by Elaine Fox
He loved the way her eyes laughed when she smiled.
“I’d think that wouldn’t happen more than once, would it?” She grinned. “I mean, how many trains does it take to learn not to hang them back up again?”
He laughed, but it disappeared as he searched the wallet once more. “I can’t believe it,” he murmured.
“What? No money, Mr. Billionaire?” She plopped her elbows on the table and watched him with those laughing eyes.
He couldn’t answer. This was mortifying. His card wasn’t there and all he had was that dog-slobbered twenty and half a five-dollar bill. The check was close to twenty-four dollars, and that didn’t include the tip.
“My AmEx,” he said, going through the billfold again. “It’s…not here.”
He looked up to see her brows rise incredulously. She didn’t look angry, she looked…amazed.
“Are you kidding?” A smile spread across her lips, revealing those delicate pearly whites. “You don’t have enough money to pay for lunch?” She started laughing, a sound that moments later had escalated to what he would call full-blown belly-laughing. “This is so great!”
He tried to smile too, though he felt an uncharacteristic heat rise to his cheeks at the same time. This was utterly humiliating.
“Let me speak with the server. I’m sure he’ll let me come back—”
“Don’t be silly!” She reached for her purse, wiping her eyes and trying to contain her mirth. “Let me treat you. It’ll be a power trip for me, saving the rich guy from washing dishes.”
He sent her a truly rueful look. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Tremendously.” She pulled out a Visa and put it on top of the check. Almost immediately the hovering waiter descended upon them and disappeared with it.
“I do apologize,” he said, his face still burning. “This is most humiliating.”
“Oh please. I think it’s hilarious, really.” She sipped her water, eyeing him with obvious amusement.
He felt like leaning over and kissing her. Nothing was a big deal for her. The world—the complicated, demanding, taxing world—was simple when he was with her. Better than simple, it was fun.
A second after the waiter deposited the bill for her to sign, Twister stood up and began making an extremely unpleasant sound. It started out like someone tapping on a bongo drum, a hollow rumbling from the area of her stomach, but then her back hunched and her head dropped. A second later the sound went deeper, was accompanied by a guttural choking and a steady, rhythmic retching.
Sutter stood up, looking down at the animal in horror. “Good lord.”
Megan leaned over to look at the dog. “Oh no.”
“What on earth is wrong with her?” Sutter stepped back, glaring at the distorted creature, uncertain what to do but pretty sure hauling her off the deck by the neck would not be proper.
“She’s throwing up,” Megan said. “Poor thing.”
They stood there a long moment while the dog worked up whatever it had in its stomach.
Seconds later she heaved and, along with a couple of French fries and a lot of disgusting bile, up came pieces, some quite large, of his black American Express card.
Megan returned home to find her father sitting at the kitchen table. She took Peyton off her lead and went to the refrigerator to put her doggy bag away. She hadn’t been able to finish all of her pasta so she’d brought the rest home. It was one doggy bag her doggy wasn’t getting anywhere near.
She was still glowing from lunch, and the feeling that she and Sutter had crossed some important line. They’d established, she felt strongly, that they could be friends. Conversation had come easily and they’d had many similar views about books they’d read and political situations.
He’d even laughed at all of her jokes. That, more than anything else, made her feel as if they viewed the world the same way. You couldn’t maintain a stress-free life if you didn’t let yourself see the world through a joke’s eyes, she’d often thought.
“Hey, doll. So who was that?” her father asked, jerking his head toward the window through which he’d obviously seen her and Sutter as they’d parted.
“Who was what?” It was a lame dodge.
“That fellow who walked you home?”
Megan shrugged, taking out a bottle of water from the refrigerator. “Nobody. Just a client.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed. “Pretty good looker.”
She grinned. “I’ll tell him you said so. But I’m pretty sure he likes girls.”
Her father guffawed. “You didn’t get that kind of joke from your mom. He live in town?”
“Yeah.” She tilted her head. “So what’s this, Dad? Parental intervention? Feeling like you missed out on the shotgun years?”
He chuckled again. “Got me. Guess I don’t want my girl going out with anyone unworthy.”
She snorted. “If you want to talk worth…”
“He take you to a nice lunch?”
“As a matter of fact, I took him.” She was inordinately pleased at the truth of this.
The phone rang.
“I’ll get it.” She went into the living room to get the portable. “Hello?”
“Megan Rose?” an unfamiliar voice asked. It didn’t sound like a telemarketer, however, so she didn’t hang up.
“That’s right. Who’s this?”
“This is Tanner Pierce,” the male voice said, then added something unintelligible, maybe where he was calling from. “Wasn’t that Sutter Foley you were just having lunch with?”
“I beg your pardon?” A chill crept up her spine. Had somebody been watching them?
“At lunch, you and Sutter Foley. Is he still seeing Briana Ellis or have you replaced her? I’ve gotta say, in my opinion he traded up.” The voice laughed in a way that sounded friendly.
“Who did you say you were?”
“Tanner Pierce. With NatTat.”
“What’s nat tat?”
“The National Tattler,” he said, as if she should actually be happy to hear it. “So what can you tell me about Sutter Foley? Is he in love with you?”
She laughed once, truly amused. “You wish. That would be quite a story, wouldn’t it? Billionaire dumps heiress for poor veterinarian.”
“So that’s how it is, is it? Good for you! Anything else you can tell me about him? It would really help me out, my deadline’s tonight. Is he as nice a guy as they say?”
“That’s not how it is.” An inkling of how dangerous this conversation could be edged into her mind.
“He’s not nice? Ohhh, used you, eh? Not breaking it off with Briana? Well, you know how those rich people are. They stick together.”
“No, that’s not what I meant. He’s very nice. But we’re not an item and there is no news here, Mr. Pierce.”
“Oh please. Call me Tanner.”
“No.” She put a hand on her hip. “And don’t call me anything.”
“Okay, but you did have lunch with Sutter Foley. I mean, I saw that much.”
She thought a moment, her mind spinning. What should she say that would cut this guy off? Should she hang up or would that just make him mad? And wouldn’t an angry journalist be the worst kind to have at your throat?
“Okay, we did have lunch.” That had to be safe. He obviously already knew it anyway. “So what? We’re just friends.”
“Friends, huh? Was that your car at his house the other night?”
“What other night? When?” God, had he seen her at his house after the SPCA meeting? Had he seen what time she’d left? And how she’d looked? Fresh from his bed…
Could he have had a camera?
“I mean, it could have been your car. It was late, so I couldn’t see the tags.”
“What kind of car?” she asked, feeling better about her own caginess.
“Ahh, okay, so you left there late one night…”
He was fishing. Good God, and she’d fed right into it.
“Listen, there’s nothi
ng going on here,” she said in her calmest voice. “Briana Ellis is not threatened, for God’s sake. She’s gorgeous, rich and exactly his type. I’m nobody. Go bark up some other tree.”
He chuckled. “Must be upsetting, huh? Sure, Briana’s not threatened. The rich never are by people like you and me. Sucks to be used, though, huh?”
“I was not used. I—we’re just friends. Goodbye, Mr. Pierce.”
“One last thing,” he said, and for God knows what reason she didn’t hang up, “is he good in bed?”
“Oh my God!” she gasped.
She looked at the phone as if it had groped her and punched the off button so hard the receiver dropped out of her hand. She wished she could slam it in the cradle.
Her heart hammered in her chest and her palms were wet with sweat. The whole conversation had lasted only minutes and yet she had totally lost control of it. What had she said? Would he print something about it? He’d seen them having lunch—could he have taken pictures?
That wouldn’t be as bad as her having said something, though. And she hadn’t given him much, if anything, had she? Certainly not enough for an article…?
She turned around and sat heavily on the couch, pushing her hands into her hair and leaning her elbows on her knees. “Oh my God.”
“Who was it?” her father asked, startling her.
She looked up.
His arms were folded across his chest and he leaned on the door jamb to the kitchen. “Someone asking about your lunch with Sutter Foley?”
Ten
“If you knew who he was, why did you ask?”
“Just wondered what you’d say.” Her father gave her a self-satisfied grin.
Megan blushed, caught. “What I said was true. He is a client.”
“But he’s not nobody.” Her father regarded her steadily. His eyes may have been bloodshot but they were keen. “Was he the one you were out with so late last week?”
She thought about that night after the SPCA meeting. That incredible night. The sex had been unbelievable, rocket-powered, earth-moving, sunspot-generating, ecstasy-inducing, and wildly indulgent. But how high of a price was Sutter going to pay for it? How high of a price was she going to pay?
She’d thought they could keep the episode quiet. She may not have known much about him, but she was fairly sure Sutter was not one to take sex with the spontaneous attitude it deserved. Even so, that didn’t mean it deserved to be splashed on the cover of a tabloid.
As for Megan, it had never occurred to her that being in the sphere of a billionaire might make her a person of interest to sleazy journalists.
If she hadn’t been sure before, she certainly was now. That night could not be repeated. She imagined them discovering her father on one of his drunken binges. Worse, finding him passed out on the floor among the shelled peanuts at the Rendevous, as she had done one night on one of her long-ago visits. She could see it now, pictures of her disheveled father with the headlines screaming that Sutter was playing with the daughter of trailer trash while planning to marry classy and monied Briana Ellis.
Which would be nothing to Sutter, as he was probably used to showing up in rags like that, but it could kill her business among the conservative gentry of Fredericksburg.
She stood up and headed back into the kitchen. Her father stepped aside as she passed him.
“What night I was out late?” She made her voice as casual as she could.
“Last Monday.” He turned and watched her open the refrigerator door.
“Last Monday?”
He rubbed a stubbled cheek with one hand and she could tell by the look in his eyes that he hadn’t been awake long. Didn’t seem to be hindering his deductive reasoning any, however. “Yeah, last Monday. The only night you’ve come home late since you moved here.”
She sighed. “Oh that. I went to an SPCA meeting. They asked me to be on the board.” She opened and peered into the refrigerator, plucked out a bottle of water.
“Did they now?” Her father’s voice was intrigued. “Awfully late for a board meeting.”
Megan didn’t answer, as it wasn’t a direct question, and it paid off.
“They never asked me to join the board,” he mused, successfully deflected from the topic at hand.
“Maybe they didn’t have any openings until now.” She drank from the fresh bottle of water, then with dismay noticed the bottle of water she’d already opened minutes before on the kitchen counter.
Her father laughed. “Your mom raised you nice, young lady, you know that?” He shook his head and returned to his coffee at the kitchen table. “No, I was never their type, those board members. They’d have sooner put Genghis Khan on that board before me. But I don’t care. It’s not like I want to plan a bunch of bake sales.”
“So how did you even know I wasn’t around, huh? Slow night at the Eagle’s Club?” She was starting to breathe easier. Either he was taking pity on her or he’d forgotten the line of questioning he’d started with. The last thing she needed was to be interrogated about Sutter by him too. She’d just shown quite clearly she wasn’t up to the task of diverting interest with that wretched reporter.
“Hey, your old man might be young enough to go out some of the time, but not seven days a week. Even I’ve got to get a little shut-eye every once in a while.” He took a sip of his coffee and glanced at the newspaper. “You know, I always thought all the area vets should be on that board, not just a select few. Who better to promote protection of animals, I ask you.”
“Too many vets for that,” she said. “Besides, most of them are probably too busy to attend. They probably asked me because I’m new, and not exactly swamped with clients.”
“Sure, sure, you’re probably right. In my heyday I was real busy.”
Megan sensed that beneath his bravado there might be a modicum of hurt, or at least dented, pride. “Hey, what do you think the chances are of a harlequin Great Dane and a black having a litter with four blue puppies?”
Her father cleared his throat and straightened slightly, rousing at the mention of animals. “Not great. I’ve known a few Great Dane breeders and I think the harlequins aren’t supposed to carry any blue in their pedigrees. If the harlequin was badly bred to begin with, though, maybe. Seems like they’d have known that before they bred ’em anyway.”
“It’s a husband and wife, breeding their dogs to each other,” Megan explained.
“What, do they think someone else got in on the breeding? Didn’t get what they expected?”
“Actually, it’s my friend Georgia’s ex-husband.” Megan twisted open the water bottle again and took another sip. Swallowing, she said, “She’s afraid they used some of her dog’s frozen semen for the breeding and not his new wife’s harlequin.”
Her father was scratching his head again, looking at her speculatively. “Georgia Darling?”
“Yes. Her ex, Clifford, and his new wife are the ones with the litter. I think the new wife was their old show handler. Monique or Mona somebody.”
Her father’s white head bobbed slowly up and down. “Mona Gibbons. I remember her. She used to have a huge harlequin with a nasty disposition. Vicious. I think it killed, or nearly killed, a dog in the ring once.”
“No kidding.” Megan wondered why anyone would breed a dog like that, unless it was just too perfectly conformed. “How’d it look? Good-looking animal, I mean?” She screwed the top back on her water bottle.
Her father shrugged and made a distasteful face. “A little short in the forequarters. She said it had a bad angle to the shoulder blade, too, which was one reason she wanted it neutered.”
Megan stopped. “Neutered? You neutered that dog? When?”
“Oh,” he looked at the ceiling, “two years ago? I remember because she ordered the largest size Neuticles they offered. Didn’t want anyone knowing the boy’d been altered, is my guess. But hey, I just do what they ask me.”
“She bought Neuticles? Did she continue to show him? Did Georgia know about
this?” she asked, though she hadn’t really meant to, out loud.
“How the hell should I know? This was before her divorce, anyway, I think. ’Cause I remember wondering why their handler didn’t take her dog to Fredericksburg Animal Hospital, like the Darlings did. And I have no idea if she continued to show the animal. They’re not claiming that’s the dog they’re breeding, are they?”
“They just might be. Georgia said the one Mona had before this was a blue and she’d always been jealous of her Sage.”
Megan’s heartbeat accelerated. This could be just the ammunition Georgia needed—so would it be better to give it to her or not? She needed to check the records, make sure her father was remembering correctly. Make sure it was the same dog. Then she’d think about spilling the beans.
“You don’t by any chance remember the dog’s name, do you?” she asked.
He scoffed. “Naw. That kind of thing doesn’t even register for me. I can tell you breed, color, and age, mostly. That Dane was around two at the time, as I recall.”
“So it’d be about four now, which I think is about right.” Megan shook her head. “This is bad.”
She certainly didn’t want to be the reason Georgia got any more furious with her ex-husband, but still, you couldn’t just steal someone’s, uh, fertilizer.
“The dog I saw’ll be in the records,” her father said, then agreed, “it is awfully fishy.”
“It is,” Megan said slowly. “Somehow I have to check, make sure it’s the same dog. I think Georgia even said something about its conformation, that bad front angle, though.” She frowned, not relishing the idea of finding the ugly truth. “But surely not. Why would they say they’d bred that dog when it was obviously neutered?”
“Don’t forget the Neuticles,” her father said. “Those things are damn good substitutes. Nobody’d be able to tell by looking at him. Or feeling him, for that matter, like they do in the ring. And she brought the dog to me, one of the smaller practices in town.”
Megan uncapped the bottle again, took another swallow and wondered what the right thing to do would be. If Georgia’s ex-husband had stolen that sperm, he should certainly be brought to justice. She just wondered what sort of justice Georgia might mete out before the courts had a chance.