by Kati Wilde
I glance down at her fingernails. They’re short and painted a glossy black. Not scary at all. And I’d kill to feel them clawing up my back.
Now I’m curious to see who around here isn’t afraid of her. “Are any of your friends attending this thing?”
“My friends?”
“Yeah. Your assistant said you have five.”
“Oh. Yes. Well, here is one now.” That gorgeous smile spreads across her lips again, and she lets go of my arm, stepping forward to greet…a priest. Small and wiry, with a lean face and black suit and a distinctive white collar, he wears the kind of gentle, amused expression that I usually see on grandfathers who are showing off pictures of their grandchildren.
Well, shit. That’s not what I expected. And despite her smile and the way she approached him, Audrey doesn’t hug him or kiss his cheek. She only holds out her hand for a brief handshake before reaching back and entangling her fingers with mine.
“Caleb Moore, this is Reverend Foster,” she introduces him. Not a priest, then, but a pastor—and now I remember that she mentioned the Methodist church about two blocks away from here. “He’ll be performing the marriage ceremony.”
His gaze flicks down to our joined hands and his smile broadens. “Our Almighty Father truly does perform miracles,” he says and extends his arm. “I’m pleased to meet you, Caleb.”
Audrey’s fingers are still tangled up with mine, so I put my beer bottle aside and wipe the condensation from my palm before shaking his hand. “Reverend.”
“You’re a lucky man.” His gaze returns to Audrey. “And you caused quite the uproar in the office this afternoon, young lady. You couldn’t have made these arrangements before today so that you’d have more time to prepare? Christmas Eve isn’t far away.”
“It’s too far away, in my opinion,” she replies. “But Caleb only proposed to me today. So unless we visit a justice of the peace, Christmas Eve is the earliest date available.”
“You got engaged today?” His brows shoot upward. “Then why the rush?”
“I don’t think you’d approve of my answer, pastor,” she says in a serious tone.
He chuckles. “Perhaps I wouldn’t. But it certainly wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that answer from an overeager young couple. Still, I approve of how you are swiftly taking the appropriate responsibility.”
Shit. I start to laugh, because the preacher is thinking that we’re pregnant, and she’s just thinking that he won’t appreciate our reason for marrying. And I suppose spite and money aren’t the best answers to give a reverend.
Though she briefly appears puzzled by my reaction, after a second Audrey grins. “Ah,” she says and then laughs, too. “You mistake me, pastor. Caleb and I haven’t had sex.”
His mouth opens but nothing comes out for a moment. Then he nods and declares, “Then I heartily approve of your restraint, Audrey.” Amusement seems to shake through him as he glances at me. “Yours as well, Caleb. Resisting temptation is not always easy…but I think I better understand your need to rush the wedding.”
He really doesn’t. But before Audrey can set him straight on that score, too, a man joins us. And him, I recognize.
“Mayor Espinoza,” Audrey greets him, but doesn’t let go of my hand this time.
“Merry Christmas, Audrey. And to you, Reverend Foster. How good of you all to come.” Like any politician, he nods to me and pretends to care who I am when the reverend introduces us, then glances back to Audrey. “Can I steal your attention away from these gentlemen for a few minutes?”
“No,” she tells him bluntly, yet disentangles her fingers from mine. “But I will give it to you for a moment.”
Her attention. Because he asked to steal it. Now she folds her arms over her chest and walks a few feet away to talk with him in relative privacy—and I realize she takes almost everything literally. Which explains some of the responses she’s made since I’ve met her.
“She’s a special woman,” the reverend says beside me.
I nod, my gaze drifting down over her bare back and settling on her sweet ass. “Damn special.”
There’s a light snort of laughter, then he says in a more serious voice, “I’ve heard that the mayor plans to set off fireworks at eight o’clock.”
Is he thinking I want to do something for Audrey then? Some romantic gesture, maybe—like it’s New Year’s Eve? I’ve got no clue, but I nod again. “So noted.”
Audrey and the mayor turn back toward us, Espinoza casually placing his hand against the small of her back to guide her. Against her bare skin. She stiffens as if he jabbed her with a hot poker and I can’t stop my reaction. A growl rips from my chest as I step forward, fists clenched.
Instantly Espinoza pulls his hand back, grimacing and holding it up as if to show me he’s not touching her anymore. Tangling my fingers with hers, I pull her in close again.
“Forgive me, Audrey,” he tells her. “It’s just habit.”
I snarl. “I suggest you break that habit.”
“Of course. You’re right,” he agrees easily and offers Audrey a toothy smile. “My office will contact yours regarding that donation. And please accept my congratulations on your engagement.”
Her fingers tighten on mine. “Thank you.”
“Mr. Moore. Reverend.” He nods at us both and takes off, already aiming that toothy smile at his next target.
“I’d best go butter up my other donors, as well,” the pastor says with a grin. “Congratulations again, Audrey. I’m very pleased for you. And Caleb, I hope we will soon have the opportunity to speak again.”
I nod, then wonder if that’ll be more often than I assume. Like maybe every Sunday. When he’s out of earshot, I ask Audrey, “Do you attend his church?”
“No. But he has been a good friend since I was fourteen, and once said that if I ever got married, he would like to officiate the—”
“Audrey!” On a waft of musky perfume, a red-haired woman dripping with diamonds appears out of nowhere and rises up on tiptoe to kiss the air beside Audrey’s cheeks.
Audrey stands stiffly, not returning the gesture, and greets the woman with a cool, “Hello, Jennifer.”
Either oblivious or ignoring that icy response, Jennifer titters and exclaims, “You never attend these parties! So tell us, how did Paul persuade you to come tonight?”
Paul, the mayor. And ‘us’ is apparently the man who’s catching up to her, a bourbon in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other.
“Look, darling. It’s Audrey. And…” Jennifer swipes the champagne from her husband and casts me a speculative look from head to toe before dismissing me. Her gaze catches on Audrey’s ring and then shoots back to me, her voice dropping to a purr. “Well, well, Miss Audrey Clarke. Is there something you’d like to share with the class?”
“I don’t share,” Audrey says bluntly.
She eyes me curiously again. “Not even a name? You seem so familiar. Have we met before?”
“No.” Not unless she brought her car in for service. Which I doubt.
Her husband steps forward, extending his hand to me. “Dan Pearson, head of Pearson Electronics.”
“Caleb Moore,” I answer. “Head mechanic at Phillips Auto.”
“Oh?” His wife seems to freeze for the barest moment, faint distaste twisting her lips. Then she looks me over again like a piece of meat. “How…interesting. Isn’t it, darling?”
Pearson grunts and checks out Audrey’s tits.
“The Pearsons are good friends of the Wyndhams,” Audrey tells me before informing Jennifer, “Caleb is Eleanor’s sole heir.”
“O...ohhhh?! Is that so?” Her eyes flare wide, then a grin of sheer rapacious delight splits her face, and Pearson tears his gaze from Audrey to give me another look over. “I knew you looked familiar. So you are Christopher’s…?”
“Bastard?” I offer bluntly. “No. I’m Robert’s.”
“The dead brother?” She seems taken aback, but only for an instant. �
��That’s fascinating. And you are engaged?”
Audrey answers. “We are.”
“Does Meredith know?”
“I don’t see how she would. You are among the first people we’ve told.”
“Oh.” Eyes glittering with excitement, Jennifer clutches her hands to her chest, the champagne sloshing dangerously near the rim. “Will I be treading on your toes if I share the news? Everyone will be so”—her gaze slides over me again—“astonished. And thrilled for you, of course!”
“Tell anyone you like.”
I suspect she would have even if Audrey hadn’t given permission. As it is, the woman damn near breaks a speed record pulling a phone from her tiny bag.
Audrey leaves her to it, turning away and glancing up at me. “Robert Wyndham didn’t marry your mother?”
“No.” When I said bastard, I meant it literally.
“Ah.” Her gaze searches my face. “Is that what’s behind the spite?”
“Some of it.” Though not most of it. The truth is, my mother’s life would have been a living hell if she’d married him and lived in that house with the other Wyndhams. They’d have destroyed her.
Just like they tried to do anyway.
So it’s not that he didn’t marry her. It’s that the love and marriage he did offer was a lie, because he didn’t think she was good enough to become his wife. Or good enough to even offer her some support, despite her being pregnant with his kid. And the rest of the family thought the same.
But they didn’t leave it at simply thinking she was trash. And they didn’t leave her alone, either.
Audrey tilts her head, studying me. “If he had married her, would you be like the rest of them now—just another Christopher, Meredith, or Sylvia?”
“My mother would never have let me become what they are.”
Something in her eyes clouds. “She was a good mother?”
“Yeah.” My voice roughens. “She was amazing.”
“You were fortunate, then.” Her fingers gently squeeze mine and she begins leading me away—but we don’t get more than a few steps before we’re stopped by a “Miss Clarke!”
After that, the floodgates open. As if everyone watched the Pearsons approach her and walk away unscathed, so they line up to do the same. Though most of them aren’t as bad as the Pearsons, just about every single one shows a marked change in attitude toward me when they discover a mechanic might be worth a couple of hundred million dollars. At first, it’s amusing. After a while, though, it just pisses me off.
I can’t tell if it bothers Audrey. Mostly she doesn’t seem to give a fuck—about anything. After a while, people are lucky to get more than a “hmmm” from her in response. Yet her fingers cling tighter and tighter to mine.
Finally I’ve had enough of this shit. If our purpose here was to give the Wyndhams a heads-up, we accomplished that just by talking to the Pearsons.
I’m pretty sure the next person to come up reads how irritated I am, because he gives a hesitant smile before slowly backing away. I glance down at Audrey. “We ready to get out of here?”
“Almost.” Her gaze is fixed across the room. “There’s Neil Prescott.”
The Wyndhams’ lawyer. And speaking to him is someone I finally recognize. “He’s talking to the fucker that I tried to hire.”
“Keith Shayne?”
“Yeah. He said I didn’t have chance in hell of winning against the Wyndhams, wouldn’t even take me on. Because I couldn’t afford his firm’s fees.”
“Be glad of it,” she tells me. “He’s lazy and incompetent, yet arrogant enough to believe that he’s worth five hundred dollars an hour.”
“So he’s a shitty lawyer?”
“I’d say so. In fact, telling you that he would have lost is probably the only time he was ever right about anything.”
I frown. “You think I’ll lose?”
“No. He would have. My lawyers won’t. Because they are worth what I pay them.” Pulling me forward again, she adds, “They would also tell me not to speak with opposing counsel at all. So instead we’ll take up space on the dance floor right in front of them, and you can watch Shayne weep as he realizes that you have an incredibly wealthy fiancée, and that the thousands of hours his firm could have billed you just slipped through his incompetent little fingers.”
More spite. Which makes me laugh and washes away most of my irritation—but the second I’ve got Audrey Clarke in my arms, I don’t give a damn about the lawyer. I don’t even look in that direction to see his reaction. Because all that matters is hers.
She doesn’t stiffen when my hand flattens over the warm, bare skin at the small of her back. Instead she sighs and her upper body seems to melt against mine, her head resting on my shoulder, her warm breath skimming my throat. Her fingers lightly stroke down my arm, petting me. Petting my sleeve, I realize. As if enjoying how soft the flannel is. But, hell. I don’t care why she’s touching me. As long as she is.
And fuck me, she smells good. I don’t know what fragrance that is. A little bit like the green tea she was drinking earlier, but sweeter. And so subtle that I want to chase the scent up to her skin, and bury my face in her neck or anywhere else she sprayed that perfume.
We aren’t doing much more than swaying, but she doesn’t seem to care that I’m not pulling out the ballroom moves that some of the people around us are. The extent of my dancing talent begins and ends at rubbing up against a woman’s ass while some heavy bass thrums in the background. And slowly rubbing up against Audrey’s ass to a string version of “White Christmas” might sound damn good to me, but I doubt it would to her.
I glance down, tilting my head so I can see her face. Her eyes are closed. She’s not watching Shayne, either—or the other lawyer, Prescott. And when we slowly rotate back around in that direction, I see that they’ve moved to another part of the room, anyway.
So we’re done here. But I’m not in any rush to leave.
“Holy shittola!” A familiar voice and laugh sound from behind me. “Here I was thinking that I’m pretty fucking special, but now I see they’re just letting anybody in.”
Grinning, I swing around with my hand still at Audrey’s back and holding her against my side. “Did they actually let you in or did you crawl in through a bathroom window again?”
“Those days of drunken revelry are over, my friend.” Patrick brushes his hands down his front as if sweeping away the sawdust that usually covers him from head to toe. He appears real sharp tonight, sporting a suit and a crisp red tie. “I’ve got a classy girlfriend to keep happy. Not that you’d know what keeping a woman happy is like—” His gaze lands on Audrey and the grin he’s wearing drops into stunned disbelief. “Well, fuck me. You crazy bastard. You actually asked her.”
“I did.” I’m feeling like a goddamn king as I introduce him. “Audrey, this is Patrick Connell—a friend of mine from way back when.”
And she looks straight through him. Completely ignores the hand he sticks out, and looks through him.
His grin fading, he pulls back his hand and drags it through his red hair. “Yeah, so.” But he’s a good-natured fucker, so he adds, “So you’re getting married? For real? Congratulations and all that.”
“Thanks.” Though a pit opens up in my gut when Audrey doesn’t react to his sincere congrats. Not even with the hmmm she gave to all the rich assholes we’ve talked to. “It’s just for that thing with the inheritance.”
“Uh uh.” He gives Audrey’s figure a once-over before glancing back at me, brows rising. “Right.”
She’s not even looking through him now, but staring off into the distance at nothing, as if she’s bored as hell. Molten lead starts filling up my chest.
I fight to keep the anger out of my voice. “Where’s Karen?”
Patrick gestures vaguely behind him. “Talking to some people from work. I’d bring her over to introduce her… But yeah, I think not.”
Because he doesn’t want Audrey to pull this pretentious shit w
ith the girl he’s crazy about. Doesn’t want some rich snob insulting her. Just like she’s insulting him.
My throat aches with fucking shame as I agree, “Yeah. So maybe later?”
He laughs. “Sure. In a couple of years, maybe. Whenever Elsa releases you from her castle and lets you play with the filthy rabble again, yeah?”
Fuck. Jaw clenched, I nod.
“I hope it’s all worth it, man. See you around.”
My throat’s so tight I can’t say a damn thing. I pull her into my arms again, but I’m not enjoying it now. I’m not enjoying any of this now. My first impression of Audrey Clarke wasn’t the best, thinking she wouldn’t ever associate with someone like me, but I changed my mind about that after we met up in the town square. Hell, I started liking her. And although she was reserved with everyone, she didn’t act like she was better than them. Or better than me. But the past hour should have taught me why that was, too. Just like it did to every other fucking person here, that inheritance made all the difference to her. Made me acceptable. But obviously my friends aren’t.
Yet I’m still hard as fuck, holding her. This cold woman who looked straight through my best friend as if he didn’t exist. I’m so fucking disgusted and it’s not all directed at her. A whole lot of it is aimed at myself.
I hope it’s all worth it, man.
“Caleb?” She’s blinking up at me, her brow furrowing as she searches my face. “Are you…upset?”
“Pretty fucking pissed, yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t really give a shit if you’re a snobby little ice queen with me. Be as pretentious or as frigid as you want, act like I’m not good enough to even lick your feet. I’ll put up with any goddamn thing if it means the Wyndhams get what’s coming to them. Unless you act just like them and treat my friends like trash again. Then we’re going to have a serious fucking problem.”
“Like trash?” Her face goes utterly still. “I did that?”
“Yeah, you fucking did.”
Pulling away, she looks out over the crowd. “Where are they—and what were their names?”
“Christ. He was that invisible to you? It was just one guy. There.” I point him out. “Patrick. And he didn’t deserve the condescending shit you pulled. Yeah, maybe he only works in a furniture shop, but he’s one of the best men I know.” And just saying that truth unleashes the rage and disgust building up in me. I’m choking on them as I tell her, “Fuck this shit. I’m going to get some air.”