Mostly Perfect

by Heather B. Moore

  Now they were back to square one. “Business is just that . . . business.”

  Lauren’s blue eyes were stormy. “Not to my grandmother. It’s her life. Her pride. Her family. You destroy that, and you destroy her.”

  So what if Lauren had walked out on Nicholas Matthews twice in one day? He was a bloodsucking, pompous, interfering . . . she was too mad to think of more adjectives. The tight feeling in her stomach only hardened as she walked back to Ambrose Estate, following the overgrown path she hadn’t been on for years. And it appeared no one else had either.

  Nick was going to wreak havoc on all that she knew and loved. Yes, she loved Ambrose Estate. She loved what her grandmother stood for. Lauren didn’t necessarily want to work for the company like her older sister did or be involved in the day-to-day operations, but she was proud to be an Ambrose.

  Just because she hadn’t told Kevin, or any of her other dates or various friends over the years, anything about her heritage, didn’t mean that she wasn’t going to defend it at all costs. Lauren really had nothing to lose by going against Nicholas Matthews et al. Her laughter bubbled up with bitterness in her throat.

  As Lauren stepped around a rather prickly bush, her cell rang. Sofia. Lauren was tempted to wait until she returned to the coolness of the house before answering, but her nerves were only coiling more and more.

  “Sofia,” Lauren said. “You won’t believe who I just talked to.”

  “Who?” Sofia asked, although she didn’t sound amused or in the mood to play a guessing game.

  Lauren told her sister about seeing Nicholas Matthews in the library. She mentioned nothing about running out on him and then the subsequent call with Kevin. She simply skipped to the latter part. “He said he wanted to go to the café, have a drink, then talk.”

  Sofia groaned. “And you went, didn’t you?”

  “To gather information,” Lauren replied, defending herself. “The more we know about our enemy, the better—”

  “Lauren, what drink did he order?” Sofia asked.

  “What does that have anything to do with it?”

  “Lauren,” she deadpanned.

  “Water.”

  Sofia sighed into the phone. “He’s playing you, Lauren. Let me guess, he asked you questions most of the time.”

  Lauren thought back. Her heating neck had nothing to do with the intermittent shade of the forest that did little to protect her from the rising temperature. Now that she thought about it, Nick had asked her a lot of questions. Personal questions.

  “That’s what I thought,” Sofia continued. “He’s figuring you out. Finding your weaknesses. Assessing your strengths.”

  Lauren swallowed against the dryness of her throat. “Unbelievable.”

  “Where are you?” Sofia asked.

  “Walking through the Sleeping Beauty forest,” Lauren said. It was what they’d called this patch of land when they were kids. What used to seem like imposing tress and foliage when Lauren was a child now resembled miserable weeds and wild bushes.

  “You’re such a hillbilly,” Sofia said, but there was a note of affection in her voice. The first that Lauren had heard since her return.

  “Just keeping out of the way of the smarter ones in the family,” Lauren said.

  Sofia scoffed. “You aren’t fooling anyone hiding out in San Diego behind your paintings. I just don’t get why you didn’t see through Nicholas Matthews. Is he good-looking or something?”

  “No!” Lauren choked out. “And what would that have anything to do with this anyway?”

  “Ha.” Sofia sounded way too triumphant. “You always were a sucker for good-looking men. Just like Mom, though not quite as spontaneous.”

  “Seriously? You’re going to go there?” As annoyed as Lauren felt, she knew there was a grain of truth in her sister’s words. Lauren was a romantic and the very definition of hopeless, because she literally had no hope.

  What had Nick said? There was no such thing as ideal.

  “How good-looking is he?” Sofia prompted with a laugh. “On a scale of one to ten?”

  “Ten being what? A male model?”

  “If he’s a straight male model, then yeah, Calvin-Klein-hot is a ten.”

  Lauren mulled it over as she thought about his hazel eyes and flash of a smile. “He’s a nine.”

  “Wow,” Sofia said. “You’re in trouble.”

  Lauren stepped out of the thicket into the sun. Perspiration had formed along her hairline, and she lifted the heaviness of her hair from her neck. “No, we’re both going to be in trouble if he sells his shares.”

  Sofia went silent at that. “Maybe you can use your womanly charms on Mr. Handsome?”

  “No way,” Lauren said. “When you see him, you’ll know that this guy will see through about anything.” Besides, it seemed that Lauren was obviously quite dense. Sofia had picked up on what Nick was all about instantly. Lauren hadn’t even realized that Kevin had ulterior motives to date her.

  Nick was right. Money was a curse. There was a reason that Lauren hadn’t divulged her net worth to anyone outside of her family.

  “I’ll be at the house soon,” Lauren said, and after she hung up with her sister, she couldn’t help but wonder about Nick’s personal life. Her research so far had been about his business holdings.

  But Lauren didn’t head straight into the house. Instead she passed by the set of garages and walked around to the family graveyard behind the house. It was a decent walk from the house, and most of the way was shaded by sycamore trees.

  As children, she and her sisters had dared each other to run to the wrought-iron gate and back without stopping. At night.

  When their grandmother caught them, they all got a good scolding. She said it was disrespectful to the dead, and even the surrounding grounds were hallowed. Now, Lauren could see the same wrought-iron gate beyond a row of hedges as she approached. She swallowed against the lump that always formed in her throat around cemeteries.

  Beneath the earth lay lost dreams and forgotten lives. It was strange to think that only the names etched upon the headstones and a bit of family lore remained of entire lives lived. Well, not entire lives . . . lives that had been cut short.

  Lauren unlatched the gate and pushed it open. It swung open smoothly, and that was probably due to the immaculate care of the gardener, Reggie. Nothing was overgrown but carefully tended throughout the small plot. At the base of each headstone, no matter the age, were perennials in various states of growth and blooming. Beneath the sun’s heat, they seemed wilted, but by the time evening rolled around, they’d regain their robustness.

  Lauren crossed first to her father’s headstone. It was an elegant spire, and Randall Aaron Chambers was scripted above the dates of his birth and death. Added to the headstone were the words:

  Loved by all who knew him—especially his girls,

  Sofia, Lauren and Emma.

  He had been born in Baton Rouge and grew up to become a navy pilot. Their mother met him in college. His too-early death came when he was flying for the Blue Angels and died during an air show in a mid-air crash.

  Lauren rested her hand on the stone, and the coolness sent a rash of goose bumps across her arms. Her memories of her father had grown fuzzy over the years, since he’d died when she was three years old, Emma was a baby, and Sofia only five. Lauren remembered him in uniform. Her favorite image of him was wearing navy whites with those medals.

  She stood there for several moments, gazing at her father’s name, then she finally dropped her hand and moved to the next headstone. Her uncle Robert. Dead at twenty-eight.

  Next was her grandfather’s, which was partially in the shade and enjoyed a riot of planted flowers at the base. Richard Jacob Millet.

  Here was the proof that she’d told Nick about. He hadn’t seemed dismissive or bothered that she believed in the curse. He’d seemed . . . interested. And he’d listened intently. Which was a different experience for Lauren. Although according to Sofia, he w
as only keeping control of the conversation.

  Lauren sighed as she walked back to the gate. So what if a man did believe in the curse along with her? There would still be no future in any of her relationships. Sometimes the loneliness was so acute that she didn’t fault her mother her multiple marriages and refusal to return to Ambrose. Lauren knew she could never truly stay away from Ambrose. The land, the house, and everything associated with it pulsed through her like a slow heartbeat.

  Kevin, or any other man, would never trump her attachment to her heritage. Or her grandmother.

  Thinking of her grandmother only made the agitation return. Tomorrow Nicholas Matthews would be at Ambrose Estate, pitching his idea. And Lauren had a feeling that their lives were about to change.

  Nick had left early enough to walk, but he’d miscalculated the time it would take to follow the road into Ambrose Estate. And he hadn’t planned on the rain. All in all, it was a nice break from the two days of heat he’d endured, but his shoes would be worse for the wear.

  And yes, they were Italian leather. In his defense, they were extremely comfortable and made walking two miles not a big deal. But the words of Lauren Ambrose seemed to echo through his mind. In fact, he’d replayed what she’d said, both in the library and then later at the café, multiple times in his mind.

  When the house came into view, at the end of a very long lane, Nick paused to take in the sight. The three-story mansion was beautiful and stately, and the lawn leading up to it was immaculate. Formal gardens graced both sides of the house. But the closer he grew to the house, the more he began to notice some wear and tear. A place this size must take an incredible amount of upkeep, and from what Nick knew, Lillian Ambrose was a very busy woman.

  Nick walked up the wide steps that led to a smaller lawn, and he followed the flagstone path to the imposing double front doors. He rang the bell, then stood back and brushed droplets off his suit coat. He ran a hand over his hair. It was damp, but not too bad.

  The front door opened, and Nick was surprised to see Lauren at the door. He supposed he’d expected a more formal greeting, from a maid. Lauren’s expression was hard to read, but she said in a soft voice, “Hello, Mr. Matthews.”

  “Nick,” he said, although he doubted she’d obey. “How are you?”

  Her gaze moved from his face to his damp clothing, and the faintest smile touched her lips. “You walked?”

  “I did.” He wasn’t sure why, but he felt like smiling when her blue eyes connected with his again.

  “You’re wet.”

  His mouth twitched. “I am.”

  “Come in, come in,” she said in a rush. “I’ll get you a towel and something . . .” She glanced down. “For your feet.”

  “A towel would be fine,” he said, following her into the grand entrance. “I don’t need anything for my feet.”

  The line appeared between her brows, one that was familiar to him now.

  “At least take your jacket off,” she said. “The air conditioning will freeze you.”

  That he doubted, but he didn’t complain as she moved closer and reached for the lapels of his suit coat. He watched her with amusement as she took upon herself the task of helping him out of his jacket. He thought he’d detected a faint pink on her cheeks that hadn’t been present when she opened the door, but it faded soon enough.

  Lauren smelled sweet, like a mixture of wildflowers and honey, and he wondered if it was her perfume or perhaps a lotion. Her hair was pulled into a twist at the nape of her neck, giving him full view of the elegance of her neck. And she wore a plain navy dress, high-necked and falling in a gentle sweep just above her knees. Well, nothing could be plain on Lauren, but he had the feeling that she’d borrowed this dress, since it was so different than anything he’d seen her in so far.

  Lauren busied herself draping his jacket over a hall chair, then she said, “I’ll be back in a moment. Sorry for the delay.”

  “I’m the one who should be apologizing for showing up wet.”

  She took another glance at him before turning away and heading into a room off the main hallway. He watched her walking away in those navy high heels of hers. While she was gone, he quickly checked his phone for any email updates.

  He heard Lauren’s heels before he saw her again. She walked toward him, carrying a towel.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a . . . sweater . . . or something?”

  “I don’t think a sweater of yours would fit me.” He wiped the towel across his face and neck.

  She exhaled. “I meant something from Shelton, our chauffeur,” she said. “He has an apartment above the garages.”

  “No, thank you,” he said. “My jacket took the worst of it.”

  “And your shoes.”

  They both looked at his shoes. He bent and dried his shoes with the already damp towel.

  “I can put this away,” he said when he finished.

  But Lauren took the towel. “No, I’ve got it. Do you want something hot to drink? Warm you up?”

  “I’m not cold,” he said.

  She didn’t look entirely convinced, but she glanced away first from their locked gazes. “Well then, I’ll be back in a moment, then we’ll head to the library. My grandmother and sister are waiting there.”

  Nick nodded. “Thank you.” As she disappeared again, he moved to a bank of paintings. They looked decades old, and he realized that one of the smaller ones was of Lauren as a young girl. At least he thought it was her. The cherubic four or five-year old sure looked like a precursor to the beauty that was Lauren. Yes, he had no problem recognizing her beauty. Many women were beautiful, and it wasn’t something that would throw him off his agenda.

  She seemed to be as unlucky in love as he’d been, although for her, it had been more out of fear. For him, it had been lack of sustained interest. Why his thoughts were so convoluted, he didn’t know. The last thing he needed in this meeting was to be distracted by all that was Lauren Ambrose.

  “This way, then,” she said, and he turned to see her walk into the hall.

  She didn’t approach but waited for him to join her. Then she led the way to an austere library with floor-to-ceiling shelves of books and two blue-eyed women staring him down.

  Out of the two sisters, Sofia Ambrose was the classic beauty, but with Lauren in the room, Sofia’s features were almost porcelain and cold. Lauren radiated fluidity and warmth. And Mrs. Lillian Ambrose? She was elegant like both of her granddaughters, but her dark hair was silvered with gray.

  Mrs. Ambrose was dressed in a deep-green-colored dress, and she didn’t rise as Nick approached but stayed seated in the high-backed chair before the empty fireplace.

  “Good morning,” Nick said, holding out his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

  Mrs. Ambrose appraised him, her blue eyes open and curious, before she lifted her hand to shake his. Her hand was thin and would have been frail on any other elderly woman, but Mrs. Ambrose had a firm grip.

  “I see you’ve met Lauren,” Mrs. Ambrose said, her tone low and smooth. “This is my eldest granddaughter, Sofia, new owner of Ambrose Oil.”

  Sofia stepped forward and extended her long fingers. Nick shook her hand, finding it cool to the touch, not surprising from her. The woman’s eyes seemed to bore right through him, possibly reading his every thought and intention. Nick knew of her veterinarian degree from Texas A&M and that she’d been an effective board member of Ambrose Oil Company. He just hoped she’d be as open-minded as her grandmother. Lauren, too. Especially Lauren.

  “You walked?” Sofia said, as observant as her sister.

  “I did.”

  “We can drive you back to wherever you’re staying after the meeting,” Sofia said, revealing her practical side.

  “I might take you up on that if the rain hasn’t let up.”

  “Oh, it won’t let up, Nicholas,” Mrs. Ambrose cut in. “We’ll be enjoying it all day.” Her voice was laced with humor, but Nick wasn’t fooled. The w
oman was watching his every move.

  Nick glanced around the room. There was a large credenza and several smaller end tables but no table that would fit all of them. “Should I set up at the desk?” he asked.

  “Oh no,” Mrs. Ambrose said. “We don’t stand on ceremony here. You can sit in that chair.”

  Nick turned to look at the chair she’d indicated. A leather upright. He scanned for any white space on a nearby wall so that he could show his PowerPoint, but the wallpaper was an etched brocade design of tan and gold. Besides, the closest wall was filled with miniature paintings that he had yet to examine.

  He exhaled and made a decision. “Very well,” he said. “I’ve brought several graphs to show, and I can also email them over.”

  Mrs. Ambrose simply nodded, so Nick sat down after Lauren and Sofia settled in chairs near their grandmother.

  He pulled his laptop out of his computer bag and powered it on. He went through each slide, explaining the new oil-finding technology and then showing them the graphs that displayed the initial investment and the dividends it would bring in over the next eighteen months.

  “Wait,” Sofia said. “You’re saying we can make back the cost of the equipment within eighteen months?”

  Nick clicked to the next slide, to the graph that showed the five-year projections.

  Sofia raised a brow. “Those numbers seem inflated.”

  “They’re projections, sure, but I don’t think they’re inflated.” He cut a glance to Lauren, who was also studying the screen. “My research team was very thorough.”

  Lauren’s gaze connected with his for a second, then she looked back at the laptop.

  Mrs. Ambrose said nothing, and as Nick wrapped up his presentation, he said, “Any questions about what I’ve shown you so far?”

  Mrs. Ambrose leaned toward Sofia, and they whispered something together.

  Then Sofia straightened. “Lauren mentioned that if we don’t move forward with this partnership, then you’ll sell your holdings in our company.”

  Nick refrained from looking at Lauren as he spoke. “I believe that Ambrose Oil is sitting on a gold mine, so to speak, and in my line of work, I invest in companies that are evolving with technology and focused on growth. I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you that I have other interests that I’ve considered moving my investments to. But Ambrose Oil’s potential is too attractive for me to pursue other ventures if there’s a chance that the three of you agree to sign off on a partnership.”