by Kim Law
Looking down, he dismissed the woman and punched the button to display the text message.
The only short skirt I brought requires my five-inch stilettos. Think you can handle that?
All the blood left his brain.
A vision of Vega flashed through his mind in that instant. But it wasn’t so much her long, slim body he focused on. Instead it was that brief moment when she’d been explaining how she wasn’t made for the camera. Up until then, though she’d clearly been fighting her attraction to him, her entire being had exuded confidence and determination. But in that instant, her eyes had flickered along with her voice, and everything about her had become vulnerable.
He didn’t know the story but would bet all the money he was about to pay for his father’s kid that there was something there. A history that still haunted her.
He scratched the back of his neck as his mind churned through the possibilities. Maybe she’d had a shot in front of the camera before and blew it? Or maybe something had happened in her teen years? Teen scars were often painful to overcome.
He smirked at the irony. Scars when you were six were equally hard to overcome.
He studied the last message, as if by doing so he could see the answers.
Whatever it was, he couldn’t imagine it would have the potential to affect his public reputation if they were seen together. Chances were slim, but with the announcement just around the corner, he had to think of such things. He wondered if there was even a minute chance he should call a halt to the full-fledged pursuit he was about to open on her?
And then he almost laughed at the thought. She was the first woman who hadn’t dropped at his feet just because he’d looked her way. No way was he not chasing after that.
The sound of a throat clearing got his attention, and he looked up to find Lexi standing in front of his desk.
He sighed. “What is it, Ms. Doguard? Shouldn’t you be gone already?”
She nervously wound the fingers of one hand through the strap of her bag. “I…uh…”
“What?” he snapped, all patience gone.
“I need extra money, Mr. Davenport.”
“Well, you won’t get it.”
“You don’t understand. It’s for my son.”
“Of course it is.” He crossed the room to the door, this time to personally escort her out.
“It is,” she pleaded. “He needs tutors.”
JP opened the door and glanced into the reception area. “Ms. Brubaker, please see that Ms. Doguard finds her way out of the building.”
“Certainly.” Beverly jumped to her feet and came to Lexi, putting a firm hand around her elbow, but Lexi twisted from her grasp and backed away from both of them with a panic-stricken look.
“Please,” she begged. “Please help me. I don’t know where else to go, and I don’t know how to do this myself. He needs help. Tutors. They say he even needs hours of specialized exercises every day just to be close to normal.”
JP froze, his hand still outstretched on the doorknob.
Lexi continued, frenzied now. She shook her head from side to side, backing away until the windows stopped her. She stood there, the impressive skyline at her back, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I can’t do this by myself. And I can’t be there like he needs if I have to get a job to support us both. Please. I don’t know what else to do.”
With precise movements, JP pushed the door closed, its click flashing a twenty-four-year-old memory. They’d just moved into their house in DC, and his mother had been explaining that his grandmother was moving in and he would now spend the afternoons with his grandmother instead of her. Plus, she’d said, your grandmother will work with you on special exercises to help make school more fun. Then his mother had closed the door on the way out. On her way to go be with his father.
He and Beverly exchanged looks as if both knew exactly what the problem was. Beverly hadn’t been there that first day, but she’d soon been brought onto the family payroll as his mother’s assistant. Given that his mother had gotten regular reports on his progress, Beverly had quickly become aware how severe his dyslexia had been.
They both turned to Lexi now, still plastered against the window, hugging herself. JP was the one to speak. “What’s he been diagnosed with?”
Tears—he was pretty sure honest ones—continued to leak from the corners of her eyes. “They said dyslexia. Severe dyslexia.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
He nodded then, but fought the urge to cross the room and wrap the woman in his arms. Though she was still his worst nightmare, she was also human and appeared scared to death. “I understand you’re scared, but you can do this.” He paused before continuing. “You can do this, Lexi. And I’ll help.”
He wanted to say he would personally help the child, since he knew exactly what he would be going through for years to come, but doing so would absolutely cast the boy and the situation into the public eye.
And end the political career his mother so wanted him to have.
“I know a school that’s great with learning disabilities,” he said. “We’ll get him in there and I’ll find the best tutors.”
Lexi sniffled and nodded, suddenly looking more like the teenager his father would have been swept away with instead of the overconfident woman who’d first walked into the room. “Thank you. And I’ll get a job, I promise. I’m not really as heartless as you think, I just messed up. I’d never had money before and I just spent too much. I’ll get a job and pay my own way. I just need help with Daniel. Please. I want him to get the best help he can.”
So did he, though he’d never met the kid in his life. “We’ll work it out. You worry about Daniel right now. But I do need one promise from you.”
She nodded, chewing on her lower lip. “What’s that?”
“When you do get that job, get one so you can be home with your son after school. He’s going to need you there.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“THIS IS IT, Miss.” The cabdriver shifted the car into neutral and turned to smile, one arm thrown across the back of the seat. His smile was innocent, but a little too wide as he took in Vega’s legs. Why she’d allowed herself to be goaded into wearing this skirt and heels was beyond her. It wasn’t like anything she’d worn in years. This outfit hugged her body in the way material was made to do, the rich silk reminding her she was soft and feminine.
She’d bought it last year when visiting her mother in Mexico. The wild blues and greens were as enticing as the water surrounding a hot Pacific island.
She pressed two twenties into the man’s hand and stepped from the cab.
“You need a ride back, you call. Ask for Ramone.”
“Sure,” she mumbled. She would need a ride back, but hopefully only after she’d secured the interview. That’s why she had on this outfit, she kept telling herself. It was also the excuse she’d given when she’d caught herself boldly text-flirting with JP earlier in the day.
Wear a skirt.
The three simple words had jolted her. In an exciting way. The man wasn’t afraid to ask for what he wanted, that was for sure.
And she’d decided her chances of securing the interview would be enhanced if she went along and wore a skirt. She’d show him he wasn’t the only one who could play games.
Though he wouldn’t get what he was really after, her heart pounded at the thought of sleeping with him. Huh…sleep. She shook her head, unable to imagine getting naked with the man and ever calming down enough to fall asleep. She didn’t make a habit of avoiding men, but as a rule, she tended to date the more ordinary ones. Those who blended into the crowd. To have someone the caliber of JP desiring her was quite a turn-on. One, she reminded herself, that she had to ignore. She smoothed her hands down the front of her skirt and shook her head, as if the action would clear the JP-induced fog that had taken up residence since the day before.
Drawing in a deep breath, she let it out slowly and peered up at the massive structure in
front of her. Heavy wood-and-glass doors graced the entry sitting atop the wide semicircular steps. Two-story columns bordered the doors, antique brass lights centered in each. And floor-length windows enhanced the dark-red brick facade of the mansion. It quietly announced dignity and elegance.
Finally coaxing her legs to move, she put one foot in front of the other, her years-old python-skin Alexander McQueens crunching softly across the stone driveway. They’d had to stop at the gate to get buzzed in, so she was confident someone waited near the front door to usher her inside. She ascended the steps, the slim skirt climbing her thighs, and prayed she didn’t embarrass Cat with her less-than-professional attire.
Before she reached for the doorbell, the heavy door swung open.
“Vega.” Cat greeted her warmly and pulled her into a quick hug, catching Vega off guard. “I’m so glad you came.”
“Really?” Vega didn’t have time to get her arms around Cat before she was released. Cat had been friendly enough the day before as they’d interviewed her at the golf tournament, then again earlier today when she and Darrin had covered the charity women’s luncheon Cat and her mother had hosted, but Vega hadn’t been able to decipher if the warmth had been real or merely part of her role as director. She’d had no clue what to expect showing up tonight. The genuine smile had Vega relaxing and looking forward to the evening. “I was worried this was too much to ask of you. It’s quite an imposition.”
“No, no.” Cat ushered her in. “I’m thrilled to do it. And oh my goodness, you look awesome. JP is such a hardnose, it’s about time someone got to him.”
Vega stepped farther into the house as Cat closed the door, and took in the opulent yet comfortable atmosphere. A gleaming marble floor lined the foyer, pedestals along each wall. But instead of priceless art sitting atop, each held a different child’s art project.
“Thank you,” she said, pleased with the compliment, but unsure about the JP comment. “But I wouldn’t say I’ve gotten to him. He simply promised to discuss the possibility of an interview project.”
Cat snorted in an unladylike but totally casual manner. “And that’s why you have legs a mile long tonight. Purely a business dinner.”
Vega couldn’t hide her embarrassment. She was not fooling anyone. “Of course.”
She should probably apologize for the nonbusinesslike clothing, but Cat didn’t seem to mind.
“Uh-huh. Come on.” Cat turned to lead the way, but before she took a step, she glanced back around and tilted her head to look up at Vega. “Good grief, you’re as tall as my brother tonight. This might be a new experience for him.”
Vega gave a self-conscious grin, her shoulders hunching slightly. “They’re the only heels I had with me that could…uh…compete with this skirt.”
“That skirt definitely needs an extraordinary pair of heels.” Cat lowered her eyes to the shoes, then let out a low, impressive whistle. “And I’d say you found them. You’ve got excellent taste. I might have to beg your help during a shopping trip while you’re in town. I’ve been less than enthused about my style for the last while, and lately I’ve been feeling that something special might be just what I need to pull me back to the land of the living.”
She was referring to the well-known fact she hadn’t had an easy go of it since her husband’s unexpected death three years earlier in what had been labeled a “friendly fire incident.” Joseph Carlton had been a highly decorated sergeant major in the army, and though he hadn’t been born a Davenport, it had been widely speculated he would follow in his in-laws’ footsteps once he retired from the military.
“Of course,” Vega murmured. “Maybe we can make that happen.”
Certain the suggestion of shopping was merely a conversational topic, Vega exchanged the expected pleasantries but was shocked at the pang that rattled her insides over the thought that it would never happen. Even if Cat had truly meant the words and sought her out, being seen in public with Cat would be almost as risky as being with JP. And of course, it wouldn’t only be Vega who got hurt. She couldn’t do that to this woman.
“Now,” Cat began. “It’s time to take you to the man you came to see.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively, and Vega couldn’t stop the heat rising to her cheeks.
“Really, it’s a business din—”
“Sweetie,” Cat said, somehow managing to look down her nose at her even though she was a good five inches shorter than Vega—without heels. “I saw the way you were checking out my brother yesterday. Not that I blame you or am bothered by it. You seem nice. I hope you rock his world. But don’t be pretending you aren’t at least thinking a bit of the same thing I’m suggesting.” She winked. “Now straighten your shoulders and let’s go make an impression.”
Vega smiled a real smile for the first time that night, accepting the friendliness being handed out, and Cat shook her head and mumbled, “The man has no idea what he’s in for.”
She led them through a set of open double doors into an informal family room, where Vega made out muted murmuring coming from around the corner of a wide, thick couch. One of the voices was a low, deep rumble, the others clearly coming from children.
Nerves settled in Vega’s feet, keeping either of them from taking another step.
Cat nudged her forward. “Come on. I want to introduce you to my kids before the three of us head out.”
“What?” Vega whispered, her breath growing shallow. “You’re leaving? I assumed you were eating with us. I thought…”
Her words died as she came into view of JP and caught sight of him playing with Cat’s two small children. The girl was beautiful. If Vega remembered correctly, she was six.
“She looks just like you,” she said to Cat. Realizing that didn’t fully express the intended compliment, Vega glanced at Cat, taking in her blonde hair and the Davenport-blue eyes that both kids also owned. “She’s beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Cat murmured.
But it was the boy to whom Vega’s attention was pulled. He was younger, maybe four. However, the media had never mentioned he had a disability. It hadn’t been obvious the few times he’d been on camera, but the jerky movements of his right arm implied a neurological disorder or some sort. Slight, but undeniable. The way JP played with him was the most tender thing Vega had ever seen.
The big, bold, take-charge man sat cross-legged on the floor, his suit jacket tossed on a nearby chair, with the boy sitting on his lap. They both gripped the same helicopter and “flew” it in the air, JP explaining the intricacies of the vehicle in a softly modulated voice. All the while, the girl combed his dark hair, securing twisted clumps with tiny, pink clips, and rattled nonstop about a television show Vega knew was a current favorite among little girls.
She had the urge to back out of the room and leave the house. This was not the man she’d expected JP to be. He was a politician, for crying out loud. Not yet, maybe, but there was no doubt in her mind he would accept the position and soon start a long-lived, successful—if you called any political path that—career. Politicians did not sit on the floor and play with their niece and nephew so candidly unless there was a photographer in sight.
And then it hit her. She was a photographer.
Had he expected her to show up with a video camera or was he simply planting seeds of ideas for the interview?
“JP.” Cat spoke softly. His gaze swiveled to hers, a grin in place from ear to ear at the same time Cat said, “Your guest is here.”
The grin disappeared and his eyes momentarily widened as he sought out Vega’s gaze. He made contact, seeming embarrassed at first for being caught letting his niece treat him like one of her dolls, but then shrugging good-naturedly. He pulled both kids close and planted kisses on their chubby cheeks. “Uncle JP has to go now.”
Both kids complained, but it wasn’t real. It seemed to be part of a game they played. When they collapsed into his lap, he snaked a hand over each of them and tickled their bellies, sending them into fits of giggles before ten
derly rubbing their blond heads. They finally settled on either side of him while JP removed the clips and threaded his hands through his thick dark hair, bringing it into submission with ease. He rose to his full height, and Vega’s heart rate increased. His presence filled the room.
After scooping up the discarded jacket, he shrugged into it, all while eyeing Vega from across the room. His gaze took in every inch of her bare legs, then traveled up over her tight skirt and matching bright-blue shirt, pausing at the deep V, where the tiniest hint of cleavage peeked out. Her toes curled in her python-skin shoes when his gaze swept back down and landed on her feet, both of them aware of what the heels did for her legs.
He moved toward her and she couldn’t help returning the appraisal, admiring the way the tailored pin-striped suit framed his body. She was here for dinner, she reminded herself, not to have him for dinner. Or be the main course herself. His gaze implied he had a hard time remembering as well. He stepped to her side, and the same woodsy scent she’d noticed before pulled at her, attempting to lure her closer.
“Impressive,” he murmured for her ears only.
“Wow,” Cat’s youngest said, his innocent voice the epitome of youth. “You’re bigger den Uncle P.”
Vega laughed softly and took in her height against JP’s. She did have a couple inches on him. “Yes, but only for tonight. See.” She briefly slipped out of one heel and placed her foot flat on the smooth wood floor, bringing her back down to a more respectable height. “It’s just the shoes.”
The little girl was in awe, her eyes brightening as she gazed at the brooch on the vamp of each shoe, but the boy suddenly seemed less impressed.