by Lee, Nadia
Above her, Blaine stiffened and groaned her name almost torturously as he came. She held him tightly, feeling wetness in her eyes. The moment felt so intimate and special.
Oh god… Was she falling for him?
Of course not. That would be beyond silly. She didn’t fall for anybody. She was too jaded for that kind of stuff anymore. Life had taught her that love was worthless and untrustworthy. It clouded her judgment and made her do stupid things that she would have never done if she’d been thinking just the slightest bit more clearly.
As her grip on him relaxed he got up and went into the bathroom. Briefly alone, she reminded herself what she needed—a rich husband—and why Blaine was a bad idea on so many levels. Even if he were to take Salazar’s money, he would still be a bad idea. Her father had been worth seventy million, and all that money had vanished because of bad investments. Her next husband would be so loaded not even the Apocalypse itself could impoverish him, and he would be somebody she didn’t feel too much affection for. Catherine would feel some affection for him, but there wouldn’t be too much chemistry and she’d never ever love him.
But when she saw Blaine coming out of the bathroom, she couldn’t help feeling something warm and sweet. She didn’t think she’d be able to stay away from him despite all the logical reasons why she should.
He pulled her close. “Hey. You seem tense.”
“Just thinking about this and that.” She gave him a quick smile. “Don’t you have to go back to your apartment? Or are you okay leaving Sean by himself overnight?”
“He’s a big boy. He doesn’t need a babysitter.”
“You seemed angry with him at The Line,” she said.
“Well…yeah.” Blaine sighed. “It just pisses me off he’s in town. He should be in school right now, studying.”
“Can you force him to go back?”
“Probably not. Like I said he’s a big boy. I can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do.”
“But he might not feel that way. He might be staying up right now, wondering when you’re going to come home and kick his butt.”
Blaine chuckled. “Let him wonder.” He kissed her softly. “I’m going to stay with you until I have to be in for the morning delivery.”
She put her hand over his. “Good.” He’d be gone before she got up. On one level it was what she wanted, but on another there was a feeling of sadness.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning Catherine hid in the living room with a stack of fashion magazines she’d bought a few days before. Cooter’s Bluff’s lone bookstore didn’t carry any decent art magazines, so the next best she could do was fashion. She didn’t want to face the town as the gossip about the night before blazed through it. The fact that Blaine had stayed at her place for hours wouldn’t have gone unnoticed by the local busybodies, even if he had left before the sun came up.
Still, none of that was as bad as what she’d had to deal with in Houston. The house there was entirely too big—Jacob had expanded it to show off his success, while telling everyone it was all to please her. Every addition to the house—and there were lots of them—made her bitter. Then there was the people factor and the fallout from his bombshell announcement that he had previously married someone else. Her acquaintances had no idea how to behave around her. A bigamy victim wasn’t like a divorcée or a widow. And many of them had heard rumors about TLD, the family business. That had been the biggest reason she finally hadn’t been able to tolerate Houston anymore. She deserved to keep the monstrosity of a mansion for what she’d put up with, but the awkward pity from her peers ate at her like acid running down her spine a drop at a time.
Irene hadn’t come by since the cash delivery incident. Nor was she answering Catherine’s calls. She probably still thought Catherine was a drug dealer. Either way, if she didn’t come in tomorrow, Catherine would have to call Salazar. Doing a little housework herself was fine, but she didn’t want him paying for services not rendered.
She sipped her coffee and thumbed through the first magazine. It had some interesting photos of stylish clothes and accessories. She dog-eared a few promising pages.
When the doorbell rang, she looked up. Irene?
It was Sean standing on the other side of the door, in the same clothes he’d had on the night before. She frowned slightly. What was he doing here?
His gaze swept over her; she drew herself up and waited with the most regal demeanor she could manage. Olivia had taught her a few extremely useful things, one of which was maintaining a queenly dignity. Catherine had lost her composure in the first few days following her discovery of Jacob’s bigamy, true, but that was an aberration, not the norm. And she could manage a college boy, no matter how clever.
“Who are you?” he asked suddenly.
She tilted her head. “Is that a serious question?”
“Yeah, it is. I saw what happened with Willie Rae last night. She’s been stealing stuff ever since I can remember, but nobody ever did anything about it until you showed up.”
“I wasn’t really involved. It was all your brother.”
“Blaine wouldn’t have lifted a finger if it hadn’t been for you. So I want to know: who are you?”
What the heck was this? Some Spanish Inquisition by a kid who felt protective about his older brother? “Come in.” She motioned toward the living room. “I hate letting cold air in.”
Sean swaggered in, his gait exaggerated. She gestured at an armchair in front of the fireplace. “Sit down. Want something to drink?”
“I’m good.”
Catherine took her old seat back and wrapped her hands around the warm mug. “I don’t know why people waited until now to confront Willie Rae. They might have decided they’ve had enough. Stealing isn’t something that endears you to the people around you.” According to Ethan, it can land you in jail. She suppressed a shudder. There was no reason to think about her in-laws. “Why are you here really? If you wanted to know about my situation with Willie Rae, you could’ve asked anybody at the bar—Earl, Rick or Blaine. They would’ve been happy to tell you.”
Sean’s gaze wavered. “You’re rich.”
She laughed. “If you only knew…”
“You spent over four thousand bucks on your purse.” He made a face as he said the last word.
“It’s a Lady Dior. So yes, I did. But that was a while back.” Despite being a complete jerk, Jacob had never stopped her from spending the money she needed to look good. He hated it when she didn’t look her absolute best. She had to be the most beautiful, the most toned and the most fashionable woman everywhere they went. That had been the least she could do as far as he was concerned.
Sean shook his head at the cost. “Anyway, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stick around. Do you?”
She regarded him. “Why do you say that?”
“You got your bag back.”
“So? Cooter’s Bluff is pretty, and the people are generally friendly.”
“I don’t like you. You’re bad. You’re trying too hard, and it’s not gonna work.”
Trying too hard? What was Sean trying to say? Had something happened to Blaine? Probably with a rich somebody given how Sean complained about her seemingly wealthy exterior.
“Just go,” he said.
“Where?”
“I dunno. Your hometown. Texas, right?”
“Texas isn’t a town. And what do you mean, it’s not going to work?”
“Just that.” Sean threw his hands up and rose. “Do I have to explain everything? Blaine’s been through a lot, and he doesn’t need your kind to bug him.”
“My kind?”
“Yeah. You’re like that Zoe Simpson. Acts like she’s hot shit because she’s from Greensville and her daddy’s rich. I can only imagine what you’re like.”
She frowned. Greensville hadn’t seemed like much when she’d stopped there on her way in, but apparently it was the local equivalent of Beverly Hills.
“I m
ean, it’s a good thing I came home. Just imagine what could’ve happened. He’s not cynical like you, you know. It’s just better for everyone if you stay away from him, or even better yet, leave town.” Sean stood up and abruptly walked out.
She stared at the door. What was that about?
Should she talk to Blaine about it? But what could she say? Hey, your brother doesn’t like me. What’s up with that?
Then what? What could he do? Sean was in college, basically an adult. Maybe he was upset because he liked Willie Rae. She’d deserved what she’d gotten the night before, but she probably wasn’t a bad sort if she’d been tolerated for so long.
Unable to focus on fashion anymore, Catherine tossed the magazine aside and looked at her cell phone voicemail. There weren’t any. How could that be? She usually got dozens of messages per day. Then she remembered she’d gotten a new number and hadn’t told anyone. She shook her head and called Salazar.
“Salazar Pryce,” came a brisk voice that said he’d hang up in two seconds if you didn’t give him a reason not to. Not surprising since few people had his private number. Most had to wade through a sea of gatekeepers to reach him, mainly his army of assistants and lawyers.
“It’s me.”
“Hey, Catherine,” he said, his tone turning amicable. “Finally. I left you three messages already. I tried the house phone, but you weren’t there to pick it up either.”
“Sorry. I lost my phone and had to get a new number.”
“What happened?”
“A long story, but don’t give my new number to anybody, including my mother.”
“If that’s what you want. How are things in Cooter’s Bluff?”
“Going okay. Why didn’t you tell me Blaine had a brother?”
“He does?”
His surprise sounded genuine. “You didn’t know?”
“Never bothered to check. Georgia Love never married or had another kid.” Salazar paused. “Are you sure?”
“Well, something happened. It’s actually a step-brother. His name is Sean and he’s going to college.”
“Okay. What about it?”
“Do you know how much it costs to go to college these days?”
“No idea,” he said in a bored voice. “That’s what my secretary’s for.”
She rolled her eyes. Typical Salazar. “Well it’s expensive. We’re talking close to fifty thousand a year unless he’s going someplace in-state.”
“And that would be relevant because…?”
Do I need to spell out everything? “Have you told Blaine about the fifty million dollar trust fund? You said you set it up, but you never said whether you told him about it.”
“My lawyer did, but he doesn’t want it.”
She frowned. “Did he say why?”
“Nope. Should I offer to pay for this step-brother’s degree? Think that’s going to do the trick?”
She leaned back in her seat. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“If he has cash flow problems…” Salazar sighed. “I could make all of them go away if he’d just…”
“You want to be overbearing and tell him he can have nice things from you only if he does what you want him to do?”
“Hey, you know I’m not like that,” Salazar said, sounding wounded. “I gave all my kids money of their own when they turned twenty-one. Just so they could do whatever their little hearts desired.”
True enough. But she suspected he’d given them the money to allow them freedom from Ceinlys’s influence. She had definite ideas about the kind of life her children should lead, and didn’t care that they might have opinions of their own on the matter.
“Anyway,” Salazar continued, “forget my stubborn child for a moment. I can’t deal with that right now on top of everything else. How do you like the town?”
“It’s nice. I’m actually impressed.” Except for the klepto part.
“Good. If you’d said it sucked, I was going to raze the house.”
She laughed. “You’re a riot. It’s nice enough that I wouldn’t mind living here.”
“If that’s what you want, I can arrange that until I want to retire.”
She jerked upright. “What?”
“Just kidding,” he said. “You know I can’t stand small towns. By the way, I heard François’s been trying to reach you.”
“How do you know that?”
“I commissioned something recently, and he happened to mention it.”
“Since when did you start buying from people who actually know how to paint?”
“Since I realized his work always appreciates.” Salazar laughed. “Anyway, you should get in touch. I have a conference call. Talk to you later?”
“Sure. Oh, wait. Can you text me François’s number?”
“Anything for you, my dear.”
They hung up and she stared at her phone. What was that about retirement? And did he mean he wanted to retire to Cooter’s Bluff? She couldn’t imagine Salazar living in a small town.
As for François… He used to have her number, but now that she’d ditched the old phone he had no way of getting in touch with her. She never used email.
The text came through from Salazar. She found a pencil and paper, took a few minutes to carefully copy the number down, and dialed François. She had no idea where he was—he loved to travel—but if Salazar had seen him not too long ago, he might still be in the States.
“Allo?” came a rough voice. For all his artistic talent, François sounded like a chain-smoking bouncer who ate nails for breakfast.
“Hello, François. I understand you’ve been looking for me.”
“Catherine, my dear! ’ow are you?” He pronounced her name “Cat-a-reen”.
“Well…I’ve been better. But things aren’t too bad.”
“What a foolish thing I ask. I ’eard about Jacob. Such an imbécile. I knew he was no good for you. You are too good for any man, my angel.”
She chuckled at the overblown Gallic charm. François was so darn sweet, always crediting her for his success and saying the most flattering things. Given his phenomenal talent, it had only been a matter of time before he was discovered.
“I ’eard other bad things about Jacob’s family. They are true?”
Great. So he’d heard all those rumors. Well, they weren’t technically rumors since they were true. But still… She rubbed her forehead. But then why should she be surprised? As a famous artist, he had access to so many people from her social circle. “Well. They’re upset.”
“Upset? With you? Incredible!” He cursed under his breath. “I cannot let them bully you! It isn’t right. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
“Don’t do anything hasty, François. I can handle them.”
“But…they have all this money and friends. You need the same to fight back.”
“I appreciate your friendship. You know I do. But it’s important you stay out of this.” If he took on her in-laws, it wasn’t just one powerful family he was dealing with. Ethan was marrying the Sterling heiress, which meant François might also be faced with Barron Sterling’s displeasure. She’d heard enough nasty things about him that she couldn’t bear the idea of François getting hurt in her mess. “When I think of something you can do for me, I’ll ask. I promise.”
There was a tsk sound. “This is not right.”
“I know,” she said soothingly. François had a volatile temperament no one except her could do anything about. She hoped he’d listen to her now. “The best thing you can do for me is focus on your art. Please? Will you do that for me?”
“Of course. You know I would do anything for you.”
“I know. Thank you. Now tell me how you’ve been.”
He chattered on for a while, then said, “Oh, by the way…did I mention? I was interviewed by the Wall Street Journal.”
“Really? For what?”
“My art! Apparently, they write about things other than commerce.” He sneered the word like it was syphilis. As
much as he loved the lifestyle his new-found fame and fortune afforded him, he hated the very idea of making money.
“Well, congratulations!”
“I think they understood nothing I said. They seemed interested only in how much my paintings sell for these days.”
“Well, you know how it is. Us crude Americans.”
“Ah, look at me complaining to you about foolish things. Catherine, they are crude, but not you. A beautiful woman can never be crude. If you want a break…a rest for your soul if you will…you’re welcome at my place in Provence.”
“You have a house in Provence?”
“I bought it recently. Will you consider it?”
“Of course. And thank you. By the way when was the article published? I want to take a look.” She’d make an exception and actually read it.
“It’s not published yet. I think maybe next week or month? I don’t know. But I’ll get a copy and send it to you. Is that good?”
“Excellent. Thanks.”
They exchanged a few pleasantries then hung up. Catherine sighed. If Jacob had half the human decency that François did…
The doorbell rang, and she frowned. What was it now? Had Irene finally decided to do her job?
Sadly it was the deliveryman with the overgrown eyebrows and mustache again. Had Salazar sent another thick report he thought she should read?
“Sign here.” Unlike the last time, the package was slim.
She took the pen but didn’t sign. “Who’s it from?”
He scowled and squinted at the label. “Says Amandine Lloyd.”
Catherine swallowed. Was she being served or something? But why would Amandine get involved? Ethan wouldn’t stoop low enough to use her cousin’s name.
She scrawled her name and took the envelope. Huffing, the delivery guy walked off. She was about to shut the door when she saw Blaine’s truck pulling into her driveway.
He crossed the distance in a few wide strides and kissed her on the mouth. “Hey, baby.”
“Hi, Blaine.”
They went inside together. He looked at the envelope curiously. “What did Archie have for you?”
So that was his name. “Something from my cousin.”