by Barb Han
Samantha reached up to straighten the knot of his tie and smooth his lapels, the tender ministrations more of a comfort than a need. “Me, too.”
“It’s been twenty-two years tonight since that bastard murdered...” Muttering a curse, he blinked away the moisture that glistened in his eyes and pulled something from his pocket. “I want to show you something.”
Samantha lit up when she saw the familiar engraved locket on a silver chain that dangled from his fingers. “Mom’s necklace. The one you gave her when you got married.”
“It’ll be yours one day. But tonight, I’m carrying it for luck. That everything goes smoothly, and that Kyle makes you as happy as she and I were. Even if it was for too short a time. I wanted you to know she’s with us.”
She rubbed her fingertips across the locket’s etched surface the way she had as a curious child when it had hung around her mother’s neck. Then Walter drew it up to his lips and kissed the heirloom before tucking it back into his pocket. “Don’t tell Joyce.”
“Don’t tell Joyce what?” Samantha’s stepmother appeared behind her father in a swish of pale pink satin. “The party’s in the other room, you two.” She pointed to the lobby behind them. “Where all the guests are.”
With a wink that said he’d cover for Samantha, Walter caught his second wife’s hand and kissed her fingers before linking her arm through his. “You’ll need to speak to the staging crew, dear. Sammie had to repair this clock. It wasn’t working. You know I love the beautiful things you selected to decorate the new lodge. But I expect things to do their job, too.”
“Of course I will, dear,” Joyce assured him. “I want everything to be perfect tonight.”
“I opened it up and cleaned the batteries,” Samantha explained.
“Cleaned them with what?” She suspected her stepmother was frowning, although her face revealed little evidence of emotion, one way or another. When Samantha showed her the dirty cocktail napkin, Joyce snatched it from her hand and tossed it into the fireplace.
Unlike Samantha, Joyce knew how to work a room and make a business deal as well as Walter did. His successes were hers and vice versa. Samantha had never quite fit into the family equation the same way after her father had remarried and adopted Joyce’s daughter, Taylor. “You are the guest of honor, not maintenance personnel. Are you forgetting that I told the press photographers to be in position at eight? After your father gives his welcoming speech, Kyle will go down on one knee and propose. Just like we rehearsed.”
Because nothing says romance like a staged proposal. Samantha scratched at the rash itching beneath the stays of her dress. True, she’d been seeing Kyle Grazer longer than any other man she’d dated—not that there were many names on that list. Being the socially awkward, plain-Jane daughter of a wealthy man like Walter Eddington made it pretty near impossible to trust any man who claimed to be interested in her. But Kyle had persisted. They’d become friends after Joyce had introduced them. Then, her father had offered him a job as an executive in the company, and they’d become something more.
So what if she didn’t get the topsy-turvy stomach turbulence she’d expected when she fell in love? Logically, they were good for each other. He helped bring Samantha out of her shell, and she offered him a quiet refuge from the heartache of a girlfriend who’d dumped him and the pain of a father who’d raised him with a harsh, unsympathetic hand. Besides, Kyle was immeasurably patient with her inexperience. He praised her efforts to learn more about kissing and seduction, and promised their lovemaking would improve as she developed more confidence in her relationship skills.
Besides, Grazers came from money. Kyle’s father owned a chain of hotels on the East Coast, so she knew he wasn’t with her just to get a part of her father’s fortune. And her father had assured her more than once that the expected merger of companies that would follow the announcement of their engagement would be negated on the spot if he thought for one moment that Kyle wouldn’t take care of her and make her happy. Even if there was something she couldn’t quite put her finger on that kept her relationship from being everything she’d hoped for, Samantha was happy. Wasn’t she?
She rubbed her hand over the hives she’d lived with since her father had asked her to make the engagement a public event and schedule it for tonight—the anniversary of her mother’s murder. “I want to create a positive memory for you,” he’d said. “Make this a happy day instead of the anniversary of a nightmare.”
For the company, for her father, for her future—Samantha had every intention of saying yes when Kyle proposed in front of the cameras tonight. This would no longer be the day her mother had been kidnapped and murdered. It would be the day Samantha Eddington got engaged and gave her dad a reason to smile. Now if she could just make the hives go away.
“I didn’t forget about the time,” Samantha answered, explaining why she’d wandered into the anteroom to fix a broken clock. “Tonight’s a big night and I’m understandably nervous. I ran out of small talk after I lost track of Kyle. And the lobby was so crowded, I was getting overheated, so I came out here to check the time, look out the windows and cool off.”
“Look out the windows at what? It’s pouring down rain out there.” Joyce pointed to the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. “You can’t even see the mountains it’s so dark.”
Samantha crossed to the windows, drawing her finger through the condensation beading there. “You have to admit the rain is cooling things off.”
Joyce shook her head, as if the scientific fact made no sense to her. “What do you mean, you lost track of Kyle?” Joyce moved past her husband to straighten the turned-up hem on the embroidered sheer overlay on Samantha’s navy blue cocktail dress. “And where are your shoes?” Samantha adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose and spied the strappy three-inch heels she’d discarded to climb onto the new resort lodge’s furniture. She slipped her feet back into the tan patent leather and fastened the ankle straps, cringing at the sore spots screaming a protest on each of her little toes. “This absentminded professor shtick was cute when you were a teenager, but now it’s getting old.”
Shtick? Once the wedding was done, Samantha had every intention of becoming a real professor at a reputable university. She’d already earned her PhD. Or, at least she would once she finished her dissertation on the mechanics of waste management design in alpine geographies. If more nights like this one didn’t keep her away from her computers and schematic drawings.
“Joyce,” Walter chided, joining them. “Ease back on the throttle a bit. This is a big night for Sammie.”
“Of course it is. It’s a big night for all of us.” She batted Samantha’s fingers away from her torso when she tried to scratch again. “I’ve planned everything down to the last minute, from the guest list to the schedule of events to Samantha’s dress.” A line that could be a dimple or a frown the Botox had missed appeared beside Joyce’s mouth. “Why aren’t you wearing the red dress Taylor and I picked out for you? She has better fashion sense than both of us put together. It’s more photogenic.”
For one thing, Taylor was built like a petite fashion model while Samantha was a feminine version of her father’s sturdy build. For another, her adopted stepsister’s fashion sense reflected the fact that she could wear anything and look like a million bucks, while Samantha was lucky she’d found heels to match her dress. And finally, “Taylor did help me pick this out.”
Joyce waved her hand in front of the embroidered flowers covering the A-line dress. “This one is so busy. It’s very sweet, but I’m afraid you look more like a girl going to her first communion rather than a woman who’s about to get married.”
“I like this dress.” Couldn’t say the same for the three-inch heels of her shoes that chafed her ankles and squeezed all sensation out of her little toes. “Blues and grays are my favorite colors.”
“I think she looks lovely,” Walter insisted
. “Considering she usually wears pants and a lab coat or she’s out at a construction site in muddy coveralls, I think she’s very dressed up for the occasion.”
“You’re right, dear. Of course. It is a pretty dress.” Joyce’s agreeing smile quickly disappeared. “Could you at least put in your contact lenses? Your glasses will reflect the lights when the photographers take pictures.” She made a shooing motion with her lacquered fingernails before latching onto Walter’s arm again. “Go upstairs and fix yourself. I’ll see if I can find Kyle while your father talks to the lieutenant governor.” She tilted her face to her father’s. “That’s why I came looking for you—to tell you she and her husband are arriving.”
“Better not keep them waiting.” Her father shrugged his big shoulders. Maybe he didn’t enjoy these big command performances any more than Samantha did. “I’ll see you in the spotlight at eight.”
Samantha managed to summon a smile. “I’ll be there, Dad.”
“Excuse me, sir.” A big man with dark hair and a perfectly shaped handlebar mustache walked up behind her father. Dante Pellegrino’s muscular bulk was accentuated by the holster and gun he wore underneath his suit jacket. The chief of Midas Group security rarely changed his expression from stoic disinterest, so it was hard to tell when there was an emergency and when he was simply relaying information. “Ma’am. Miss Eddington.” He acknowledged Samantha and her stepmother. “Walter? A moment?”
“Is this necessary, Dante?” Joyce asked. “We have a schedule to maintain. Walter is greeting guests until seven forty-five, and then he goes to the podium to make a welcome speech.”
“I’m afraid so, ma’am. Something unexpected has come up.”
“Very well.” Not one wisp of Joyce’s silvering blond hair moved as she swung her gaze around, scanning the guests through the open suite of rooms. “I’ll stall the lieutenant governor for a few minutes.” Even though he was twice her size, she pointed a warning finger at the security chief. “Don’t keep him long.”
“No, ma’am.”
As Joyce bustled away in another swish of stiff satin, Dante whispered in her father’s ear. Samantha waited expectantly, wondering if something was happening that would compound her father’s worries about this evening’s success.
Walter’s expression hardened to his time-to-do-business face. “Make sure one of your men stays with Sammie. She’s going upstairs for a few minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
Samantha tugged on her father’s sleeve when he would have pulled away. “Is everything okay?”
“Nothing your old dad can’t handle. Don’t be late. I want tonight to be all about you.” He kissed her forehead and strode away to handle whatever situation Dante had whispered to him.
Either her father didn’t think she could understand the problem, or he simply didn’t want to worry her. Maybe Dante would be more forthcoming.
She tipped her chin to meet his dark gaze. “What is it?”
He chewed once on the gum that seemed to be perennially in his teeth. Maybe the man had given up smoking, or used the subtle action as a stress-reducing ritual. But since her father had hired his firm a couple of years earlier, she’d never once seen him without the sticky wad in the side of his mouth. “Storm’s coming up. There’ll be more rain tonight. Snow higher up in the mountains.”
She arched a confused brow. “You talked to Dad about the weather?”
“It changes plans.”
“What plans?”
“Weather like this brings unexpected guests.”
Samantha curved her lips into a wry smile. “We are a hotel.”
“One that’s not open for business yet.” Dante gave her a look that lacked any emotion—or any real explanation—as he tapped the radio on his wrist and summoned one of the bodyguards who worked for his security team. “Filly Number One is on the move. Metz? You’re up.” The bodyguard typically assigned to watch her at public events must have responded in the hearing device wired to the security chief’s ear. “Copy that. Pellegrino out.”
“Having unexpected guests show up for a party is a security issue?”
“It is tonight.” His mustache danced atop his lip as he shifted his gum from one cheek to the other. “It’s my job to make sure everything goes as planned. If you’re not at that podium at eight o’clock, I’ll come get you myself.”
Was that a threat? Or just a reminder that she was a commodity in Dante Pellegrino’s eyes? Protecting her was no different from guarding the diamond jewelry Joyce and her father were wearing tonight. Grumbling a curse under her breath, Samantha turned and left as quickly as her toe-pinching shoes would let her.
Filly. Although it was a word she was familiar with—she was Number One and Taylor was Number Two when it came to coded security team communications—the nickname only added to her anxiety. She felt like prize livestock tonight, being paraded around for a group of wealthy investors, high-powered executives and gossipy reporters looking for a sensational headline. Joyce was probably hoping that marrying Samantha off would allow her to shift the spotlight over to her own daughter and maybe snag the interest of one of the wealthy guests here tonight to send a son or nephew to come court Taylor. Samantha might have had her fill of socializing, but Taylor would relish all the attention. And she was welcome to it.
Samantha wasn’t good enough for her stepmother. She was invisible to the guests. Her father worried too much about her. And she might as well be a horse in the family’s stable as far as the security chief was concerned.
“I am so taking a private honeymoon with Kyle,” she muttered, hurrying her steps to the trio of elevators. She didn’t think her numb toes could handle the staircase up to the mezzanine floor. Even if Kyle wasn’t in their room primping for his big moment in front of the cameras, Samantha needed the time away from the people and noise to give herself a pep talk and get her extrovert on. If she was lucky, Kyle would be in the room. A few private words and a kiss would go a long way toward reassuring her that she was making the right choice in saying yes to his proposal.
The bodyguard Pellegrino had summoned appeared in the hallway behind her. Brandon Metz might be the closest thing she had to a friend here tonight. Even though he was part of the elite security team her father had hired to safeguard the family and top executives at the company two years ago, Brandon was usually assigned to her at public events. Although sworn to be discreet, he knew her embarrassing idiosyncrasies. He knew she’d rather be almost anywhere else than dressing up and giving a speech in front of a microphone and flashing cameras.
Samantha pushed the elevator call button as Brandon’s long strides quickly ate up the hallway behind her. “Samantha?” he called to her as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. “What’s the hurry?”
If she could get in and close the door before he caught up to her, he’d be forced to take the stairs up to the next floor to keep an eye on her. She darted inside and pushed the button, eagerly anticipating a whole fifteen seconds or so of peace and quiet.
But Brandon caught the door and stepped into the elevator with her. “Didn’t you hear me?”
She sagged against the back railing. “Sorry. I just needed a break.”
His golden-brown eyes narrowed in a reprimand that she probably deserved. “I know you’re crawling out of your skin dancing through hoops for your family tonight. But it’s my job to keep you in my line of sight at all times.” Ironically, he turned his back on her, facing the front of the elevator while he spoke into his radio. “Filly One is secure. Heading to mezzanine.” He glanced over his shoulder to question her. “The anniversary of your mom’s death getting to you?”
“A little,” Samantha confessed. Although the grief wasn’t as intense as it had been growing up, she still felt the hole in her life that the woman who loved her unconditionally was supposed to fill. But if she started down the trail of all the landmark e
vents in her life her mother had missed, and would miss, then she’d become the weepy little girl pushing her way through a crowd of reporters, asking them where her mother had gone. She was years past allowing herself to be that vulnerable again. A tart tone of sarcasm was one of the defensive tools she’d developed as she’d grown up. “I have to go fix myself so I’m up to my stepmother’s standards and don’t embarrass my father when the paparazzi start flashing pictures.”
Brandon chuckled and finished his report as the elevator stopped. “Will keep you posted when she moves again. Yes, I know the timeline,” he groused. “Metz out.” He held the door and checked the hallway before ushering her out ahead of him and following her to the room she shared with Kyle. “And here I thought you were skipping out on the party to go have a rendezvous with Loverboy.”
“I wish.” She slipped her hand beneath the hem of her skirt to pull her key card from the leg of her shapewear. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Kyle the last half hour or so, have you?”
“He’s not my assignment.”
She slid the card into the lock and opened the door to the faint garble of muffled voices. Maybe Kyle had come up here to catch the market report on the news or listen to one of his motivational podcasts. If he’d abandoned her to watch television or psych himself up for tonight’s show, she’d be angry, but at least she’d have an explanation for his disappearance. Samantha nodded to the settee and chairs where the private hallway opened onto a dramatic picture window above the lodge’s front entrance. “Relax if you want. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
He nodded toward the closest chair and side table with its fake potted fern. “I’ll give you five minutes. After that, I’ll come knockin’.” With a lopsided grin, he pulled his cell phone from his suit jacket pocket and retreated into the hallway. She heard him calling someone with another Filly One update while she locked the door.