“Friendly?”
“No, looking at his customers like they were pieces of meat.”
Paul considered Thierry’s behavior. “Truthfully? I’ve never seen him act so unprofessional before. I know he ended a lengthy relationship recently; maybe he’s a bit on the prowl.” What was the problem? Didn’t Alex live to be fawned over?
The arrival of the waiter with their appetizers and wine kept the conversation light. Alex surprised him by saying, “The same for me, thanks,” when Paul placed his order.
“Uh, no offense or anything; you do realize what I ordered, right?” he ventured.
“Saltimbocca? Of course, it’s one of my favorite dishes, although I prefer the veal version. I’m sure the pork will be acceptable.”
They shared something in common? More than just Alfred and Uncle Byron? Paul might be setting himself up, but he had to ask, though he knew the question would seem absurd coming out the blue. “What’s your favorite book?”
Without missing a beat, Alex answered, “Which genre?”
Paul’s wasn’t quick enough to hide his surprise. “You read?”
Alex’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and he appeared to be fighting a laugh. “Well, I may not use the darned thing, but I did earn a law degree. Last I heard, literacy was a basic requirement.”
For the second time that evening, Paul felt his face flame. “I… I’m sorry,” he stammered, “what I meant was….”
“I know what you meant,” Alex said, letting him off the hook. “The truth is I love to read. I’m currently working on a mystery novel about a priest in eighteenth-century Italy.”
“The Monk in the Shadows?”
When Alex nodded, Paul found himself babbling. “You’re kidding, right? Wow, I finished that book a few days ago. It’s one of my favorites. How far are you into it?”
“Brother Rupert has left for Sicily.”
Hmmm… about a quarter into the book. I wonder if he’s found the clues yet. “Who do you think the killer is?”
The waiter brought their salad course. The greens sat ignored and slowly wilting, no match for scintillating conversation.
“How is it you’ve already read a book that hasn’t yet been released?” Alex asked. “I had to pull a few strings to get my copy.”
Paul smiled, warming up to one of his favorite subjects. “Owning a bookstore has its advantages. I get to preview upcoming releases.”
“You own a bookstore?”
“Yup.” Paul couldn’t hide a pleased grin. “I worked at a chain during college for peanuts to learn the business. When I graduated, I found an old building in Bishop in need of major repairs and made a deal.”
Alex opened his mouth and closed it again, staring at Paul with a quizzical expression. “Why didn’t you buy into a franchise and build a new building? Wouldn’t that have been easier?”
“Nothing worthwhile is easy,” Paul replied. “Besides, buying land and building from the ground up cost more than my budget allowed. In the end, I did most of the work myself and saved a fortune.”
Dinner went by quickly after they’d broken the ice, and Paul found himself relaxing and enjoying both dinner and the company. From time to time, he reminded himself that this wasn’t a friendly date and he needed to stay on guard.
After leaving the restaurant, they took their time driving home. It had been one of the most pleasant evenings Paul had experienced in a long time, all things considered. That is, until he parked his car and entered the house, intent on checking on Alfred, having a nightcap, and curling up with a good book.
The moment they were inside, Alex pinned Paul against the foyer wall, his insistent mouth descending in a savage kiss. “What the fuck?” Paul sputtered, attempting to fight off the sudden aggression.
“You know you want me, baby, why be coy?” Alex rumbled against his panting mouth.
“Alfred….”
“He doesn’t have to know,” the husky voice answered, too quickly.
“Stop it, Alex! I have to go check on Alfred!”
With unmistakable lust in his eyes, Alex commanded, “Meet me in my room later.”
Paul hissed, “Oh, hell no!”
Alex’s shocked dismay was gratifying. “What? What did you say?”
If looks could kill, Alex Martin would have gone up in flames. “Let me go, Alex. I need to go see about Alfred, and then I’m going to bed—alone.”
Once Alex released his hold, Paul sprinted down the hall like the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels, embarrassed beyond belief, for though truly offended by Alex’s actions, his traitorous body had other ideas. His sudden erection made a quick retreat awkward. He only hoped the arrogant bastard hadn’t noticed; the last thing he needed was to fuel Alex’s already raging ego.
THE evening went better than expected, and Alex didn’t even have to pretend he’d had a good time. In different circumstances, he’d have enjoyed himself immensely. It was one of the best dates he’d ever had. Wait a minute, he reminded himself, dinner with Paul Sinclair wasn’t a date.
Having forgotten his original intent in feigning friendship with Paul confused him, to say the least. The man was handsome, sincere, and passionate when he spoke of weekends spent sawing and hammering, slowly refurbishing a labor-of-love bookstore.
The image Byron’s nephew presented to the world conflicted drastically with Alex’s presumptions. On the one hand, Paul Sinclair seemed to live simply, driving a car long past its prime and working hard to build a business with his own hands. On the other hand, Paul had his own room at the mansion, across the hall from Uncle Alfred’s. Why did he say he lived in Bishop?
Making his way to his own lonely room, Alex recalled those bright eyes, aglow with excitement for such mundane things as polished wood floors, the smell of old books, and plans to renovate the upper floor of the bookstore into a coffee shop. For a precious few moments, the brooding and serious façade had cracked, allowing them to share an unexpectedly enjoyable meal, discussing trivial aspects of their lives while meticulously steering clear of heavier topics. Like Alfred, or the man they’d recently laid to rest.
If Paul was, in fact, Alfred’s lover, Alex could hardly blame the old man. Paul wasn’t as polished as most kept men of his acquaintance; no, far from it. He obviously didn’t spend hours perfecting his looks, and his appearance seemed unaltered by a surgeon’s knife, a rare occurrence in the show-business circles of Los Angeles—the sources of Alfred’s financial power.
While substantial money had passed down through the family, Alfred Anderson, attorney to the stars, had done well in his own right and could well afford to keep his boy toy very comfortably.
Alex loved his uncle and wanted him to be happy, but moving so quickly to a new lover seemed disrespectful to Byron, especially in light of Paul’s age. Nearly fifty years separated the two, though rationally Alex knew age didn’t matter. His uncle was an adult and not in the least bit senile. Alfred had the right to make his own decisions.
Finally, the real issue dawned on him. As much as he fought against the inappropriate attraction, he wanted Paul, and guilt rankled. Damn, the man was good. Not only had Paul enchanted Uncle Alfred, he’d managed to charm Alex as well, something no one else had ever done.
No, it wasn’t going to happen. Alex intended to expose the manipulator, and once he was out of the picture, Alex would help his uncle find a more suitable partner—preferably someone closer to Alfred’s own age. Afterward they could both put Paul Sinclair out of their minds for good.
8
THE days passed, and Alex’s structured schedule rivaled his college days’. He rose early, spent much of the day learning from his uncle or other associates, and if he went to bed late, it wasn’t due to clubbing. No, these days his free evenings found him sequestered in his uncle’s office, researching. The Internet proved a valuable tool for learning pretty much anything, like the success rate of his uncle’s upcoming surgery and the attending physician’s stellar reputation. He also
located a bookstore in Bishop, California, owned by Paul Sinclair, found that Paul had graduated college with honors and was highly active in charity work, both in Los Angeles and in Bishop.
Try as he might, he couldn’t find one negative thing about the man anywhere. When questioned, his uncle’s associates sung the man’s praises—at length. Alex watched and waited for Paul to slip up, then watched some more. It didn’t happen. On the contrary, with each new day he grew more and more impressed with Byron’s nephew, almost willing to turn a blind eye on the evidence of Paul’s being a little too close to Alfred. Almost.
Alex studied the man from across the dinner table, though Paul seemed oblivious, intent on his conversation with Alfred.
“There were seven interviews today for a butler and three for housekeeper.” Paul sighed, placing his napkin on his empty plate. “We found some outstanding candidates. Thank goodness it’s over and done with.”
“Well, they should be the best,” Alfred assured him. “They came from the finest agency in Los Angeles.”
Paul scowled. “Well, except for….”
“Except for what?” Alex prompted, curious.
“Well….” Paul squirmed, twisting his fingers together. “The accounting firm keeps sending people, even though I told them we’ve made our decisions. To put it bluntly, those applicants were totally unsuitable.”
Alex found it extremely telling that Alfred’s accountant took such a personal interest in his client’s affairs, above and beyond what the job description entailed. Unlike when he’d searched for information on Paul, the accountant’s name and firm produced some pretty noteworthy results, and not all of them positive.
“Don’t worry about it,” Alex said, “I’ll handle it. I’ve been meaning to give Maxwell a call, anyway.”
Already rehearsing the conversation in his head, he nearly missed Paul’s quietly murmured, “Thank you.”
Alex merely inclined his head politely in acknowledgment. It’d been coming for some time, and he definitely needed to have a conversation with good ol’ Maxwell. Sipping the last of his wine, he made a mental note to call first thing in the morning.
“THAT’S right,” Alex said into the phone, most of his attention fixed on his laptop and his uncle’s portfolio. One by one, he systematically updated user names and passwords. “We’ve already made our decisions. Bernard and Martha will train the new staff before retiring at full pay.”
Alex’s smile turned devious, though he knew the man on the other end of the line couldn’t see him. “That’s what Uncle Alfred wants.” Sputtering indignation forced him to hold the phone away from his ear. He truly enjoyed dropping the next little bit of information too. “They’ll both continue to live here. The guest house is being remodeled to include two apartments.”
He listened quietly for a moment, or rather, pretended to. There was nothing his uncle’s accountant could say that he wanted to hear. Digging the knife in deeper, he continued, “Paul conducted the initial interviews and background checks. The final decisions belonged to me, Bernard, and Martha.” It should have been obvious at this point that the candidates suggested by the Turner, Turner, and Walden firm hadn’t even been considered, nor would they be.
“Although we appreciate your concern, we don’t need any more résumés at this time.” Though his words were polite enough, he made sure his tone clearly conveyed, “Don’t send anyone else!” Maybe the polite warning would get the man to stop harassing Paul with waste-of-time job seekers.
Of course the integrity-challenged bean counter protested the new arrangement. It kept him out of the loop he’d enjoyed for thirteen years. Questions had arisen when Alex assumed control of his uncle’s investments, and it appeared Maxwell had used shady accounting practices with regard to his client’s finances. Alex planned to ease him out slowly, and once his hands were prised free of Alfred’s interests, the door would be slammed and locked. Planting informants in the household wasn’t going to happen.
Turning a deaf ear to the protests while continuing to study his uncle’s files, Alex bid the man an insincere “Good day,” and then he ended the call.
Although he wasn’t an accountant, Alex knew bill padding when he saw it, and Maxwell Turner had taken full advantage of Alfred’s recent inattention to take what wasn’t his. Three gym memberships and two personal trainers? Alex belonged to one fitness club and had never employed a trainer in his life. The duplicitous bastard must have trusted Alfred not to question any expenses submitted from Houston, and Alex asked an attorney friend to investigate the gyms Alex hadn’t set foot in. The pilfering and mismanagement of Alfred’s accounts might not be worth suing over, what with the negative publicity a lawsuit would bring, but definitely warranted a good firing. First, Alex needed to carefully extricate the man’s greedy hands from any Anderson assets—Maxwell could still do a lot of damage.
Alex grinned, supposing, even now, that Maxwell was discovering that he no longer had access to Alfred’s online accounts—and changing passwords were just the beginning.
Surprisingly, and proving he really was an Anderson at heart, one taste of business had left Alex wanting more, and he thrived on the challenges before him. His uncle invested with companies in fields of personal interest, which made the job even more enjoyable.
Equally amazing was how efficient Paul had turned out to be in assuming the role of secretary and household organizer, handling such mundane tasks as shopping and dealing with contractors about the planned changes to the guest house—tasks that, quite frankly, Alex found baffling. The cooperation left Alex free to focus on the financial and business matters, like monitoring spending on the project. Far from attempting to profit from his activities, Paul was a shrewd bargainer and watched every penny. The experience he’d gained during the renovations to his store proved invaluable.
With Isaac needed more around the house, Paul also escorted Alfred to his appointments. Unfortunately for Alfred, Paul talking directly to the doctor resulted in a severe reduction in his brandy consumption. When time for medication rolled around, now Paul appeared instead of Bernard, doling out pills and ordering Alfred to rest. Paul’s every action declared his obvious affection for the old man.
Well, he has to behave like that, Alex rationalized. He’s a good actor, playing a role.
He sighed, willing to admit, if only to himself, that it wasn’t true. Paul Sinclair remained an enigma. When others were around, Alex maintained civility for Alfred’s sake; however, the moment they were alone, he tried every trick in his vast repertoire to get into Paul’s pants. Each and every time, Paul firmly declined the offers, carefully orchestrating the schedule to allow them little time alone.
Alex’s stomach grumbled, and he rose and stretched, deciding to visit Alfred for a chat about Maxwell before breakfast. Tapping softly on the doorframe, he waited patiently before easing the door open and stepping inside when he received no answer.
“Uncle?” he called. A movement glimpsed from the corner of his eye drew his attention to the window. His uncle and Paul ambled along the garden path, occasionally touching or exchanging a casual glance. Things Alex’s mind, eagerly seeking fault, blew out of proportion.
When they turned toward the house, he retreated lest he be caught spying. About to leave, he recalled the morning not long ago and what he’d found on the bed. He couldn’t help himself. Quickly scanning the sheets, he caught sight of a small, square package that had once held a condom lying on the comforter. Leaving the cellophane wrapper where it lay, he made a hurried exit, his blood pressure steadily rising with each step.
“WHAT’S on the agenda for today?” Alex asked, wiping the remnants of a tasty breakfast from his mouth. Martha’s cooking would be sorely missed now that she’d announced her imminent retirement. At sixty-eight years old, she deserved to retire. However, he’d miss the cookies she used to bake for him. But she’d still be in the house and maybe up to the occasional request.
Paul, in the role of personal secretary
, never looked up from pouring Alfred’s tea. “You have a meeting with the attorney at ten and the broker at eleven thirty. I’ll be taking Alfred to his doctor’s appointment at ten thirty, and you’ll be joining us for lunch at one at Berkley’s.”
Alex had to hand it to Paul; the man was efficient. “How about this afternoon?”
After a long pause, Paul murmured, “Have you forgotten? It’s the reading of Uncle Byron’s will.”
Well, damn. Yes, he had forgotten.
Alfred placed a reassuring hand on Paul’s. Between the gesture and the reminder that they’d soon be hearing Byron’s final message, Alex suddenly found breakfast no longer agreeing with him. The warmth in Paul’s eyes as he and the old man shared a quiet moment of silent communication quickly replaced any traces of remorse with something more familiar: suspicion.
Suddenly uncomfortable, Alex changed the subject. “You said the interviews were over?”
“Yes,” Paul replied. “We narrowed the choices down to two possibilities for butlers, and Bernard decided on William McCord. He and the new housekeeper, Theresa Garcia, start today. They both came highly recommended.”
Though Alex still harbored some resentment, he was a firm believer in giving credit where due. “I want to thank you for overseeing the hiring of the new staff. I’ve got my hands a bit full these days.”
Alfred smirked, though prudently remaining quiet.
Eyes wide with surprise, Paul stammered his reply, “W… well, I know Bernard was worried. How considerate of you to let him choose his replacement.”
They performed an awkward dance, working together for the greater good, which would have been a complete failure had they not both been sincere in their efforts to cooperate. It was becoming obvious to Alex that Paul was sincere in everything he said or did, casting doubts on his earlier assumptions about the man’s character. There was still the matter of the evidence… like what he’d found before breakfast lying on his uncle’s bed. He pushed the unpleasantness to the back of his mind for later thought. “Since he and Martha will continue live here and oversee things, they’re actually doing us a huge favor.” Besides, Alex was comfortable with them and didn’t want them to leave.
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