by Paula Roe
With one last look in the bathroom mirror to analyze her makeup and hair, she gave a final nod and walked out.
“Mr. Chase Harrington awaits you in the parlor, Lady Partridge,” Stella announced from the bedroom door. As she took a step inside, her face creased into a comical display, lips forming a silent, theatrical, “Oh my God!”
Vanessa huffed back a laugh. “Calm yourself down,” she whispered, before giving her friend a gentle nudge as she walked out.
He was back in the living room again, same stance, same commanding presence. But this time she glimpsed a flash of blue silk tie and black suit beneath that luxurious coat.
“Vanessa.” Her name rolled off his tongue like something naughty, sending a flush rushing up to her cheeks.
“Chase,” she replied, shifting Heather onto her hip as she replied to his smile with one of her own. Oh my God, indeed, Stell. He was a stunning specimen. Hard to believe he’d had no date for tonight.
“And who’s this?” He stepped forward and it took all of Vanessa’s composure not to reel back.
“Heather. Meet Chase Harrington.”
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Partridge.” He smiled and held out his hand and Heather silently studied it, then him, for a few moments.
That’s right, honey, you keep your eye on him.
Finally her chubby face broke out in a smile and she thrust out the rattle.
“Why, thank you.” As Chase accepted the offering with a grin, Vanessa felt her breath catch. The genuine smile, the unthreatening distance and the way he bent down to her level…this guy was not only familiar with kids, he actually liked them.
To say it threw her was an understatement.
“You look beautiful.” Startled, she met his gaze and realized he was talking to her. “Don’t you think your mama looks beautiful, Heather?”
“Boo!” Heather replied obligingly then held out her hand for the rattle.
Chase promptly returned it with a chuckle. “Ready to go?”
“Sure.” Vanessa glanced back down the hall, to Stella, who had witnessed the entire exchange with a goofy grin.
“Erin’s in bed already,” Stella said as Vanessa handed Heather over with a kiss.
“I’ll just be a moment,” Vanessa said over her shoulder before walking swiftly into the girls’ room.
“Mmm-mmm, that man is deeelicious!” Stella huffed under her breath, her brown eyes sparkling as she laid the baby down in her crib. “You see the way he was with Heather?”
Vanessa made an affirmative “hmm” as she stroked Erin’s cheek, then leaned in to kiss her. “Make sure you put on the night-light. And Heather’s still fussy about her pacifier.”
“I know the drill, missy. You just go and have yourself a good time.”
“It’s not a date, Stell.”
When she straightened, Stella was studying her, hands on her wide hips. “You’re both dressed up, yeah? He’s picking you up and you’re going someplace with food and alcohol? Sugar, that is a date.” She tipped her head for emphasis.
“It’s not—”
“Date.”
“We’re not—”
“Date.”
Vanessa gave up. “Okay. Date.” She pulled the blanket up over Erin then reluctantly made her way to the door.
Stella’s brows went up. “They’re fine with Auntie Stella at work, they’ll be fine tonight. Now, go.”
And with a not-so-gentle pat on the rump, Vanessa was dismissed.
With a deep breath, Vanessa emerged from the bedroom and grabbed her coat from the hook near the front door.
“Ready?” she said to Chase a little too brightly.
He nodded and held out his arm. When she took it, she swallowed the sudden urge to yank her hand straight back.
It was like touching iron draped in cashmere. Delicious and forbidden, something she wasn’t entirely sure she could handle. Or needed.
Yet there was nothing to indicate he’d felt it too, not when he smiled at her, nor when he led her out her front door and down the stairs with Stella calling, “Have fun, children!” from the top.
Not even when he chivalrously opened the passenger door on his shiny silver Audi for her.
Chase finally broke the silence a few minutes into the drive.
“Nervous about tonight?”
“No,” she answered way too quickly. His sharp glance had her adding, “It’s only my second night out since the girls were born.”
“Really?”
“Well, there was New York. And I don’t count last year’s Christmas party because I was home by seven.”
“So you haven’t been out for…”
“Eighteen months.” He slanted another look at her, one she couldn’t quite read. “What?”
“Hard to believe.”
“Not really. I have two babies and that tends to put off a lot of guys.”
“A lot of guys are idiots.”
She nodded slowly. “Some are.”
Then they lapsed into silence for the remainder of the trip.
As they drove down Pennsylvania Avenue, the gentle flutter in Vanessa’s stomach had morphed into a serious case of butterflies.
There was no guarantee she’d actually see any familiar faces. And even if she did, it wasn’t as if she was scared or anything. But her father had demanded her presence in his world and she’d done that for years, so her sudden disappearance must have raised some eyebrows.
I wonder what they told people.
She glanced over at Chase, his shadowy profile completely focused on the road.
Honestly, what’s the worst that could happen? She’d put on her game face and be Vanessa the Socialite, Chase’s polished arm decoration for a few hours. Maybe she’d bump into an acquaintance or two and have to charm her way around the questions. Either way, she’d been doing this since she was eleven, so it wasn’t as if it was difficult.
Second nature. Easy as pie.
And she’d also have time to work her charm on Chase Harrington, although exactly how she’d get him to change his mind was a bit of a mystery at the moment. Despite her lack of planning, she wasn’t about to give up on that manuscript just yet.
She rolled her neck gently, feeling the familiar pull of shoulder and back muscles stretch and pop into position as Chase drove into the parking garage.
Game on.
* * *
She was a vision of aristocratic beauty and poise, Chase thought as they mounted the steps to the impressively lit Jefferson building. She’d done her hair into some kind of Elizabeth Tayloresque updo, the sleek style and halter neck emphasizing her bare shoulders. Her smooth, pale skin glowed, a welcome change from the endless array of tanned bodies. Her only jewelry was a pair of simple silver hoop earrings, and the understatement made her dress—a swirly orange confection—an eye-catcher.
They were nearly at the top of the second flight when her gaze met his and she gave him a small smile.
A smile that somehow made his blood beat a little faster.
And then, something happened. As they took the final stairs and light, warmth and sound hit, her entire demeanor changed.
It was like a curtain coming down: one instant she’d been smiling at him, the next, every single muscle had tightened, pulled taut into a facade of sickeningly familiar aloofness. When he blinked it had spread to her whole body, from her straightened shoulders to her tilted chin and firm posture.
The Perfect look. The superior, I-am-so-much-better-than-you sheen that made him stiffen in involuntary disgust.
He’d had a moment of uncharacteristic conscience-wrestling during the drive over, debating whether to confess he’d deliberately asked her out knowing a bunch of people from her former life would be here. But then he’d shrugged it off. She’d said yes, right? She was a smart girl: the thought must’ve occurred to her too.
The truth was, he wanted to see how far he could go to shake her up, throw her out of her comfort zone. Would she crumble under the person
a of Vanessa the Perfect or would she handle it with aplomb? Maybe she’d give something away, let something slip that would provide another piece to the puzzle.
As they walked in silence toward the security checkpoint, she kept her head high and her face blank, and every doubt he’d had dissipated. If she could turn the act on and off with apparent ease, what else was she hiding?
With that thought he tore his gaze away from her elegant profile to admire another breathtaking sight—the Great Hall. He traced every familiar line, every step and curve and intricate design of the high mosaic ceiling, the detailed frescoes and sweeping marbled staircases.
The comforting smell of books, of knowledge and history, never failed to center him.
At the designated cloakroom, a haughty blonde took their coats with an insincere smile, but it didn’t seem to faze Vanessa. She took their ticket with a cool smile of her own, her back straight and chin so high it gave the impression she was looking down her nose at the entire world.
It was disturbing, watching her go through those motions, when he’d had a glimpse of the other Vanessa already. Or had that been an act for him and this flawlessly groomed woman beside him was, in fact, the real deal?
Whatever the answer, tonight would be it. She’d no doubt try to convince him to sell her that manuscript, turn on the charm, most likely flirt. He’d use that advantage to flirt back, assuage his curiosity, prove his point that Perfects couldn’t be trusted, then walk away.
Simple.
Five
The soiree had been set up on the second floor in the northwest gallery, otherwise known as the Tomb of the Missing Pharaohs exhibition. It was a fitting backdrop for a bunch of wealthy, fancy-dressed and jewel-laden donors, Vanessa thought. The intricately designed domed ceilings sparkled with subdued mood lights, emphasizing the stunning glass cabinets and displays throughout the room: Egyptian artifacts and ancient scrolls, mysterious mummies and their sarcophagi, centuries-old pottery, canopic jars and surprisingly elegant jewelry.
As they slowly worked the room, Chase introduced her and she made small talk. And to Vanessa’s relief, she found she could easily slip back into her old persona, smiling in all the right places and holding up her end of the conversation, on topics ranging from Givenchy’s latest collection to the current congressional debate.
Half an hour passed, thirty minutes during which Chase was either drawn into conversation, introduced to someone important or spirited away with a “you just have to meet—” Vanessa let him go then spent another twenty minutes mixing and artfully deflecting blunt inquiries from the few people she recognized. And every time she looked around, she caught Chase watching her. No, not watching…studying her with a mixture of bafflement and curiosity was more accurate.
Now, with Chase holding court to a handful of men in the center of the room, she reintroduced herself to Diane Gooding, the library’s curator, whom she’d once met on a Winchester field trip.
“Your necklace is interesting,” Vanessa said with a smile, nodding at the roughly hammered golden disc ringed with Egyptian symbols. “Did you have it custom made?”
The fiftysomething blonde let out a tinkling laugh, completely at odds with her formal burgundy pantsuit and equally sharp blond bob. “The original is part of Iput’s collection. The wife of Userkare, the second pharaoh of the sixth dynasty,” she added, nodding toward a glass cabinet on their left. “Nearly four and a half thousand years old.” She glanced over at Chase, then back to Vanessa. “I saw you come in with Chase Harrington, correct?”
“Yes.”
Diane tapped her chin in thought. “You know, I was beginning to think he was just an alias for another donor. He’s never attended one of our fundraisers before.”
“Really.” Vanessa’s curiosity piqued.
Diane nodded to the waiter and lifted two champagne glasses from the tray, handing one to Vanessa. “Yes, he usually just writes a check, sends his apologies and that’s it. Until now, of course.”
They both turned to study the object of their attention, deep in conversation.
There was a distinct air of power and command surrounding him, and that, coupled with the aura of sexual availability that clung like expensive cologne, made him extremely attractive to the opposite sex. Vanessa noticed the attention he received from the women here. It was like a Pavlovian response, the way those well-groomed heads turned—and lingered—when he entered their line of vision.
And to her consternation, she found herself irritated by it.
Diane sighed. “Beautiful man. Richer than Croesus, of course, and probably owns a good chunk of New York, but intensely private. Some of the rumors are quite outrageous.”
“Like?” Vanessa took a sip of champagne, murmuring in pleasure when the expensive bubbles hit the back of her throat.
“Oh, he was married to a sheikh’s daughter. He’s the love child of some famous actress, politician or oil magnate. Oh, and the best one—a family member is a famous mass murderer.” She glanced at Vanessa who’d just snorted in her drink. “See? Crazy rumors.”
Vanessa dabbed her lip and refocused on Chase, who was nodding seriously to the man holding him in conversation.
“Whatever his story, you won’t see him hosting his own reality show or buying a casino,” Diane added.
“No. He prefers keeping his achievements out of the press.”
It was a guess, but from what she’d read and heard, a pretty accurate one.
Diane nodded. “A man who gets things done without all that public backslapping. We have a lot of donors like that, especially when it comes to charity. I heard he’s a heavy contributor to kids’ causes.”
Vanessa nodded, even though she had no clue. But it wasn’t a far stretch: in the few hours she’d known him, he’d not only mentioned kids and offered up a sleeping technique, but he’d also thoroughly charmed Heather.
So why was he not married with his own kids already?
With a murmured excuse, she left the older woman and made her way over to Chase, a tall, tempting figure in a sea of suits and designer dresses.
“It’s all about having ideas, making them known and being able to substantiate them at any moment,” he was saying to the handful of nodding men. Their wives, however, seemed more intent on eyeing Chase’s broad shoulders, judging by their intent gazes and hushed whispers. “That will get you hired and move you forward in your career.”
“Speaking of having ideas…” one woman murmured, and the others chuckled in sisterly solidarity.
“Excuse me, ladies,” Vanessa said with a thin smile, gently making her way through the crowd to hand Chase a glass.
He smiled and made a space beside him, earning her a few frowns and a death stare.
Nothing she wasn’t used to.
“My son’s applied to every hedge fund that recruited at Harvard his first year, but only got two interviews,” a man was saying to the rest of the group. “It’s a tough field to get into.”
Everyone nodded.
“I had very little experience in finance or investment management before I started at Rushford Investments,” Chase said.
“So what’s your advice then, Chase?”
He took a swig of champagne, considering the question. “Hedge funds love athletes. But they also want to see well-roundedness—the education isn’t enough. You have to have the passion, too.
“If he can prove he can do research, that’ll put him ahead of the pack. But he’ll need to work under a portfolio manager, remember. And the decision to invest will be theirs.”
“But he makes money when his investors do, right?”
“Right.”
After a few more moments, the crowd dispersed and moved on. Vanessa watched Chase as he slowly shook his head. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You don’t think his son can cut it?”
“Maybe, maybe not. It’s just—” He took a swallow of champagne, and Vanessa watched his smooth throat work. “Sometimes it�
��s not just about money.”
“Isn’t that the whole point of a hedge fund? To make money for its investors?”
Chase eyed her, his expression unreadable, before he gave a shrug. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Oh, no,” she began, stepping into his path as he attempted to recirculate. “I’m not going to let that slide. What were you thinking just now?”
His mouth tweaked, and before she knew it, a smile slowly spread. “Vanessa Partridge, are you asking me a personal question?”
Her body tensed, the trace of heat and intimacy coming from him disturbingly distracting. “Is it personal?”
He shrugged again. “Some people get into this career to make money, and check their ethics at the door.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I have a very clear line when it comes to legal and moral obligations.”
“‘With great power comes great responsibility.’”
One brow went up. “A Roosevelt quote.”
“Actually it was also in Spider-Man 2.”
He snorted in amusement before adding, “Harry Potter too, I believe.”
She couldn’t help but grin back.
“So…are you having fun?” he said.
Her smile dropped a little. “What do you think?”
“I think,” he said slowly, watching her brush a curl of hair behind her ear, “that you’re trying very hard to pretend that your back and neck muscles don’t ache. That you’re tired of people asking you the same questions. And that you’d much rather be at home, with your girls.” At her silence he tilted his head. “Am I right?”
She stared at him for a long moment then finally nodded.
“So why did you actually agree to come out with me?” he asked.
“Because I wanted to wear a nice dress and heels?”
He shook his head. “Nah.” When he placed his palm flat on the wall behind her head, his arm an inch away from her face, her eyes widened.
When he leaned in, she tried to suppress a faint gasp and damn, was that satisfaction she detected behind those blue eyes? He was actually happy about the way he affected her.
When his lips hovered close to her ear she had to force her body not to react.