Sloane had seen the faces around the room tonight, too. The board, her so-called friends and colleagues, were most likely gloating. She knew it. She wasn’t surprised by it. She had too much before. People were spiteful and they took pleasure in watching the mighty fall. Like schadenfreude, those around her were experiencing the joy that came from watching her lose it all.
Besides, I was a bitch. Face it; they knew I was looking down my perfect nose at them, because I was. Well, they are enjoying the show now, Sloane. Each and every one of them is getting the last laugh.
It was a juicy story, after all, with all the elements of a good crime movie – Chicago-style. There was international crime, unethical practices and a perennial Chicago favorite – payola. Her father had expanded their business into China by engaging in illegal practices. And of course, there was the felling of the high and mighty.
The fancy lawyers had bargained eighteen years down to six, which her father had just started serving at the Federal Correctional Institution in Littleton, Colorado. Sloane’s mother, Marianne, was left trying to make ends meet on a drastically smaller income and Sloane was left trying to hold together the company responsible for supplying that income. Not an easy task when her father had destroyed the reputation of Huyler Industries and with it any earning power.
It remained a hot gossip item for months, after all the news was ugly, but accurate. A get rich quick scheme by a man everyone believed to be worth millions. Why risk it? It turned out he was broke. Who knew? The Huyler name was dragged through the mud every night on the news, every day in the papers.
It didn’t take long before Sloane was unable to show her face in public. Huyler Industries lost every client not bound by ironclad contract. Her mother checked herself into a ‘facility’ after three months of cameras and scrutiny, just to get away. It was a nice place too, on the beach in the south of France, with fabulous spa services and plastic surgeons. Her mother came home looking refreshed, rested and lovelier than ever just in time to stand behind her husband when he pleaded guilty.
That had left Sloane holding down the fort, trying to piece together what was left of the business and the family fortune. With her father in jail for another 6 years, everything sat squarely on Sloane’s capable shoulders. At the moment, she was sinking under the weight. Publicly, she had been unable to separate her activities from those of her father. If he was guilty, she was guilty by association. No one trusted anyone named Huyler anymore. Sloane never understood why her father took the deal. Six years was a long time for an innocent man, hell one day was a long time, and a successful appeal would have cleared his name.
Sloane had braced herself for the loss of business, the bad press, and the painful process of discharging workers who had been with HI from its conception. She had withstood the bad news about the family finances and even faced the need to sell their beautiful lakefront home. She had done it all with her typical chilly demeanor. She had mastered the cool ‘I don’t give a damn’ look when she met prying eyes. Sloane remained poised when she was slighted, when she saw people talking behind her back. However, it all took its toll.
After all, and despite what most people believed, Sloane was human.
When she failed to receive an invitation to the social event of the season, Wyatt’s wedding, Sloane had chalked it up to her failed relationship with Wyatt Lyons Howe IV. After all, his new bride could hardly be expected to extend an invitation to Wyatt’s ex-fiancé.
Still, the wedding had been splashed over every newspaper and magazine; even “Entertainment Tonight" and “Extra” had picked up the story. A Cinderella romance with a fairy tale ending for a poor artist and a real estate mogul did not happen every day. When the artist became a major success in the same year, it made the national news.
Over 750 people had attended the August wedding, according to the press. Sloane was not one of them. She had hoped to gain entrée as someone’s ‘plus one’, but try as she might, she couldn’t cajole anyone into inviting her when the charges against her father came to light the same month.
She had no expectation of attending the ceremony held in a converted Gilman, Illinois barn, knowing only close friends and family were invited. She had to admit though, when she saw the photos of the converted space covered in white flowers and twinkling lights, that she felt a small romantic pull and a bit of jealousy. Not that she would ever admit it.
However, when she was excluded from the big reception at the Howe Museum, she felt shunned. It should have been her wedding. Those thoughts consumed her in the days before and after the summer event. She was supposed to marry the handsome Wyatt. She had chased him relentlessly. She had waited patiently for her prize, only to have a little nobody swoop in and steal it. Such a thing just did not happen to Sloane Egan Huyler.
It became harder to maintain that cool façade when she had been unable to deny that they made a stunning couple, and Keeli made a beautiful bride. Sloane studied the photos of the wedding in every magazine and newspaper. The papers had zoomed in on the gorgeous tiara that Keeli designed to hold her veil. Orders for the now-famous tiara were flooding the workroom of Keeli Larsen Designs and other jewelers were rushing to copy it.
So here Sloane stood, on a cold, dark, February night, outside the meeting room of the hospital, the only person in society to have missed the wedding: jilted, broke, friendless, and the daughter of a notorious jailbird. Now, to add insult to injury, she wasn’t even the chair for the Children’s Hospital Benefit.
Hell, she could not even find a date for the benefit. Chill, you still have months to figure that one out.
Lifting the collar of her heavy coat and dropping her chin in case anyone from the meeting was still loitering in the building, Sloane took her signature long-legged stride toward the exit of the hospital, holding back the tears that were blurring her blue eyes, praying she could get to her car before they fell.
“Ooof, excuse me,” a deep voice offered. Sloane lifted her eyes to see who she had just plowed into, whose large, warm hands were still wrapped around her upper-arms, steadying her as she wobbled in her Prada stilettos. “Steady there.”
“Randall,” Sloane was relieved when she looked up and recognized that the man she had tried to knock over was Randall Parker, III and not some stranger. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“Sloane,” Randall acknowledged Wyatt’s ex with a nod of his head and a bit of a chill in his voice. “In a bit of a rush?”
“A bit.” Sloane was clearly trying to make a getaway. She had bumped into him rather forcefully and he continued his hold of her arms. She just wanted him to let her go so she could make it out the door before she turned into a blubbering mess in the middle of the hospital lobby.
“Everything ok? Are you ok?” Randall’s voice softened with concern. He still held her, but they both knew she was solidly on her feet. He was studying her face too closely and Sloane was squirming under the scrutiny. “Is everything alright?” he prodded gently, clearly seeing everything she was trying so hard to hide.
Without waiting for an answer, Randall removed his hand and taking one of Sloane’s, he led her to a wooden bench conveniently placed against the wall, encouraging her to sit down.
“I can see that you are upset. Is someone ill? What are you doing here?” He seemed genuinely concerned now but Sloane wasn’t fooled by his soft voice and kind demeanor. All of Wyatt’s friends had been giving her the cold shoulder since Wyatt dumped her and Randall was no exception.
Sloane knew him too well. Everything with Randall was about picking up a woman, about the conquest. She remembered, as she looked in his handsome face, that he – like his friends - was a player. This was probably just his strategy to segue into a hookup, despite his previous aversion to her. Randall was such a ladies’ man that a few times during her engagement, he had hit on her after a few too many drinks. He chased anything in a skirt so she knew that his sweet ways now were nothing personal.
“Oh no, everyone is
fine, Randall, and I really need to get going.” The good news about running into Randall was that she just wanted to get away from him now and so she had forgotten that she felt like crying. “I was just here for a board meeting. Second Monday of the month,” she offered as if that explained everything. She moved to get up again but his hand was holding hers in her lap and he was not letting her move.
“What about you? Are you visiting someone?” She could at least be polite.
“My cousin’s son took a spill at a basketball game last month. I drove them over to see the doctor. His arm is broken, but he is a kid, so he’s enjoying the attention. The cast comes off today.”
“That was very nice of you.” She was looking longingly toward the exit.
How much more of this chitchat is required before this oaf lets go of my hand?
“Sloane, what’s going on? You look like you just lost your best friend. Where is that feisty woman I know?”
“C’mon Randall, you are not that naïve.” Sloane’s usual caustic impatience had returned and Randall smiled in spite of himself. “You know perfectly well what is going on, unless you have been out of Chicago for the last year. My world is falling apart and you know it. Everyone is blaming me for the accusations against my father. I did nothing wrong, but I am the one left to pick up the pieces.”
“You did nothing wrong?” Sloane can hear the incredulity in Randall’s tone. “You might get away with that with other people, but this is me, Sloane, and I am not falling for your usual crap. Go bat those baby blues at someone who will buy that garbage you are selling. You have never been completely innocent of anything and we both know it.”
“Screw you, Randall.” Sloane jerked her hand out of Randall’s and rose to her feet. He was up like a shot, grabbing her arm. She fell hard against his chest. His arms wrapped around her automatically and he left them there.
It felt surprisingly good.
“Sloane, seriously, something happened tonight, didn’t it, something to upset you all over again?” His expressive eyes were looking at her softly, but with concern, not pity.
I must really be a mess if Randall is being this nice to me. Stiff upper lip, girl.
“What do you care? Just let go of me Randall.” She twisted as if to break from the embrace, but not forcefully.
“I know you Sloane. You can play tough girl all you want with these other people,” using his head he nodded toward the few people still loitering in the large space, ”but I think you are about to cry. And frankly, I am not sure I believed you were even capable of tears; so I thought I would stick around to watch.”
“I got kicked off the benefit,” she whined in a low voice. “Nothing worth crying over, so show’s over. Let me go now.”
“They kicked you off the benefit? But you are the chair. You have been working on this for months.” Randall seemed shocked by Sloane’s news. “Can they even do that?”
“They can and they have. They don’t want my tainted name on the invitations, bad for business, I guess. I get to collaborate with the hotel caterers and that is it. Allyson Riley is in charge.”
“Well, she is good,” Randall acknowledged while Sloane flashed him a malevolent look. “But it was pretty unfair to you,” he quickly backpedaled.
“Pretty unfair? Pretty unfair?” Sloane’s voice rose in indignation. “It was unforgiveable.”
“But Sloane, face facts. You have to understand that people around town might think twice before handing you money right now. You may not be the one charged with wrongdoing, but the suspicion is there.”
“Thanks for reminding me, asshole.”
“Just calling it like I see it,” Randall had finally moved back from her, giving her breathing room that had been strangely lacking. “You can survive this Sloane. You can survive all of this. You are a tough broad. One of the toughest I know.”
“Randall, no one calls a woman a ‘broad’ anymore. It’s not PC,” Sloane tossed back, starting to feel like herself again.
“Well, no one calls me an asshole either,” Randall lobbed back at Sloane quickly. “Besides, I meant ‘tough broad’ as a compliment.”
“Oh, well then, of course, my sincerest thanks,” Sloane answered, her tone anything but sincere.
“You are hopeless, Sloane. It is time to stop feeling sorry for yourself and move on. It’s been months since your father’s arrest. It will be years before he gets out. In the meantime, you need to make a life for yourself. You are yesterday’s news. Act like it. Show these snobs that you are made of tougher stuff.”
“But what if I am not?” Sloane surprised herself and Randall with the insecure and hurt-laced question.
“Who is this mealy mouthed woman? Seriously, I have seen you cut a person to shreds with a look. Get your act together already and start walking on people again.”
“Hey wait a minute. I do not walk on people.” Sloane was indignant, but her voice had regained some strength and power at last.
“Do not bullshit a bullshitter, Sloane. You have made a career out of walking on people. You would have married my best friend for his name and his money. You tried to get his girlfriend fired. You are unscrupulous, but at least you are really good at it.”
Damn Randall, he isn’t wrong about any of this. I would have married Wyatt for his money, and when Keeli spilled salad on me, I tried to have her fired even though she seemed sincerely sorry. I would do it all over again too. She had no right to make me look foolish, damn her, or to steal my man.
“What the hell? Stop impugning my character,” Sloane was standing taller, indignant at being so accurately sized up.
“Just calling it like I see it,” Randall said again.
“Stop saying that!” Sloane said in irritation.
Randall was moving away from the bench and walking toward a woman and child coming from the elevators.
“Gotta go,” he lobbed over his shoulder without a backward glance. Sloane stood there fuming.
Even if he was right about me, who the hell is he to talk? Just a stupid, womanizing oaf. On the other hand, no one ever had the nerve to say to my face what I know they say behind my back. Not even Wyatt.
Sloane started moving toward the exit, her tears completely forgotten. She felt like her old self – imperious, elitist and entitled to anything she wanted. She tried not to think too hard about the fact that Randall had set her back on course, kept her from embarrassing herself. She tried not to think about the fact that she had been unable to decide whether to punch him or kiss him.
For an oaf, his hands felt incredibly good on me, strong and large and manly. Too bad he is so damn good looking. And smart. And successful. Yeah, and mouth-wateringly sexy.
Sloane realized with distress that if a woman could pin him down, Randall was a catch. In fact, he was the type of man she was looking for. He was highly accomplished and educated, strong willed and physically powerful. He had already taken over running his family’s investment firm. He worked hard. He played hard. He traveled in the right circles, but he was no snob. And he was disarmingly attractive. Shaking off the idea of Randall as a catch, Sloane remembered that Randall was still a womanizer.
Oh, and he could be a drunk, too. Just walk away, Sloane. He parties too hard, likes his booze and his women way too much.
Sloane stood there for one more moment, remembering the feel of his arms around her, the way her hand had felt small with his big fingers wrapped around hers. She remembered the look in his eyes when he was concerned and the pleasure of bantering with him without having the upper hand. She had liked the time together, brief as it was. He had made her stand taller and prouder. He had made her heart beat a bit faster too.
Nope, not happening. I could never be sure of him and besides, Randall knows what a manipulator I can be. I would never get the upper hand.
Suddenly chilled by the cold wind blowing through her coat, Sloane moved quickly toward her car. She wasn’t feeling sorry for herself anymore.
CHAPTER TWO
“Gentlemen, will you excuse me for a moment, please?” Randall requested of his business associates as he rose from the table and moved quickly across the lobby of the Palmer House.
“Sloane?” he called when he was just a few feet away.
Sloane turned on her heel, surprised to find herself face to face with Randall Parker again so soon. It had just been a bit over a week since she had run into him – literally - at the hospital.
“Randall, what are you doing here?” she asked, a bit of an accusation in her voice.
“Down girl. I am not stalking you. I am having drinks with some business associates in town for meetings.” He motioned in the direction of three men openly watching the two of them converse. “What are you doing here? Following me?”
Sloane ignored his arrogant grin and sent his colleagues a coquettish wave instead.
Keep him on his toes. Wait, what are you doing? Why do you care if Randall is on his toes? He is a Neanderthal.
“I am meeting with the catering team for the hospital benefit.” Remembering the last time she had seen him, when she confessed to losing her top-dog position on the committee, Sloane found herself adding, ”With just months to go, I have so many details to nail down. I am heading upstairs now, to meet with the staff and to taste some potential menus.”
There, that made it sound like I am still important, right?
“Hey, that could be fun. I’ll join you.”
“I don’t remember inviting you,” Sloane said in a withering voice that Randall completely ignored. Traversing the lobby in a few paces, he said good night to his associates and caught up with Sloane as she rode the escalator to the mezzanine without waiting for him.
Pretending Randall was not moving toward her with that long-legged stride, Sloane looked about the lobby as if seeing it for the first time. She was ignoring Randall as best she could – not an easy task when his broad shoulders filled much of her line of vision. She had to labor to look at anything but him, although she couldn’t miss the way he checked her out from head to toe.
Beholden (The Beguiling Bachelors Book 2) Page 2