by Judi Fennell
“Think you can handle that?”
“Princess, I’ve completed half a day’s work by eight. No problem whatsoever.”
“Then I’ll see you then.”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
They stared at each other for a heartbeat or two longer than they should have and awkwardness set in. Cassidy raked her hair off her forehead and turned around while Liam shoved the rod thingie into his back pocket hard enough to tug the front of his pants tight enough against his dick to get that rod thingie to calm the fuck down.
“Well, uh, I have to get ready for—”
“Uh, yeah. I’ll get out of your hair.” Shit. He wanted to get in her hair. Spread it out all over that monstrous bed and have her moaning in under a minute. He could, too.
So much for his resolve . . .
Run, Manley. This is not a safe place for you to be right now. Get the fuck away from temptation.
He took his own advice and got the hell out of there, only to come shin-to-snout with the nugget who decided to growl at him.
“You have got to be kidding me.” One well-placed kick and—
No. He didn’t kick dogs. Or cats. Or small children.
Sexy brunettes who didn’t have the sense God gave them (or then again, maybe not) to stay at least a hundred yards behind him, however, were another story.
“Titania! Stop that! He’s been here all day. You know him!”
The fluff-ball uttered one last growl and made a beeline for her “Mommy.” Fine. Whatever. God save him from temptation-in-heels . . . and her little dog, too.
He couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
Chapter Five
YOU look lovely, Cassidy. As usual.” Burton held out a glass of Clicquot to her.
Cassidy resisted the urge to down it in one swallow. She and Burton hadn’t gone much beyond attending these sorts of events and the occasional dinner together, so he’d probably be stunned if she did guzzle it. Her father would have a cow at her appalling lack of breeding, but, man, wouldn’t it feel good to shock them?
She did drink a third of her glass. Champagne flutes were too small anyhow, and after the day she’d had, she needed the pleasant fuzziness the bubbles could provide. Not enough to get her drunk, though. God knows what she’d unleash on her father if she had a buzz going and he decided to mention her painting.
“So your father told me you have a new hobby.” Poor Burton. He’d walked into the trap with no warning. But it was interesting that her father had thought to share the info with Burton. Dad was pushing this relationship a little too much.
“Actually, I don’t. I have a career.”
“A career?” Burton smiled the smile that had always left her feeling a bit icky but she’d never figured out why.
At this moment, she knew. It was Mitchell’s smile. That patronizing, isn’t-that-nice-dear smile he gave most of the women in his life. Actually, now that she thought about it, Deborah was the only one Cassidy had never seen be the recipient of it.
“So what is this new career?” Burton sipped the champagne with his pinkie finger slightly extended.
God, what an affectation. Why hadn’t she ever noticed before now? What else was an affectation?
She looked at him. The gold cufflinks, the Rolex, the diamond pinkie ring . . . Oh my God. He was becoming her father. Burton hadn’t had all the trappings of über-wealth when they’d first met. Mitchell had recruited him out of Wharton, and while she knew he’d been groomed to fit in with the company, she’d never realized until right this minute that Mitchell had groomed him to be him.
Oh God. Her father was grooming Burton to take over his role in the company when he retired. Not that Cassidy could see that happening any time soon, but this was suddenly as plain as the diamonds on that Rolex’s face. And if he was planning that, she got why he was pushing Burton on her. He wanted Burton as a son-in-law to keep the company in the family.
It’d be a cold day in hell before Cassidy would ever marry a man handpicked and tutored by her father.
“So what is it?” Burton, to his credit, tried to look interested, but Cassidy could see the little darts out of the corners of his eyes as he looked for some advantageous conversation to become a part of. He’d obviously already been given Mitchell’s blessing to pursue her—none of her other boyfriends lasted long if Mitchell didn’t approve. Since none of them had been her Prince Charming, she hadn’t really minded, but this . . .
Burton was a nice guy, could hold a conversation, and had actually seemed to find talking to her interesting instead of merely staring at her cleavage, but marriage material he was not.
Maybe Mitchell ought to marry him.
“Cassidy?”
Oh. Right. He’d asked a question. “I paint.”
“What, like watercolors and stuff?”
“No. Furniture. I turn old pieces into custom-painted pieces of art.”
“You mean with flowers and butterflies and rainbows?”
And unicorns and fairy princesses, too, she wanted to add. Did he really think she was that shallow?
Maybe he did. In which case, that just proved how much he hadn’t been paying attention to her for the last eight months. “No, Burton. I paint landscapes or faux finishes or textures on them.”
“Like Thomas Kinkade?”
Kinkade had had talent and he’d certainly had marketing savvy, but she did not want to be classified with him. “No, not like Kinkade. More along the lines of Davenport. Cassidy Davenport.”
Burton didn’t seem to get the point, but he raised his champagne flute to her—extended pinkie finger and all. “Well, congratulations, sweetheart. That’s quite a handy talent to have. You could paint murals on nursery walls. You know, I was thinking . . .”
Oh God. She didn’t want to know what he was thinking. Not with that lead in. And the champagne and the cuff links and her father’s knowing smile as he chose that moment to look over . . .
“Excuse me, Burton.” She didn’t even look as she handed him her champagne glass and turned away. The ladies’ room was always a handy excuse and the truth was, she could use some cool water over her wrists—to cool down her heated temper. Mitchell was behind this. No wonder he’d dismissed her at lunch. If he was hoping she’d marry Burton and raise little Davenports, of course she wouldn’t have time for a career . . .
Best to head this cataclysm off at that pass before it ever got a chance to gather strength.
And then she ran into Mitchell.
“Cassidy. Enjoying yourself? Why isn’t Burton with you? He’s looking rather well tonight, don’t you think?”
“He’s talking to someone over there.” She did a vague wave of her hand, hoping Mitchell would go off in search.
Of course he didn’t. Instead he lowered his voice and actually moved closer.
Never a good sign.
“Deborah tells me that that hobby of yours is costing me five figures. You’ll want to contribute your profit from it, I’m sure, to defray the cost. I’m willing to take the loss on paper, but not quite that much in actual cash.”
“You’re kidding me. You buy my artwork that I’ve already sold and expect me to pay for it?”
That damn eyebrow went north. “It should never have been sold in the first place.”
“Why not? It’s a good piece. Enough that someone thought enough of it to pay a decent amount of money for it and display it in their home. You should have left it where it was and kept your precious money.”
“My precious money is what’s keeping you in your designer clothes and that penthouse, young lady. I suggest you remember it.”
“As if I could forget,” she muttered.
“What?” Now the other eyebrow arched and he lowered his head as if he were looking over the rim of glasses.
“I said that my earnings from my art would help with my budget so you wouldn’t have to.”
At that Mitchell laughed. “Oh please, Cassidy. You couldn’t keep
to a budget if it was a million dollars. You have no idea what it costs to keep you in your lifestyle. It’s nice that you want to contribute, but don’t get yourself all concerned with it. I have more than enough to take care of you.”
Walk. Away. Do not say something that you’re going to regret. Save it for later when you’re alone.
Cassidy wanted to listen to her subconscious, knew she should listen to it. But that condescending tone just did her in.
She couldn’t just let it go. Couldn’t let him think that he could manipulate her into doing what he wanted. She was going to find some way to live on her terms.
“You know, Dad, I am actually capable of providing for myself. I just proved it. I haven’t before because you needed me to be available for the company. You put me in that penthouse. I was happy in the loft.”
“The penthouse is more your style—”
“No, the penthouse is more your style and you like letting it be known that I live there. I’ve always been a figurehead for you. The single dad who took his daughter under his wing and set her up in the company. Only you and I know that my role is completely superficial and my job description is to be a size two and look good. Any one of your bimbettes could pull that off.”
Oh shit. That comment had gone too far. She knew it by the narrowing of his eyes and the V of his eyebrows. More than the arching, that shape meant a hell of a lot of trouble.
“Look, I should go. This isn’t the time or the place.”
“You’re right about that. I’ll be at the penthouse tomorrow morning and we’ll finish this.”
“Oh, but, the maid is going to be there.” There was just something so completely wrong about calling that guy a maid.
“So get rid of her. After all, I pay her salary. She’ll do what I want.”
Doesn’t everyone? Cassidy almost said it out loud before she left, but figured she’d done enough damage for one night.
Tomorrow was time enough to say it.
Chapter Six
I don’t care how it got in the paper, I want the story killed,” Cassidy said into her phone as she opened the door and waved Liam in the next morning, looking way too artfully messy with a pair of shorts hanging low on her hips and an off-the-shoulder professionally torn-and-frayed T-shirt like the chick from that eighties’ welder-dancer movie, showing way too much skin for his liking and definitely too much leg.
On second thought, none of it was too much in the normal male-female interaction. But with their interaction . . . Yeah, definitely too much. He didn’t need to be any more attracted to her than he was.
“Deborah, you always work miracles for my father. Can’t you do something for me? I mean, how hard is it to kill a story?” Cassidy flicked the newspaper she was carrying and Liam got a glimpse of a large photo of her in one hell of an evening gown.
Okay, that was too much skin to be flashing around at anyone, let alone having it plastered on the front of the society page.
“But it makes me sound like a spoiled brat.”
Liam’s ears perked up. He’d never met a society chick who complained about being spoiled.
“But I didn’t say any of those things. Can I get a retraction?” She groaned. “Well how about a rebuttal?”
“Never heckle the hecklers,” Liam muttered. Bryan, his movie star brother, had imparted those words of wisdom. You couldn’t win when someone started heckling. Usually, the story grew.
She glanced at him, her eyes narrowing.
“I’m just sayin,’ if you make a big deal out of something, its importance will grow. Whatever’s in that article, let it go.”
“Look, Deborah, I’ll have to call you back. But please see what you can do in the interim.”
She punched the face of her phone with her thumb. An unnecessary act, since the thing shut down with a swipe, but still, Liam could feel the anger rolling off her in waves from across the living room.
“Did you have something you wanted to share?” Cassidy asked, sounding just like her condescending father.
Liam had been to a few events and tradeshows where Mitchell Davenport had been the speaker. The man had an opinion on everything and his was the only one that counted. Granted, the guy had built an empire out of practically nothing, but he should never forget the people who’d helped him climb that ladder to success because those same people could pull that ladder out from under him.
Ah, but what did it matter to Liam? He wasn’t—and never would be—in the same league as Davenport. And perhaps that supercilious, I’m-better-than-you attitude was the reason.
Well that was okay with Liam. He was perfectly content to maintain his business and style of living at a level he could live with. Being an ego-inflated know-it-all wasn’t for him.
“All I said was, if you make something a big deal, so will other people. Let it go.”
“Let it go? Do you know what this says?” She rattled the paper at him, the skin above the neckline of that top turning a nice shade of pink in anger.
It was a good look on her. Her green eyes were flashing like gemstones, and her breathing quickened enough so that those gorgeous breasts shifted beneath the clingy fabric in a way only a dead man wouldn’t notice. And even that was questionable.
God, it was only 8:16 in the morning and already he was lusting after the client.
“I hear you, but this is slander. Libel. One of the two.” She raked her hair back off her forehead and that perfectly coiffed do she’d had yesterday had become a jumble of untamed waves that bounced over her shoulders in a way designed to make a man want to run his fingers through them. Tug on them. Hold them tight as he drove into her—
Shit. 8:17 and he was sweating again.
“I mean that it’s lies. All of it is lies.”
“What’s it say?” Damn, he didn’t want to ask that. Didn’t want to know. Didn’t want a damn thing to do with Cassidy Davenport other than to get in and out of her home in the quickest time possible and still allow Mac to call her a client.
The things he did for his sister.
“It says, first, that I got engaged.” She held up her ringless left hand. “Do you see a ring here?”
“No.” Thank God.
And he’d examine why he was thanking the Lord for that later.
“Damn right you don’t. Burton’s a nice guy, but definitely not the man I’m going to marry.”
It was on the tip of Liam’s tongue to ask Burton who? but he didn’t really want to know. He wasn’t interested in Cassidy Davenport or who she dated.
“And I didn’t storm out of the gala. I walked out nicely. Serenely. Said my good-byes. No one could take issue with my manners. I have no freaking clue if Burton’s ex-fiancée was there, nor do I care. She can have him.”
He really shouldn’t feel any satisfaction whatsoever at hearing those words, but for some reason, he did.
Dammit. Cassidy Davenport was nothing to him. Nothing. And never would be.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that, buddy. That’ll explain all this hypersensitivity to her and the way she smells like peaches, and the way her nipples have hardened, and the flutter across her abdomen as she sucks in air to calm down. And how you’ve noticed all of this about her. Yeah, you’re not into her at all.
“. . . as if I’m this stuck-up snob who can’t lower herself to talk to the common people.” She waved the newspaper at him. “Can you believe it? It actually uses the term common people in the article! What are we? Living in some feudal village? Who does that?”
She turned around and stormed across the room, those stomps doing some mighty nice things to her ass.
“I’m not going to stand for this. I’m just not. My father had to have planted at least part of the story.”
“He wants people to think you’re stuck up?” Since Mitchell Davenport was all about image and this would not be the best public relations, Liam didn’t buy it.
She spun around, her hair fanning out behind her, swinging around to curl over one should
er, leaving the other bare, enticing him to kiss his way from her shoulder up the curve of her neck and lose himself in that scent of peaches.
“No. That I’m engaged to Burton. I’d hoped last night that he wasn’t intending to propose, and I left before it could get awkward. Now my father is forcing my hand, so to speak, so that I can’t turn him down. What would it look like if Mitchell Davenport’s daughter said yes, then no, to his hand-picked son-in-law? I’ll be the most ungrateful, spoiled, willful child there ever was.”
“So you’re not getting married?” Why on God’s earth was that the question he asked? Jesus, her perfume must have infected his brain.
“Not to Burton Carstairs I’m not. It’d be like marrying my dad, and that’s the last thing I’m ever going to do.”
“Yeah, but who are you going to find except Daddy’s hand-picked henchman to be able to afford this place?”
She stormed back across the room toward him, one finger pointed right at his chest. “Seriously? You actually have the nerve to say that?”
Liam stepped up onto the foyer level from the sunken living room so she wouldn’t be eye-level with him.
That finger hit him in the chest. Ouch. Damn manicure was sharp.
“How dare you say that. You don’t know anything about me. Don’t believe what you read in the papers. Today’s story is the perfect example of the lies they’ll make up to sell advertising. I am not some spoiled, useless doll that my father puts on the shelf when not parading me out in public. I actually have a job at his company.”
Liam decided discretion was the better part of valor when it came to that statement. From what he’d seen of her over the years, her so-called job was to come out and look pretty. Just like a doll.
Luckily, her cell phone rang then, saving him from making the matter worse. Sure, she could boast all she wanted that she wasn’t going to marry this Burton guy, but she ought to know that Mitchell Davenport had rarely lost a battle he’d wanted to win. It would take a certain kind of man to marry Davenport’s daughter, and Carstairs sounded like the perfect toady. Hand-picked and modeled after the man himself. That way, he’d never have to worry what Carstairs was going to do with his company or his daughter.