Jolie turned away and sipped from her glass, unnerved at her train of thought since arriving. She’d never wanted to be anyone other than herself until this mess had landed in her lap. In fact, people with money and power had always made her uneasy, and she’d do well to remember that the same people who had laughed at her jokes wouldn’t give her a second glance if she were wearing her normal discount-store clothing and selling them shoes.
And that some people in this social echelon—perhaps in this very room—might be responsible for what had happened to Gary…and the woman in his car. Bolstered by a second glass of wine, she canvassed the room with new resolve. And then she spotted Roger LeMon, wearing a tuxedo, one hand wrapped around a drink, the other in his pocket. He was talking to a man who was wearing an award nomination badge, and they seemed to be deep in conversation. But what sent a stone to her stomach was the fact that the second man, a stout, round-faced fellow who looked prematurely gray, was also familiar. He too was in the photo in her purse.
“Do you see what I see?”
Jolie jumped and turned her head to see Carlotta, her intense blue eyes wide with excitement. “You mean Roger LeMon? I just saw him. Do you know the man he’s talking to? He’s in the photo too.”
“I’ve seen him around, but I don’t know who he is.”
“He’s wearing a nominee badge.”
“Then by all means, let’s go congratulate him.”
Jolie touched Carlotta’s arm. “Wait. What if LeMon recognizes us?”
“He’s not going to recognize us,” Carlotta said, then wet her lips. “Especially not this English rose,” she said in her perfect British accent.
“How did you learn to do that?” Jolie asked as they made their way through the crowd.
“I had an English nanny.”
More clues to her blueblood upbringing. Jolie followed her friend through the crowd, sensing the master party crasher had had a troubled life. Why else would she delight in mocking the class of people that would probably welcome her with open arms? Only a powerful resentment could drive a person to go to so much trouble to pull one over on a group of people who would never realize they’d been had.
The closer they got to Roger LeMon, the harder Jolie’s heart pounded. His voice and his words from the other night reverberated in her head. “She said she was a friend…Goodman, Jolie Goodman.”
She had to force herself to walk closer, terrified that he would recognize her, that he might even have found her dropped wineglass the other night and know that his conversation had been overheard. By the time they were near enough to the men to strike up a conversation, her tongue was immobile. Part by part, her body was becoming paralyzed. Not that she had to worry, with Carlotta in the vicinity.
“Hallo,” the woman purred, stepping between the men. They stopped mid-conversation. LeMon seemed perturbed by the interruption, and took the opportunity to drink deeply from his cocktail. Carlotta directed her attention—and accent—to the unknown man. “I’m Betty, and this is my friend Linda, and we wanted to say congratulations on your nomination.”
The plump man raked his gaze over Betty and interest flared in his eyes. He switched his drink to his left hand—the one with the wedding ring—and shook Carlotta’s hand with his right. “Thank you. I’m Kyle Coffee. This here is Roger LeMon.” His speech was slightly slurred, and he seemed to be well on his way to being toasted.
“How do you do, Roger?” Carlotta said. “Do both of you gentlemen work in the industry?”
“I’m in television production,” Kyle offered. “My buddy Roger is a money man.”
Carlotta smiled. “Ah. Sounds like a most fortuitous friendship. You work together?”
“No,” Kyle Coffee said with an exaggerated wink. “I guess you could say we play together, wouldn’t you, Roger?”
LeMon hesitated, then gave a little laugh and turned to look at Jolie.
She fought the clawing urge to run. The relief that he didn’t seem to recognize her gave way to the heebie-jeebies from his lascivious stare. He wet his thin lips, then said to Carlotta, “So, does your friend have that same cute accent?”
Carlotta gave Jolie a questioning look. “Who, Linda? Well—”
“No,” Jolie said softly, but emphasized the Georgia drawl she’d been raised with and had worked hard to dispel. “That is, I have a cute accent, but it’s closer to home.”
They all laughed and Roger moved a few inches closer. The hand in his pocket began to jingle change and his neck loosened with what she assumed was his “hey, chickie baby” stance. “Nice outfit,” he said, looking at her boobs.
“Thanks.” Her mind raced, searching for a line of questioning that might lead somewhere helpful. “Where do you live…Roger?”
He took another drink, as if he were debating on what—or perhaps whether—to tell her. “In Buckhead,” he said finally. “You?”
“Vinings,” she said, glad that her real-estate training had made her so familiar with the metro area. “I just moved to town. What did your friend mean when he said you were a money man?” She managed a flirtatious smile. “You don’t launder money, do you?”
Kyle Coffee belly-laughed, blowing his flammable breath all over them. Roger joined in, slightly less amused, a half beat later. “No. I’m an investment broker. What do you do…um—”
“Linda,” she supplied. “I’m an attorney.”
Kyle elbowed Roger. “Maybe she’s a divorce attorney.” He laughed again, scorching the air.
Roger’s thick, dark eyebrows came together. “Maybe you’ve had a little too much to drink, Kyle.”
When the silence began to grow tense, Jolie asked, “So, Roger, do you come to these events to network for clients?”
He shook his head. “No, I come for the same reason that most everyone else is here: to kill time.” He lifted his glass for another drink and winced as he swallowed. “Besides, almost everyone here is already a client of mine.”
She glanced around to humor him. “I guess that means you deal only with high rollers.”
He shrugged. “Well, not to brag, but my minimum investment for new clients is seven figures.”
The man was so bragging. But with those requirements and Gary’s wrecked finances, Gary certainly wasn’t a client of LeMon’s. “Do you have a business card?” she asked.
He extended his drink for her to hold, and she took it, feeling a little smarmy just by association. She had the feeling that Roger LeMon was used to people doing what he wanted, especially women. And while some women might find his arrogance attractive, she was repulsed. She watched as unobtrusively as she could as he removed his wallet. On his left ring finger was a gold band—a band he hadn’t been wearing two nights ago. He made a show of opening his wallet, which boasted a thick stack of bills, then withdrew a business card and tucked the wallet back into his pocket.
Jolie glanced at Carlotta, who had noticed the wad of money and seemed to be deep in thought as she sipped her gin and tonic. Unease tickled Jolie’s spine, but she cut back to Roger and offered him a beguiling smile as he handed her his business card.
Feeling bold, she asked, “Is there a private number on your card?”
He pursed his mouth and stared at her cleavage again, then pulled a pen out of his jacket and clicked the end with purpose…and a gleam in his eye. He turned over the card and wrote something on it, then reached forward to tuck the card in a small breast pocket on her jumpsuit (proportioned, she presumed, especially for small breasts). “Call me soon.”
He stroked her breast as he pulled out his finger and she swallowed against the revulsion that rose in her throat. His hands were long and slender, his nails manicured. The edge of a small black tattoo on his wrist peeked out from beneath his shirt cuff. His smile was cocky as he returned his pen to an inside pocket. Her hands itched to throw the two drinks she held in his face.
“Don’t look now, Roger,” Kyle Coffee said with an elbow nudge. “Here comes history.”
Both men looked over Jolie’s shoulder and fixed smiles on their faces at whoever was approaching.
Jolie turned around to greet the arrivals, and nearly choked. Beck Underwood and his sister stood there, both of them giving Roger wary glances. It suddenly hit her that Beck had mentioned his sister had once dated Roger. Jolie ducked her head and frantically glanced around for an escape route, but found herself hemmed in between Roger and a gigantic sago palm tree. Desperate, she held up her wineglass to obscure her face.
“Hi, Della,” LeMon said, dipping his chin.
“Hello, Roger,” Della replied, her voice surprisingly tentative for an heiress, although based on the dark circles beneath her eyes, the woman looked a little under the weather.
“Hey, Beck,” LeMon said a little too loudly. “Long time, no see. I hear you’ve been living with natives, or something like that.”
“Or something like that,” Beck said coolly.
Out of the corner of her eye, Jolie saw Roger’s hand twitch as he suddenly realized he didn’t have a drink—Jolie was still holding his glass. When he reached for it, Jolie felt all eyes land on her, and she dreaded looking up. When she did, newly shorn Beck Underwood, exquisite in a black suit, white shirt, and silvery tie, was studying her, then “Betty.” Jolie averted her gaze and hoped like heck he didn’t put two and two together and get two—namely, her and Carlotta.
“We came over to congratulate Kyle,” his sister said, extending her hand and a smile to the inebriated man. “Dad couldn’t be here tonight, but he can’t say enough about your work on the Yesterdays series.”
Kyle Coffee must have realized the significance of the Underwoods’ presence because he visibly tried to gather himself. “Thank you,” he said, shaking hands with Della, then Beck. “Good to see you b–back, B–Beck,” he ventured, but the alliteration was too much for his sloshy tongue to handle and he giggled nervously. “Uh…meet our new friends,” he said to cover his gaffe.
Jolie was caught.
“Della and Beck Underwood, this is Betty and…and…Linda!” Kyle said, proud of himself for remembering.
Carlotta nodded graciously. “Hallo.”
“Oh, you’re from England,” Della Underwood said. “What part?”
“London,” Carlotta said without missing a beat.
“What part of London?” Beck Underwood asked mildly.
Jolie’s heart began to trip overtime. He was on to them.
“Liverpool Street,” Carlotta said triumphantly.
“Ah. Near the station, or in the city?”
Carlotta’s smile faltered for a split second. “Er, near the station…of course.”
He nodded, then he looked at Jolie and his eyes danced with mischief. “Linda—it is Linda, right?”
She nodded, feeling like an idiot.
“Are you from London also?”
“N–no,” she stammered in her resurrected Southern accent.
“Linda is an attorney from Vinings,” Carlotta offered, trying to be helpful.
“Is she?” Beck asked, his eyebrows lifted.
“Beck Underwood,” a woman’s voice said behind them. “I knew our paths would cross again.”
They all turned, and Jolie’s intestines twisted at the sight of the blonde gliding their way dressed in shocking pink. Sammy “Sold” Sanders.
This night just kept getting better.
Eleven
Watching Sammy Sanders introduce herself around the circle was painful because the woman personified every stereotype that had plagued the real-estate business for decades: cheesy smile, fake boobs, and an elbow-wagging handshake straight out of Realty 101. Jolie decided to take her chances climbing over the palm tree, but came up short when Roger LeMon hooked his arm in hers.
“You’re not leaving…?” It was more of a statement than a question. He glanced toward Della Underwood for a split second, and it hit Jolie like a thunderbolt that he wanted to make the woman jealous. Her flash of anger dissipated when she considered the ramifications—and complications—of unresolved feelings between Roger and Della. A memory stirred…something Beck had said when she’d asked about his return to Atlanta. “My sister was going through some things I wanted to be here for.”
A love affair gone bad?
By the time Jolie had processed the new possibilities, Sammy was standing in front of her. “I’m Sammy,” she said, grabbing Jolie’s hand for a pump that would have brought up water from the Sahara.
“Linda,” Jolie murmured.
“Hey, Linda just moved here,” Kyle Coffee boomed. “Maybe she needs a house.”
Sammy went from seven hundred and fifty watts to one thousand. “Really?”
“No…no,” Jolie said as quickly as her acquired drawl would allow. “I don’t need a house.”
Sammy’s face fell, then she squinted. “Have we met before?”
Jolie’s heart skipped a beat, then resumed. “No. Like he said, I’m new in town.”
“Linda is an attorney,” Carlotta and Beck said in unison.
Everyone stared. Carlotta cleared her throat and added, “She lives in Vinings.”
Sammy turned back to Jolie. “It’s just that…you remind me of somebody…I can’t put my finger on it.”
Carlotta couldn’t know that Sammy was her former boss, but Jolie suspected that her friend could see the panic on her face.
“Oh, you know what they say,” Carlotta said with a laugh. “Everyone has a twin somewhere.”
Next to her, Roger LeMon’s head jerked toward Carlotta. Jolie winced inwardly when she realized that Carlotta had inadvertently echoed LeMon’s response from two nights ago when she’d said she recognized him from a photo with Gary. Had he just made the connection?
His head pivoted back to her and Jolie saw suspicion flash through his eyes. She maintained a wide-eyed expression for his sake and for Sammy’s. Then Sammy glanced down at Jolie’s shoes and she snapped her fingers. “Did you get those shoes at Neiman’s?”
Jolie felt her smile waver, but she managed a nod.
“Were you shopping there this week? Monday maybe?”
Jolie managed another nod.
“I’ll bet that’s it,” Sammy said with a big smile. “I probably saw you in the shoe department.”
Beck’s burst of dry laughter got everyone’s attention. He lifted his big shoulders in a casual shrug. “Eventually, you see everyone in Atlanta in the shoe department at Neiman’s.”
“So true,” Carlotta said, jumping on the “save Jolie” bandwagon. Everyone laughed politely, but Roger LeMon kept staring at her. Jolie squirmed and her mind raced for a reason to excuse herself as the sudden lull in the conversation dragged on.
“Linda,” Carlotta sang, “I hate to be a damp rag, but we did promise Hannah that we would meet her.”
“Right,” Jolie agreed in relief.
“It was nice to meet everyone,” Carlotta said, backing away and bowing, leaving Jolie to wonder if bowing was still in vogue in England.
Afraid that Sammy would recognize her voice, Jolie nodded her agreement, sending a smile all around. Kyle Coffee waved good-naturedly and Sammy had refocused her fawning self on Beck Underwood, pressing a cream-colored postcard into his hand. Roger LeMon continued to watch Jolie through narrowed eyes with such dark intensity that if he were somehow involved in this mess, she could understand why Gary had sounded so terrified. She tried to smile, but LeMon’s face remained immobile.
Her numb feet weren’t responding well—she stumbled past Beck Underwood and he reached out to steady her with his arm. The warmth and strength of his fingers against her bare skin sent a jolt of awareness through her. When she looked into his brown eyes, she saw questions there. She was grateful that despite his obvious bewilderment, he hadn’t given them away.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“You’re welcome,” he said, holding her arm a few seconds longer than necessary before releasing her.
She blamed her heightened senses on the cons
tant stream of adrenaline her body had been pumping throughout the evening, and turned to walk away as fast as her deadened feet would take her. Next to her, she could sense that Carlotta was ready to burst out of her skin. They had barely gotten out of earshot when Carlotta squealed. “Oh, my God, that was so exciting!”
Jolie exhaled. “That isn’t a word I would’ve used.”
“Did you find out anything from Roger LeMon?”
“Maybe…I don’t know.” She touched her thumping head. “This entire thing could be a dead end. Maybe I’m looking for a bigger connection than what’s there.”
“Are you going to call him?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure, but I think he recognized us toward the end.”
Carlotta touched her temple. “Because of what I said about having a twin? I’m so sorry. That just popped out.” She winced. “If I’ve blown our cover, I’ll never forgive myself.”
Jolie decided not to make her feel worse by telling her about the phone conversation she’d overheard the other night, and that if LeMon thought they were trying to pull one over on him, he might be incensed…to the point of being dangerous.
“It’s okay,” Jolie said. “I could be wrong about him recognizing us.”
“Beck Underwood saw right through us.” Carlotta elbowed Jolie. “But then again, the man seems to have radar where you’re concerned.”
Jolie’s cheeks warmed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“He has a thing for you.”
“No, he doesn’t, and if he did, I’m not interested.” Not interested in being a novelty for a man who moved easily in circles she had to crash.
Carlotta pressed her lips together. “Are you still hung up on your boyfriend?” She made a rueful noise. “Of course you are, I didn’t mean to be crass. You don’t even know for sure if the man is dead or alive.”
“R–right.” Jolie drained the remaining inch of white wine in her glass. “Did you find out anything about Kyle Coffee?”
“Other than he can’t hold his liquor? The only thing I noticed that was odd was that he and LeMon have the same tattoo.”
Party Crashers Page 11