by Nancy Bush
“Why not? Dad might not approve?”
She glanced to where she knew her father would be seated. It was the largest table, right next to where Jerome Wolfe’s two seats were. Lyle and the still-empty spot reserved for Kate were on one side of Wolfe’s two. Lyle kept looking sideways toward Wolfe, now and then at Layla, then his gaze would slide to the crowd, almost as if he were searching for a particular face. Probably Kate’s.
“Don’t let me be all alone in between your father and brother,” Wolfe pressed.
She was about to turn him down, but then her gaze fell on Neil and Courtney. Pregnant Courtney . . .
“Sure, why not?” she agreed.
Wolfe jauntily extended his elbow to her, but Layla wasn’t about to go that far. She ignored the offer and preceded him to the seat next to her brother.
“What are you doing here?” Lyle demanded sharply.
“Accepting an invitation.”
“From who?”
“Me.” Wolfe laid one hand on Lyle’s shoulder before taking the chair on the opposite side of her.
Lyle looked like he wanted to say something more. His lips moved, and the skin stretched over his eyes. Instead, he jerked his gaze from both Layla and Jerome and glared straight ahead.
Layla’s eyes wanted to stray back toward Neil and his girlfriend, but she forced herself to focus on Lyle. “Isn’t this what Dad wants?” she asked softly, out of the side of her mouth. “Us to be entertaining the enemy?”
“You changing your mind about Stonehenge?”
“Not even close.”
Abbott appeared, looking slightly flushed. He did a double-take on Layla seated beside Wolfe, opened his mouth as if to object, then, he, too, clamped his lips into a tight line. Like son, like father.
Kate showed up moments later as the din of the crowd filled the area. All around Layla, people were reaching for the bottles of wine in the center of the table and pouring glasses, passing them around as the salad course was delivered.
Lyle hadn’t touched the bottle on their table, but the couple next to him asked if he minded if they poured. He shook his head as Kate took her seat. She shot a frown Layla’s way.
“You have a place at a different table,” she said. “We’re all supposed to host separate tables.”
“I asked her to sit by me,” Wolfe said, looking past Layla and Lyle to meet Kate’s surprised eyes.
“How’s John?” Layla asked Kate.
“I think Lucy’s taking him home.” She muttered, “Another table without a host.”
Taking him home . . . If Lucy and John left, she would be facing another conundrum: no ride home. She ignored the glass of wine Wolfe poured her and pushed back from the table. “I think I’ll check on them.”
“They’re bringing our entrées right now,” Kate said tightly.
Sure enough, the catering staff were carrying up trays laden with plates of salmon atop beds of creamy risotto.
“Layla.”
Neil’s voice sent a sudden shiver down her spine. He’d gotten up from his table to come to hers. She’d seen him scoot his chair back as soon as she did, but she’d hoped it was just a coincidence. Of course not. But she couldn’t talk to him. Not now. Not ever. She was still reeling from Courtney’s blurt about the baby, and beyond that she was afraid she could say something that would hurt her case. Or maybe Neil would engage her in a battle of words, twisting everything out of proportion.
“I wanted to explain about what Courtney said.”
“I think I got it.”
“I’m not ... we’re not really together.”
Layla keyed in on him. Her heart was still racing from too much adrenaline. “But you’re having a baby together.”
“It’s complicated.”
His expression was earnest, but she didn’t trust it for a nanosecond. That much, she’d learned.
Courtney was looking over at them like she was just bursting with further news. Neil shot her a dark look that made her face fall.
“Does she know you’re not together?” Layla asked.
“I’ve made my position clear.”
“Really? Like you did with me? Oh, wait, no . . .” She lifted a hand to stop him before he began. “I signed the papers you sent me. I’m just not sure I understood the terms completely.”
“You and I could work things out better between us.”
She lifted her brows. “There’s nothing to work out. We’re done.”
“You’re not going to win that lawsuit,” he said in a rush.
“I think I might,” she lied. She knew it was a long shot. But Neil seemed to be harboring doubts, so she was going to go with it.
“We’re not going into court.” He was adamant. “If it’s money you want, let’s talk.”
“I want Eddie. Period. I don’t want money.”
“We could settle for say ... another twenty thousand more than I already gave you.”
Layla blinked at him, speechless. She had no intention of taking the money, but it was his attitude that resonated. He sounded almost . . . afraid.
Misinterpreting, he doubled down. “I could write you a check tonight.”
“I’m not taking your money. I’m trying to give you back what you gave me. I could write you a check tonight!”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Courtney had been hovering in the background, undoubtedly at Neil’s direction, because she was antsy and jittery and staring over at them the whole time. She finally couldn’t stand it. She hurried over to Neil’s side, though the chill he sent her kept her a person’s length away.
“Neil was just telling me about the deal he made with you,” Layla said.
“You know about the baby?” she burst out.
“There is no deal!” he bellowed at the same moment.
“What about the baby?” Layla asked her.
She opened and shut her mouth twice, looking like the proverbial fish, glancing at Neil, whose face had reddened.
Neil gritted, “There’s nothing to tell. Layla, this doesn’t have to be this hard between us.”
“I think it does. What’s going on?”
“Nothing!” Courtney burst out, then looked like she wanted to clap her hand over her mouth, rolling worried eyes Neil’s way.
“What about the baby?” Layla repeated. She was missing something and couldn’t put her finger on it, but ... suddenly, she understood. “Ah . . . your pregnancy. To make sure you had a son, you must have used in vitro to pick the embryo.” Was that the big secret?
Courtney swallowed, still gazing fearfully at Neil, who ignored her. He was focused on Layla with laser intent.
“Okay,” Layla said, turning away from him. She couldn’t look at him. Didn’t understand his obsession with having a male heir. Was soul sick that she’d become a part of his planned dynasty.
“You’re trying to turn this into a war,” he accused.
Layla trained her gaze down the stairs to the entry hall. Several workers with buckets and mops and an array of cleaning supplies were just finishing the grand entryway. One of them was staring at the closed anteroom door, her gray hair pulled back into a ponytail at her nape.
“All right,” he hissed through his teeth. “Thirty thousand. That’s the end of it.”
She jerked around to stare at him. “I don’t want one cent of your money! Where’s this coming from?”
“You sure did before. What happened? Dad finally loosen the purse strings? Give you some power?”
“No.” She regretted ever telling him anything about herself and her family. “See you in court,” she said, heading toward the stairs.
“Is this where I say ‘over my dead body’?” he tossed back.
She wisely declined to answer.
Chapter Fourteen
Kate watched Layla leave her seat at almost the same moment the waitstaff began bringing in trays of entrées and delivering them to the surrounding tables. She kept her eye on Layla, who was in a conversation with
Neil Grassley. Moments later, Layla fled to the grand stairway and disappeared.
Inside her head, Kate ran through a series of increasingly pungent swear words. Damn Layla. Damn Lucy and John. Damn everyone who had no respect for what she was trying to accomplish here!
Someone asked Kate a question and she answered with a smile, trying to appear attentive as her own plate was laid in front of her. But her mind cast back to what had transpired moments before. Jean-Luc had fallen down in dramatic reaction to the news that John was puking but then had staggered upward, hand on his heart.
“Do you see this?” he’d screeched. Kate had glanced around. The poached pear and blue cheese salads were lined up on trays, ready to serve, and the salmon and risotto was nearly ready.
“It looks good,” she’d said.
“But a guest has collapsed!” he practically screamed.
“Yes, and it better not be what it appears.”
“You think this is my fault? My food?”
“It’s unacceptable. Just unacceptable.”
“Well, it’s not my food,” he snarled. “Maybe the gentleman is ill. The flu. Whatever.”
“One of our guests is throwing up. If it turns out to be food poisoning . . .”
“It’s not my—”
“If you and your staff brought this on—”
At that precise moment, Abbott had barreled into the kitchen, stopping short on seeing Kate. Jean-Luc had drawn himself up, his face turning a dark crimson. Kate had swallowed back her anger, taken Jean-Luc’s last explanation and run with it, explaining to her father-in-law that all was well, that John had apparently come down with a form of the flu.
Jean-Luc had turned away to make sure the food was coming out perfectly, and Kate had thought she’d heard him mutter something about him knowing better than to give rich people a discount. Or had that been what she’d thought he’d said, because Abbott had taken her at her word, his own face revealing relief.
“Lucy’s taking him home,” Abbott said. “Everything’s fine here, then?”
“Yes,” Kate said.
“We will continue,” Jean-Luc answered stiffly.
Abbott had disappeared, returning to the guests, and Kate had looked at Jean-Luc, who’d warned her quite rudely, “Keep your cleanup staff out of my kitchen.”
“They won’t come in here. They are just trying to help with the cleanup. The maintenance room and laundry are down the hall. ” Kate had flushed with annoyance.
“Hmph.” He’d then turned to one of the waitresses, the pretty Asian girl who looked scared of Jean-Luc, and barked, “Serve the wine, and don’t leave the glasses unattended!”
Hoping against hope that disaster would be averted, Kate left the kitchen, face burning, and beelined for the cloakroom, where the man and woman who’d finished cleaning up John’s mess were standing outside the door. She suspected they’d peeked into the kitchen to see what was going on, or maybe they’d thought that’s where the problem was, and Jean-Luc had seen them. Whatever the case, their actions had earned her a talking-to by an overrated, narcissistic chef whose food wasn’t even half as good as rated!
She’d slowed down in the foyer, aware of the noise from the diners above as the last of them headed up the stairs. Their voices rose in swells of laughter and upbeat chatter, the sounds of people having a good time. For a moment, she’d wanted to cry. Maybe they all didn’t know yet, but they would, and when they learned about John vomiting, it would be all they remembered. And Jean-Luc? He could talk all he wanted, but it sure as hell looked like food poisoning to her. What if someone else got sick? It would be the legacy of her Denim and Diamonds event.
She’d been all set to have it out with the maintenance staff when she’d run into that detective, planted in the center of the foyer. And then Lucy had come back in, wearing sneakers. Kate had almost commented on her change of footwear, but with that detective trying to take charge, and Lucy letting her—didn’t anyone have any sense of order and protocol any longer?—Kate had been forced to let them work it out and join the party upstairs.
She’d marched upward, crushed and angry. This event was supposed to be a jewel in the crown of her expertise tiara. A fine showing, the one where Abbott realized how important she was to the Crissman empire. But it had all gone so wrong and there was still so much night left. Her stomach was still clenched, and it was all she could do to force a bite of fish into her mouth.
Could John just be ill? Could it be that easily explained? She hoped to hell Lucy got him out of here tout de suite. Maybe ... maybe then she could avoid the complete catastrophe this whole night was becoming, although she suspected it wouldn’t be any better when she sneaked Lyle’s phone away from him after he was asleep and she found out about Pat.
With that in mind, she poured her husband another glass of wine. It would be better if he was a little bit drunk. Maybe a lot drunk. She could drive them home. Put him to bed. Sneak his phone away ...
* * *
“Thank you,” Lucy said to the woman who’d put her arm around one side of John while she’d been on the other, together helping him out of the cloakroom and into the Audi. He’d slumped against the passenger seat, head back, eyes closed, and Lucy had hurried around to the driver’s door, yanking it open, giving a wave to the woman, who stood to one side, watching Lucy drive away.
She’d introduced herself as September Westerly, and she had that capable, calm-in-a-crisis demeanor Lucy hadn’t known how much she needed until it was offered.
“No trouble,” September had assured her. Now, she stood outside Stonehenge’s front doors and watched Lucy drive away into a misting rain. Lucy threw a last glance in her rearview, seeing the woman turn back to the door now that Lucy and John were on their way. She wondered if she would be as good at helping strangers.
“So, how was your fuck with the bartender?” John asked.
Lucy’s whole body jerked in shock. She glanced over at him, but his eyes were still closed. “I didn’t—that’s not what happened,” she stammered.
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not lying.”
Silence.
Finally, “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“I can ... but are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor?”
“No doctor.”
More silence. Lucy felt indescribably uncomfortable. She knew she’d hurt John, and she felt bad about that, and a little resentful, but she was consumed with getting him better. Was it food poisoning? Should somebody be doing something? Something to stop the people eating? Someone like Kate?
“How long have you known him?”
“Who? Oh.”
John cracked a bloodshot eye at her. “Come on, Lucy.”
“I’m thinking about you. Maybe we should go to an emergency room.”
“Take me there and I’ll walk home.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to be looked at.”
“No.”
“Fine.”
“Did he have a big dick? Did he make you scream in that way you do, ‘uh, uh, uhhh’?”
“Stop it, John,” she said, horrified.
“Where’d you do it?”
“We didn’t do it.” She was starting to get mad, and it was better than feeling like such a heel. “He came on too strong, and I . . . left.”
“At the bar? At a motel? His place?”
“Outside the bar.”
“Outside the bar,” he repeated, then lapsed into silence once more. Too late, Lucy realized she shouldn’t have said that much because John suddenly inhaled through his nose in disdain. “The night I was there and you came around from the parking lot.”
She wasn’t going to correct him that she’d been on the other side of the building, locked in an embrace. She just kept her eyes on the road ahead.
John coughed, then coughed again, then leaned forward and puked up a small puddle of bile and liquid.
* * *
A roar went up from the crowd, and Kate surfac
ed to see that Abbott had climbed to his feet, got behind the podium, and was giving a speech. In her peripheral vision, she noticed that the female detective from the foyer had now reached the top of the stairs. As Abbott launched into introductions, the detective looped around the gallery rail to find her table. Kate could just see a lifted hand and figured the woman’s handsome husband was signaling her.
She turned her attention back to Abbott, who was rhapsodizing about the rich beauty of the Columbia River Gorge and how all the attendees were making such a huge contribution in putting it back to its former glory. That generated a round of applause.
But Kate’s mind wandered ... Lucy and John must be on their way. Good. She wanted to forget about that unfortunate event and concentrate on the rest of the evening, hope the benefit could be salvaged. It didn’t seem like people had been put off by John’s vomiting. That was a miracle in itself.
She stole a sideways look at Lyle, whose hand was wrapped around the stem of a glass of red wine, the liquid glinting like rubies under the lights. Lyle was staring at a woman in a black dress with diamond-shaped cutouts down its front, huge holes that showed off fake boobs and smooth skin. Those were her diamonds? The little bitch probably thought that was funny.
At that moment, the woman got up from her chair, tugging at the hem of her short skirt—it hugged her butt like it was Velcroed on and barely kept her hoohaw from showing—as she wandered around the tables and down the aisle toward the ladies’ room. Feeling someone’s eyes on her, Kate turned back and found Jerome Wolfe regarding her. He lifted his own glass of Cabernet at her, and she, in turn, lifted her glass of Chardonnay. Then she lowered her eyes, feeling breathless and discouraged. He was handsome and successful, and he was going to make them rich with cash.
When she looked up, she saw Lyle was gazing at her in a way that caused her heart to seize for a moment. Had he caught her eyes on Jerome Wolfe? Luckily, he couldn’t read her thoughts, though why should she care? Black diamond dress had certainly given him something to ogle.
He’s your husband. Get him in bed tonight. You’re close to ovulating. Maybe this time you’ll get pregnant. Why not?