What a Woman Gets

by Judi Fennell

  She winced as she put the truck in gear. There’d always been some eligible guy at her father’s gatherings. A representative of another “well-bred” family to create the perfect offspring. She’d often joked with her friends that the guy who examined her teeth would be the one her father would pick for her to marry.

  Burton hadn’t gone that far, but then, he hadn’t gone far at all. She hadn’t let him. Hadn’t felt the need to delve into a physical relationship with him—a big glaring neon flashing light that said he wasn’t the man for her.

  What about Liam?

  She scooted around a wayward shopping cart that was rolling across the parking lot. There was nothing about Liam. He was a nice guy to help her—and sexy as hell—but he was a temporary measure. A stopgap.

  He can stop my gap anytime—

  Oh for heaven’s sake. Cassidy exhaled and deliberately yanked the truck to the right. Seriously? Did her subconscious have to be so crude? So banal?

  Hey, get crude and banal with Liam and see if you don’t enjoy it.

  She had to smile at that. Yeah, that would be pretty fun.

  But she had a job to do and it wasn’t to do the maid, no matter how hot he was. There was more to life than sex.

  But it does make life sweet . . .

  She pulled out of the parking lot and turned right onto Davenport Drive. She couldn’t even escape her father when she’d escaped him. There was the Davenport wing on the library and the Davenport Properties roadside clean-up signs, and the playground she’d tried to get her father to rename Franklin’s Field but he’d refused. Of course. Nothing was more important to her father than the Davenport name.

  Not even his daughter.

  She made a quick left into another strip mall and was just about to circle back to the alley behind it—anything to get off Davenport Drive—when a storefront caught her eye.

  Pawn Shoppe.

  A cutesy name for a nice solution to that two-fifty deficit.

  She parked in front and headed inside, unscrewing the backs of her earrings as she went.

  * * *

  LIAM reread the blurb in the newspaper beneath a picture of Cassidy in a knockout evening dress on the marble steps of a ritzy restaurant.

  PRINCESS BECOMES A PAUPER

  Local socialite, Cassidy Davenport, is learning that the grass on the other side of the fence is far less green than the professionally landscaped lawns of her high-rise and country club these days.

  An insider reports that Ms. Davenport’s father, renowned entrepreneur Mitchell Davenport, has evicted her from her penthouse condominium, forcing her to seek employment among the masses.

  Friends say they last spoke to Ms. Davenport yesterday morning before the eviction. No one has heard from her since, prompting questions of what else her father has cut from her lifestyle. No statement has been forthcoming from the Davenport Properties’ stronghold in the downtown business district.

  Is this true or just another PR ploy by the man many refer to as the Hound From Hell for his marketing savvy and entrepreneurial style?

  And if not, how will Ms. Davenport fare in this challenge? Where will she live? What will she do? And will she look as fashionable as she does in this photo from the Todd Best Art Show last fall?

  Freaking vultures. One more insult for Cassidy to endure. A public one, at that. Poor woman.

  Yeah, he was feeling sorry for her. He probably shouldn’t, given that life in a fishbowl also came with millions and fancy cars and luxury vacations, but he’d seen how her father’s actions had hurt her. Now she’d have to endure them all over again, this time knowing it was out there for everyone to see.

  He hoped she’d gone home and not food shopping after dropping him off this morning, and missed finding out about this at all. Maybe he could get her so focused on painting that she wouldn’t find out until the hype blew over.

  Then he looked out the windshield and that theory was blown to hell.

  Cassidy was out and about all right—and heading into a pawn shop.

  With her fingers working the ice on her ears, he had a good idea why, but the woman was going to get raked over the coals and taken for every dime she didn’t have. Going to the pawn shop wasn’t like going to a jeweler. Not that a jeweler gave the best prices—as he’d found out when he’d tried to return the bracelet he’d bought Rachel. Didn’t get close to what he’d paid for it, but at least it’d kept him out of Vito’s shop.

  “Hang a right, Jake,” he said to his buddy who was driving. Jake had been on a job site nearby, and they’d decided to grab some lunch.

  “Thanks. I’ll get my own ride back.” Liam stashed the newspaper under his arm and was out of Jake’s truck before it’d stopped, running to the pawn shop door about thirty seconds after Cassidy.

  He was almost too late.

  “How much will you give me for these?” Cassidy was at the counter.

  “Hey.” He put his hand over her open palm where the two hunks of diamond sat glinting in the fluorescent lighting, while Vito salivated all over them. Probably the first time in Cassidy’s life that a guy was salivating over something other than her when she was in the room, but Vito had an eye for business. His business. And he wasn’t in business to make other people a profit, which was why this was the last place Liam wanted to see her.

  “Liam? What are you doing here?” She curled her fingers closed beneath his palm. The diamonds, for the moment, were safe.

  “I saw you head in here and wanted to make sure you didn’t make a mistake.”

  Uh oh. Wrong choice of words. The princess turned even icier than the rocks in her fist.

  “I am not making a mistake. I know what I’m doing.”

  “No, you don’t. You don’t want to sell those to Vito.”

  “Well of course I don’t. I’m going to pawn them.”

  “You don’t want to do that either.”

  “Yo, Manley. Butt the fuck out, man. I don’t tell you how to do your business.” Vito’s testosterone went into an uproar.

  “Chill, Vito. You’re not taking her diamonds.”

  “Like hell I ain’t. If she’s sellin’, and they’re what she says they are, I’m buyin.’”

  “She just said she isn’t selling.”

  Vito’s sausage-sized finger almost slapped Liam’s nose. “I like you, Manley. Your brothers, too. And that sister of yours . . .” Vito didn’t have to say anything for Liam to get what Vito thought of his sister. “But this is business. So you back the fuck away or I’m gonna have ta call out my boys. You don’t want me to call out my boys.”

  No, Liam didn’t. He looked at Cassidy. “Can we please talk about this before you do it?”

  “Why? You’re not my boss.”

  “Actually, technically, I am. And you’re on the clock, so you shouldn’t be here. I could fire you.”

  Her eyes narrowed and he prepared himself for the fight. He arched an eyebrow.

  She looked at him, then at Vito. She tugged her hand out from beneath his and looked at the earrings for a few seconds.

  Then she folded her fingers around them again and stuffed them into her shorts pocket. “Okay, what do you want to say?”

  He looked at Vito. “Not here.” He gripped her upper arm. “Let’s go outside.”

  “Motherfucker,” Vito muttered beneath his breath, shaking his head as he headed toward his back room. The inner sanctum back room that probably had a couple mil stashed there on any given day, along with Vito’s weapons of choice. His shop might be in the nice part of town, with its name all prettied up with the extra PE on the end, but the fact remained that this was Vito’s place of business and sometimes that business wasn’t always so nice. Or friendly. Or legal. Or all three.

  Liam led her outside toward his truck. This was the last time he was giving her the keys. Here, he’d been worried about an accident, never thinking she was a walking accident just waiting to enter the right shoppe.

  “So what do you have to say, Liam?” S
he rounded on him right in the middle of the parking lot.

  “Could we go someplace less public?”

  She looked around and flung her hands wide. “You want private in a parking lot? Good luck with that.”

  “You’re the one who needs the luck.” Liam was working very hard to keep his temper. He didn’t have a bad one; typically he never had any temper. He was the easy-going brother.

  But not this time.

  “Fine, Cassidy. Let’s air your dirty laundry in public. This morning’s headlines of you being booted from your home aren’t enough, is that it?”

  “Don’t tell me you read those trashrags. Everyone knows that stuff isn’t true.”

  “Trashrags? The Herald isn’t a trashrag.”

  “The . . . the Herald? It made the Herald?” Her face went white.

  “You didn’t know.” Shit. This was not how he’d want her to find out her picture was on the front page of the daily newspaper with a lot more than a one-line caption beneath it. Hell, he’d love to avoid her finding out at all, but Mitchell Davenport was a big name in this town and what he did or said made the papers.

  He’d love to find out how the reporter got his info. Had it been Marco? The guy had seemed so innocent, but maybe he needed the money a juicy story like this would command.

  “You’re sure it’s in the Herald? Not just the tabloids?”

  Liam grabbed her arm. “Look, it doesn’t matter where it is. The point is, you were about to sell your soul and those diamonds to the devil.”

  “I wasn’t selling them. I told you, I was pawning them.”

  “Same difference. If you don’t have the five grand he’d give you for those—if you’re lucky to get that—now, what makes you think you’ll have it when the payment’s due? Not to mention the interest he’ll charge if you’re late. Are you prepared to lose those earrings just to prove to me that you know what you’re doing?”

  A myriad of emotions crossed Cassidy’s face and Liam wasn’t sure what to expect when they finally coalesced into a definitive reaction.

  “Please tell me it’s not on the front page.”

  Shit shit shit.

  “Cass, don’t go there. Just forget I said anything.”

  “Liam, tell me.”

  Where was this backbone when her father was tossing her out? If she’d grown it then, she wouldn’t be in this position and he could leave the freaking day job behind when he came home at night. But no; he was plunged right back into the chaos that damn poker game had wreaked upon his life the minute he walked through his front door.

  He opened the door to his truck cab. “Get in and I’ll show you.”

  He waited for her to climb in. She might be in a state over the headlines, but when that haze of anger faded, she was going to be grateful to him for not letting her be out in the open where anyone would see her. A woman should have her privacy for what was to come.

  He pulled the paper from under his arm. “Here.”

  “Son of a bitch.”

  He didn’t think it was possible for her face to get any whiter.

  She proved him wrong as she read the article. “Oh my God. That son of a bitch.” She dropped the paper onto her lap. “And I was just about to . . .” She looked back at Vito’s shop.

  “Yeah. You were about to let Vito know exactly who you were. The second he knew, he’d figure out why you need the money and adjust his price accordingly. It’s like any negotiation; you want to be in a position of strength. Knowledge is power, and the minute Vito knows you’re desperate is the minute he’s going to undercut you. And now that I pulled you out of there . . .” He wanted to go back in and threaten Vito to keep his big mouth shut, but that’d only send Vito to the tabloids faster. “Vito’s out to make a buck any way he can.”

  She blinked faster and stared at something out the windshield, but she didn’t say anything.

  He was waiting for the tears. They’d come; they always did. Rachel had been a master at pooling her tears and looking up at him with those watery big eyes and he’d melt . . .

  “So.” Cassidy exhaled and to Liam’s surprise, cleared her throat, didn’t cry, and faced him. “What do you suggest I do? It’s not like I can expect to sell thirty-thousand-dollar earrings online and get a decent amount for them.”

  It took him a second to make the shift with her. She was moving forward. Not wallowing in the morass of hurt and anger she had to be feeling.

  Damn, the woman could surprise him.

  “Why not try? People sell cars; why not jewels? I’m sure you’re not the first.” Thirty grand? She had thirty grand hanging off her ears and she was mooching off him? “You know, thirty grand is nothing to sneeze at.” Unless it was in gold-leaf handkerchiefs. “You don’t need to work for me.”

  “That’s if I can get it, Liam. Do people just have thirty K lying around for online shopping?”

  “Good point.” Those who could afford the earrings probably didn’t go online to do so. They’d go to their own personal jeweler. Probably being driven by their own personal chauffeur. After having lunch at their club. On a yacht.

  Okay, bitterness was starting to gnaw at him and he didn’t like it. Rachel’s defection could have done a number on his self-esteem if he was that guy, but he wasn’t. He did well for himself and if that hadn’t been good enough for Rachel, well, hell, she wasn’t good enough for him. He didn’t need a yacht. He didn’t need a club. He just needed his friends and family and his business to do well. Money, so important to the Rachels and Mitchell Davenports of the world, wasn’t the be-all end-all to him.

  “Will you take them as payment?”

  “Earrings? What am I going to do with diamond earrings? I’m not a jewelry kind of guy.”

  “No, I mean, would you take them and sell them and we’ll be even?”

  “You’re willing to give me thirty-thousand-dollar earrings in return for room and board? And I can keep whatever I make on the sale?” He raised his eyebrow. “Seriously, Cassidy, you’re never going to make it on your own if this is how you operate.”

  “I—” She sat back against the seat and crossed her arms.

  Liam could see the words foaming at her lips, but he was right and she knew it. Yeah, sure, he’d take the jewelry and make a nice profit, but he didn’t need the hassle. All he’d need was for Davenport to list them as stolen and Liam would find himself answering a whole lot of questions from behind bars. That thirty K would be gone in a minute if he had to get attorneys to fight off Davenport’s stable of lawyers.

  “You’re right. I should sell them because I’m never going back now.” She sat up a little taller in the seat. “But I have no clue how. Will you help me?”

  He wanted to say no. Wanted her to do it on her own, but there was so much worry and hope in her eyes that he’d feel like the world’s biggest jerk if he didn’t help her. Navigating the online bidding system could be a struggle if someone wasn’t familiar with it, and he’d bet all thirty thousand of those dollars that Cassidy Davenport had never bought anything online. Why would she when all she’d have to do is call the jeweler and fling Daddy’s name around? The stuff probably showed up, hand delivered, that afternoon, in pink cushioned boxes with sparkly bows tied around them.

  “Yeah. Sure. At least I’ll get my money out of you.”

  “Don’t worry, Liam. I intend to pay you for everything.”

  He hadn’t meant to be so brusque. He wasn’t heartless and she was going through a bunch of shit. Maybe not his idea of shit—thirty-thousand-dollar fallback options were kinda hard to ignore—but this was Cassidy he was talking about. She wasn’t used to this sort of stuff.

  And there you go, wanting to take care of her.

  “And I’m going to clean your house so well, you’ll be able to eat off the floors.”

  “That’s okay, I’ll stick to the table, but by all means, show me what you got.”

  “I intend to.” She crumpled up the newspaper and looked out the window, muttering som
ething that sounded an awful lot like, “You and my father.”

  Chapter Twelve

  CASSIDY had never worked so hard in her life.

  She’d had to open her big mouth. Had to tell him she’d show him what she was made of.

  Right now that felt like the love child of a limp noodle and a wet dishrag.

  She flung said wet dishrag over her shoulder, wincing as a stream of yucky, chemical-laden water dripped down her shirt. The bleach was going to leave a mark.

  Oh, well, it wasn’t as if she’d be wearing this shirt anytime again soon. She’d torn it on the curtain rod when she’d batted the dust from the curtains, then caught it in the oven door, leaving a grease line right across the middle.

  And now, Titania was jumping at her knees again and leaving dirty paw prints on the beige tile and her skin.

  “Titania, what are you doing?” She tossed the dishrag into the sink and scooped up the dog—there went paw prints on the shirt she was never going to wear again. The little dog licked Cassidy’s nose. “What? Where’d you get that dirt on your paws?”

  Titania licked her again.

  “I’ve been ignoring you, haven’t I?” Cassidy grabbed a damp paper towel, then sat on the edge of the leather sofa in Liam’s living room and cleaned Titania’s feet. He probably called this room a great room since this was the only room like it in the place. No formal living room versus family room, but then, he didn’t have a family.

  Neither did she, apparently.

  Whose father sold them out? Seriously. The son of a bitch.

  But it’d gotten his name in the papers, hadn’t it? And put pressure on her.

  But her father didn’t know her as well as he thought he did if he thought public humiliation would bring her back to the fold. If anything, it made her more determined to succeed.

  She checked the pay-as-you-go-phone she’d borrowed money from Liam to buy. More debt she owed him. But, seriously, she couldn’t live without a phone. If, at the very least, to tell what time it was.

  “Hey, Cass, I’m home. What’s for dinner?” Liam’s voice echoed in the big room, startling shivers up her spine.