When he picked up his dry cleaning, Kate handed it over, took his debit card, and said, “Somebody finally caught you, huh?”
“I’m sorry?” Christian asked, unsure what she meant.
“Me, too,” Kate said. When she returned his debit card, she noticed his baffled look. “I know the signs. In all the time we’ve done your cleaning, you never brought your comforter in. The next phase is when your dry cleaning includes items that aren’t yours.” When Christian blushed, she laughed. “Satisfy my curiosity. Which side of an unfamiliar shirt will the buttons be on?”
“Stay tuned,” Christian said, grinning as he left.
The sight of Bianca looking radiantly beautiful as she sat outside his apartment door reminded him that it wasn’t going to be easy to restrain himself. “I’m sorry; did I keep you waiting long?”
“No,” she said. “I’m early. I know it’s a terrible habit, because it always makes the other person feel like he’s in the wrong, but I can’t seem to break it.”
“I can solve this dilemma,” Christian said, leading her inside. He reached into his pocket and took out a shiny new key. “Now you can come and go as you please.”
Bianca took the key and said, “And I can always water your plants or something.”
Christian stopped himself from glancing around his plant-free apartment. While Bianca went into the kitchen to make tea, a habit they’d fallen into, he made a list of local veterinarians and faxed it to Emily-Anne. Then he put the clean comforter on the bed and looked around the room with satisfaction. Nothing was out of place. He went to his studio and began unloading his new art supplies.
When Bianca joined him, she said, “Have you heard from Derek yet?”
“No,” Christian said with renewed concern for his friend, who’d been missing in action since the night of the Big Bang. “Has Vienna?”
“Nope,” Bianca said. “She says she’s not worried; he just needs a vacation from all the drama of his life at the mall.”
“Have you gotten the other story out of her yet?”
“About the man with multiple identities?” Bianca asked. When he nodded, she said, “No. You know how Vienna is. She never talks about herself.” She started unbuttoning her blouse. Although she seemed comfortable with having him there, Christian left the room and changed into his paint-stained jeans and T-shirt. His clothes were beginning to look a little like their own work of art.
His new fine brushes allowed him to capture the nuances of Bianca’s skin. His concentration was so intense as he worked that it took a while for him to realize that Bianca was speaking.
“What?” he asked.
“Your doorbell,” she said. “Didn’t you hear it?”
“My doorbell rang?”
“Four times.”
“Shit,” Christian said, dropping his paintbrush and leaving the room. “Nooooo,” he moaned as he looked through the peephole. His mother’s face was stretched out as if she were made of Silly Putty. She didn’t look happy. Christian braced himself before he opened the door.
Patricia stormed in, then turned on her high heels as she entered the living room. The two of them assessed each other. Her formerly brown hair, now mahogany, was swept into a loose knot. Her fierce pink lips were puckered, and her brow was furrowed, a look Christian hadn’t seen since he was seven and had tried to “help” his mother by adding paint to a canvas that was slated for her first major exhibit in Manhattan.
“You look great,” Christian said, hoping to head off a tantrum.
“You look terrible. Your eyes are hollow. Your hair is a mess. Have you shaved recently?” Her eyes swept his clothes. “You’re painting?”
“No. This is Indiana’s hot new look.”
“Don’t give me any of your sass,” Patricia ordered. She reached into her small handbag, took out a cigarette, and lit it in one fluid motion.
“Please don’t smoke in my apartment.”
“Fine,” Patricia said as she walked into the kitchen and extinguished the cigarette in the sink. She returned to the living room. “Although it’s not going to be your apartment for long if you neglect your clients’ calls the way you’ve been ignoring mine.”
“I needed to be in the moment. You should understand that better than anyone. How many times did you just disappear because you were inspired?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Don’t act like I neglected you. I’m certainly not neglecting you now. I want you to come to New York. You need proper tutelage.”
“I’ve had proper instruction.”
“From Mrs. Grim at Highland Day School?”
“Grimes. Mrs. Grimes.” Christian stared intently at his mother. “You think I’ve learned nothing from you?”
Patricia’s face went slack. She flopped into the armchair behind her and rested her chin on her fist. Her expression became thoughtful as she looked past him, and Christian turned around to see Bianca, still dressed in her sheer cotton shift.
“I’m Bianca. You must be the mother.”
“Patricia Mercer,” his mother said a little acidly. “Lovely to meet you.” She looked at Christian. “Is this your reason for not coming to New York?”
“I’m happy here. I can go to New York whenever I want.”
“I’m not going to support you. Even a successful artist—”
“I wouldn’t take your money if you offered it,” Christian said. “I still have clients. I have savings. I’ll manage.”
“It’s a tough road,” Patricia warned, sounding almost motherly.
“I’m prepared for it.”
“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t need you,” Bianca said. Christian and Patricia turned to look at her with similarly indignant expressions. Her voice had a confident tone that Christian wasn’t used to hearing. “You must have lots of insight that would help Christian. About unscrupulous dealers. Galleries he can trust. Pitfalls to avoid. People who can help him.”
Patricia’s gray eyes were a little cold, so Christian was shocked when she said, “Actually, he knows more about all that than I do. I’ve always depended on Christian to help my manager deal with those details.”
“I’m not surprised,” Bianca said. Christian began to suspect she had an agenda when she continued. “Christian’s always ready to help anyone. You must be so proud of him.”
“Well, of course,” Patricia said.
“You should be proud of yourself, too, since you’re the one who raised him to be that way.”
“True,” Patricia said, looking pleased. She shifted her gaze to Christian. “I’m staying at the Congreve. Why don’t we meet for drinks later and talk all this over? May I look at your—”
“No,” Christian said. “Not until it’s finished. But I will meet you later.”
“You come, too, Bianca,” Patricia said. “You seem like a sensible young woman.”
“I’d love to,” Bianca said sweetly.
After he’d walked his mother out, Christian turned to Bianca and said, “What a smooth operator you are. Sometimes I feel like I’m dealing with a feral cat instead of a mother, but you’ll have her eating out of your hand in no time.”
“How are you going to support yourself?” Bianca asked. “Judging by the shelves in your bathroom, you’re very high maintenance.”
“You could always support me,” Christian joked.
“I guess I’ll have to sell a lot of lip liner, huh?”
“Tons.”
“I’ve always wanted to be the benefactress to a gay artist.”
“Gay? I think we can clear up that little misunderstanding right now,” Christian said, finally comprehending what had been holding Bianca back.
Her eyes widened when he walked across the room and leaned in for a kiss. She returned it with fervor, and her arms crept around his neck. He wasn’t sure who was dragging whom toward the bedroom as she said, “I think this might be the best clarification I’ve ever had.”
35
The Wichita Lying Man
&
nbsp; Riley took a drag off his cigarette and nearly spit it across the alley. Generic. Like his whole flavor-free life. How was it possible that a man of his genius had been reduced to buying cheap cigarettes? There was no justice in the world. Not as long as scheming bitches like Juanita Luna and Sheree Sheridan were out to get hardworking, talented people like him.
He thought of all the years he’d been a slave to the Congreve dynasty while Sheree feathered her nest by screwing that domineering, ungrateful old man. Riley had obviously made the wrong choice. He should have been sleeping with Hunter instead of working his ass off to make him look good. Apparently that was how one guaranteed security with a Congreve.
He smiled bitterly. It hadn’t worked for Derek, though, thanks to Riley’s efforts. Maybe Riley had been banished from the kingdom, but Derek was no longer whoring with the crown prince. There was some satisfaction in that.
He’d always suspected that Sheree was the old man’s spy and had taken pains not to run afoul of her. Christ, he’d even given her skinny dog a present every Christmas. She had no sense of gratitude or even basic human decency. It still stunned him to remember the day she’d helped bring the universe crashing down around him.
That had been such a productive morning. Hunter hadn’t come in, leaving Riley a message that he’d be away in meetings until midafternoon. Since Riley had no information about meetings on his calendar, and there was nothing on Hunter’s desk to indicate where he’d be, he’d powered on his laptop to check Hunter’s e-mail, almost having a stroke at what he found.
Derek,
I don’t know why you quit your job and left the mall. I’ve called your cell phone, and all I get is some out-of-area message. Your parents either don’t know where you are or they aren’t telling me. In the unlikely event that you access our private network to check your e-mail, I’m asking you to call me. Please.
Don’t be afraid that I’m going to lecture you or say I told you so. I only want to know that you’re okay.
Love,
Hunter
Riley had hastily logged out of Hunter’s account and into Derek’s, nearly crazy with relief when he saw that Hunter’s e-mail was unread. He deleted it without opening it, ensuring that Derek would never see it. Then he changed Derek’s password. Even if the little idiot figured out how to access the network, which Riley found improbable, he wouldn’t be able to get into his account. He was gone. It was over. Riley had won.
The phones had been abnormally quiet that morning, giving him the opportunity to catch up on all of his work. Then he treated himself to a long lunch, indulging himself by getting a manicure and stopping by Mercury Man to put a new suit on layaway.
When he went back to work, he glanced toward Hunter’s office, but the desk was still empty. He called Craig at Drayden’s and confirmed that Derek had, in fact, quit his job without notice, but that was the extent of Craig’s information.
After making a few more business calls, Riley opened his file drawer to remove the laptop and reconnect it. Except the laptop wasn’t there. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he began looking in other drawers without success. He knew he hadn’t taken it with him when he went to lunch. If someone on the staff had stolen his computer, there was going to be hell to pay. He’d fire every one of them, from Juanita down to the lowliest laundress or bellhop, until somebody returned it.
“Looking for this?” Hunter asked, and Riley whipped around to see his boss leaning against the door frame of his office, Riley’s laptop in his hand.
He felt the blood drain from his face, but he kept his voice casual when he said, “I’m so glad you have it. That’s my personal property.”
“Come in here, please,” Hunter said.
Riley followed him in, stopping short when he saw Natasha Deere in Hunter’s guest chair. She gave him a cold look and said, “Yes. That’s him. RB. He’s the one who wanted me to spy on Derek.”
“What are you talking about?” Riley asked indignantly. “I’ve never seen this woman before in my—”
“Oh, but you have,” Sheree said smoothly as she emerged from the corner of Hunter’s office. “You made a request, as I recall. You asked if I’d do a Dolly Parton set when you came into the Aurora one night. I did. This is the woman you sat with while I was singing.”
“Thank you, Sheree,” Hunter said. “Ms. Deere, we’ll talk later. I need to see Riley alone now.” When the women were gone, Hunter looked at him and said, “Why?”
“I have no clue who or what they’re talking about,” Riley said. “I’ve completely devoted my time and energy to you, Hunter.”
“With some help from our computer people, I know exactly how much time and energy you’ve devoted to me,” Hunter said. “What I don’t know is why. You’re the only one who can tell me that.” Riley didn’t answer, and Hunter said, “My father wants to press charges against you. Our lawyers assure us we have grounds. You tampered with my e-mail. You accessed my private financial records. You used my funds, without my knowledge or permission, to alter the work order for my computer network. Drayden Lvandsson is weighing his options, too. You blackmailed Natasha into harassing a Drayden’s employee. I could probably stop my father and Drayden. Just explain why you singled out someone who never mistreated you in any way.”
“You had everything I should have had,” Riley spat, thrilled to finally direct his venom at Hunter. “I worked for years while you squandered your time and opportunities in Europe. But when you decided on a whim to get into the business, they made me your assistant. I could have run this hotel in my sleep, but I had to take orders from you and put up with crap from bleeding hearts like Juanita, while you and Derek partied your way from one resort to the next. You used my expertise and my hard work to run this hotel, taking all the credit, not to mention the bonuses, and you don’t think you mistreated me?”
“Actually,” Hunter said, “I was talking about Derek. He’s the person you injured. But I’ve heard enough. I’m afraid I can’t return your ‘personal property’ to you, Riley. We’ll keep it as evidence. Your severance check will include the cost of replacing it. You can pick that up from Juanita at the front desk when she confirms that you’ve vacated your apartment and turned in your keys. Be careful about using the Congreve for a reference. Good luck.”
That had been the final humiliation: to give Juanita his keys and take his last check from her. “You’d better hope that boy’s okay, or you’re going down,” was all she’d said. His only satisfaction had been in telling her that the one going down was Derek, on his new boyfriend, Christian Mercer, knowing that she’d relay that information to Hunter.
The second cigarette wasn’t quite as bad as the first, but Riley smoked it quickly, unwilling to spend his time in a stinking alley brooding about Hunter Congreve and that loser, Derek Anderson. What a fucked-up world, when men like those two thrived while he was punished for being too dedicated to his career.
He went back inside the motel lobby, suppressing a shudder at the stale smell. He was sure there was mold under the indoor-outdoor carpet. At least it was newer than the shag carpet in the motel’s forty rooms.
He slipped behind the counter and sat down at his battered metal desk, staring through the lobby window at the neon sign blinking next to the highway: LARUE INN OF WICHITA. SWIMMING POOL. CABLE IN EVERY ROOM. VACANCY.
36
The Spy Who Bagged Me
Vienna rued having ever embarked on her mission to take Natasha’s dolls. She’d honestly thought it could only help to remove the objects of Natasha’s fixation. But Vienna’s evaluation had been made under duress, with panic and a blaring alarm hindering her thought process. She hadn’t counted on Dolly being an omnipresent figure in Natasha’s world. Vienna could remove the dolls, but they were just things, mere objects. Dolly was everywhere. She was in movies, on television, on compact discs, on posters, and obviously in Natasha’s heart and soul.
Nobody would ever believe that Natasha had a heart, let alone a soul
, but Vienna had come to know that it was absolutely true. Natasha’s pain was real, and Vienna knew she was the catalyst that had caused Natasha to break. She wanted to help her in any way she could. She owed it to herself, as a psychologist. She owed it to her mother, who always had faith that Vienna was a good girl. She owed it to Derek, because she’d practically coerced him into letting her help him. But most of all, she owed it to Natasha, for violating her home and heart.
After she left the Big Bang and retrieved the dolls from Christian’s apartment, she went straight to Natasha’s condo and banged on the door for hours, but Natasha never answered. Vienna finally gave up and went home. Natasha’s phone number was unlisted; Vienna’s only option was to go to Drayden’s and convince someone there to break the rules and give it to her.
Erik was her unlikely hero. The people in Human Resources refused to give out an employee’s personal information, so Vienna decided to appeal to Erik. Even if he didn’t know the number, she figured he’d know where to look in Natasha’s desk.
“Her desk’s been cleaned out,” Erik informed her, which made Vienna gasp. “They told me that Natasha resigned this morning. Her personal stuff was delivered to her residence, I guess. I don’t know.”
“Did you get promoted?” Vienna asked, running her hand over her head and wondering what she’d do next. When Erik nodded happily, she said, “Congratulations, Erik. You really deserve it.”
“Thanks,” Erik said. “I wish it had happened under better circumstances, though. I know she was awful, but in some ways, I admired Natasha. She was very dedicated to her job.”
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