right? I highly doubted any woman could entice him so much that he'd kill for her. Of course, it wouldn't be just for her but his possible baby. And five million dollars. If LeAnna was planning to leave her husband for her baby daddy, it would sweeten the deal if she brought five million in large bills with her. That was a lot for any man to resist. Especially when you factored in that LeAnna had some kind of weird sexy voodoo spell effect on most men. Where she was concerned, almost anything was possible. Even murder?

  * * *

  Britton and I were quiet during the drive back to the casino. Both of us were lost in thought—her mind no doubt turning over the mounting items pointing to LeAnna's guilt, while mine was trying not to picture a baby with a mishmash of Rafe's green eyes and LeAnna's sharp tongue. As we pulled into the circular drive at the Palace, I decided to lighten the mood.

  "Great use of the cleavage back there." I nudged playfully at her arm.

  As the chauffeur opened the door, she blinked at me a few times before smiling. "Why do you think I scrimped and saved to get them done? Men get stupid around a nice rack. I'm pretty sure that's how I hooked your father in the beginning." She winked at me before accepting the driver's hand.

  "Huh," I muttered, following her through the big entry doors past the valets and across the lobby.

  As we waited for the elevator, she cocked her head to the side, twirling a blonde curl in her fingers, lips pursed. "You thought your dad bought these for me, didn't you?" She shoved them together very subtly with her upper arms, making them look even bigger, as th
ough I wasn't quite sure as to what she was referring.

  I nodded, taken aback at yet another incorrect assumption I'd made of her. "I'm sorry."

  She shrugged as the elevator dinged and opened. "Can't say as I blame you, really. A lot of people thought I was after Dickie for his money." We wove through the people getting off of the elevator, ending up with the carriage all to ourselves.

  "A lot of people were wrong," I murmured.

  Britton quickly scooped me into a tight hug. I hugged her back just as fiercely. The woman was growing on me. Either that or I'd lost my mind. Both were valid options. The doors opened on the penthouse level, ending our little girly bonding moment.

  I was more than ready to ditch the sky-high heels and soak in a long, hot bath. Though as I walked through the front doors and LeAnna's cackle echoed from the living room, followed by the unexpected sound of Agent Ryder's muffled laughter, I froze. My stomach lurched. Et tu, Ryder? Was no one impervious to that she-devil's charms?

  Britton scanned my face, obviously sensing my hesitation. "Should we go get something to eat?" She had that worried-mother thing going on again.

  I took a deep breath. "No. I'm fine." And I was. It wasn't like I had dibs on Ryder or anything. He was free to date whatever woman he wanted, even if it was a succubus like LeAnna.

  I held my head high as I made my way toward the voices like I owned the place, because I pretty much did. I forced a smile to my face and smushed Tornado Tessie as far back in my psyche as she'd fit. Though my steps might have faltered just a little at the sight of LeAnna decked out in a slinky, sparkling evening gown, sitting so close to Ryder on the sofa that she was practically on his lap. Her hand rested lightly on his arm in a possessive manner.

  I pushed my grin to full-tooth mode. "Agent Ryder, to what do we owe the honor of this visit?"

  "He's here to see me," LeAnna snapped as she tried to scoot closer to him. She blinked innocently up at Ryder, her syrupy smile never wavering. "Would you like to continue this conversation over dinner? I'm famished," she cooed, sliding his tie through one hand. "We can have a little more privacy that way."