"Doug is never busy,” Moira told her dryly. “Don't worry. Just be ready at seven and Doug will pick you up."
* * * *
She had stupidly been unable to come up with anything to say, any reasonable excuse for why she couldn't let Moira's baby son take her out. So she was pacing in her suite at seven p.m., looking like a complete idiot.
She wore leather pants, because she'd bought leather pants when she had decided to spend some time in Vegas. It was part of her determination to be a totally different Aubrey Thomas. So ... leather pants and a skimpy electric blue top that made her hair look like it had caught actual fire atop her head. The skimpy top was good because it hung rather than clung and obscured the fact that she didn't have anything that would pass in Vegas as breasts.
She had blown her hair dry upside-down, so that now it was sticking up all over her head in a style that she hoped looked like messy and fashionable instead of messy and stupid. In fact, she hoped the whole ensemble did not scream old-person-trying-to-look-like-a-young-person.
There was a brisk knock on the door to her suite and Aubrey wondered what would happen if she didn't answer. They'd probably think she'd died or something and send an emergency crew in, knocking down the door, causing structural damage, and then there she would be, in her ridiculous outfit, saying, Oh, no, I just didn't want to go out on the town.
So she answered the door.
Doug Lowenby looked older than twenty-four. Like maybe twenty-four and a half, she thought sarcastically. He was handsome in a strange, too-perfect way that made him look a little delicate and foppish—but that was not really his fault and he had obviously made an effort to counter the effect in the haphazard cut of his baby-fine, white-blonde hair, and in the youthfully slovenly outfit of jeans and T-shirt he was wearing.
Aubrey instantly realized she was way too over-dressed.
But Doug Lowenby blinked and said, “Wow."
Was that Wow, she looks fantastic or Wow, my mother has set me up with an old hag?
"My mother doesn't usually set me up with beautiful women.” And he sent her a curving smile that he had obviously perfected but which didn't make her any less fluttery with flattery.
She didn't know what to say, so she just stuck out her hand and said, “I'm Aubrey."
"I'm Doug,” he answered, shaking her hand.
"Thank you so much for doing this,” she said as she grabbed her purse and closed the door behind her.
"Oh, no thanks necessary. I'm easily persuaded to spend a night on the town. You just must promise me to spend at least a little time with me. Don't forsake me for all the other men who are going to be flocking around you tonight."
Aubrey smiled and decided Doug Lowenby must be a lot like his famously charming father. “Where are we going?"
"My mother said you'd never been in Vegas before, so we're doing highlights. Dinner at the Eiffel Tower, gondola ride at the Venetian, volcano at the Mirage, and then a couple of clubs."
Aubrey stepped onto the elevator. “Sounds like quite a night."
"Those are my specialty,” replied Doug Lowenby. “Nights you describe afterward as being ‘quite a night.’”
* * * *
The Valentine's Day crowds were out in force, descending en masse, and for that reason Gray had everyone working extra hours, especially the people he was planning on giving Valentine's Day off, like Mark. So Gray was tipped back in one of the many chairs at the Bienvenue's central security room, munching on Russell Stover candies that somebody had left in the office and listening to the buzz of Mark and his team making sure everything in the casino was operating safely and smoothly.
Gray let his gaze roam over the banks of television screens showing video pictures from hidden surveillance cameras. Everything looked in order. Some people winning, other people losing. Yes, everything looked exactly as it was supposed to.
Mark sipped coffee, scrolling through views. “Surprisingly quiet, all things considered,” he commented.
"Yeah, it's not bad,” said Gray, frowning at the strawberry crème chocolate candy piece he'd bitten into. “Lucy's good, luckily. She manages to keep wives happy even while their husbands are busy gambling during their Valentine weekend. What are you doing for Valentine's Day?"
"Nothing,” said Mark, leaning over and choosing a chocolate. “Monica doesn't want to go out. Everything's so crowded on Valentine's Day. I'd rather just stay in myself."
"Then you can work,” Gray suggested hopefully.
Mark sent him an ironic glance. “You already gave me the day off."
"Yeah, but I thought you would do something. I figure it's you married folks who most appreciate Valentine's Day—and then none of you ever do anything."
"Valentine's Day is only for the young. Your first Valentine's Day with someone is special. By your second one, you're sick of the whole damn thing. I know you wouldn't know this, having never actually had a second Valentine's Day with anyone."
"Honestly, I try to avoid even having a first Valentine's Day with someone."
"I've noticed."
Gray paused. He watched Mark scroll through the screens. “Do you have a name picked out for the baby yet?"
Mark sighed. “Don't you have anything better to do?"
"I was productive all day."
"Then why don't you go home?"
"I am home."
"I mean to your suite."
"What would I do there? Here I can be social."
"I like Michael. Monica thinks it's too cutesy."
"Michael's not cutesy."
"We'd all be M's."
"Ah. What does Monica like?"
"Dorian."
"Dorian!"
"Exactly."
"Well, you'll just have to compromise. You'll have to give up on any M names and she'll have to give up on any sissy names."
"See? Your brother's got a life,” Mark said, gesturing to the monitor with the lobby view, through which Doug was now walking with a girl. “Why can't you be like your brother?” Mark moved to the next screen.
Gray, eyes wide, leaned forward. “Go back."
"What?"
"Go back!"
Mark, wondering what he'd missed, went back.
"That's Aubrey,” said Gray in disbelief. “He's with Aubrey."
Mark took a closer look. “Huh. Guess he is. And I think she's wearing leather pants."
But Gray, swearing, was already out of the room.
* * * *
"How did you get into painting?” Doug asked her as they walked through the lobby.
"I—” Aubrey had to dodge a group of tourists having a loud argument in another language. “Crowded here, isn't it?"
Doug looked apologetic. “Valentine's Day crowds starting to come in. There's always a slew of couples and such."
"Valentine's Day,” Aubrey echoed. She'd totally forgotten it was even coming up. Yet another reason to celebrate tonight.
"This way,” said Doug, reaching out a hand and cupping it around her elbow as he nudged her in the other direction.
And that was when Gray's voice cut in furiously. “What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Aubrey stiffened, turned to face him, ready to launch into him at the presumption that he had any say at all in what she could and could not do.
But he was looking at Doug.
"It's nighttime,” Doug replied scathingly. “People with lives go out at night."
"And people who support irresponsible people work,” Gray retorted. “I have been looking all over for you all day."
"Oh,” said Doug.
"I left you dozens of messages."
"I, uh, didn't get any of them."
He was obviously lying. Gray's eyes narrowed. Aubrey was a little relieved she wasn't receiving the brunt of all that fury. Then again, she was a little miffed that Gray hadn't seemed to spare her a single glance. She was dressed like a tramp, for God's sake. He could have at least done a double-take.
"Well, you c
an't go out tonight,” Gray announced.
"Aubrey, have you met my brother Gray?” asked Doug smoothly. “Unfortunately, he has no manners."
His brother Gray?
Aubrey gaped up at Gray. Doug's brother. Gray. Which would make him Moira's son too, wouldn't it? Uh-oh, thought Aubrey. Maybe her marvelous plan to avoid Gray while in Vegas wasn't going to end up working so marvelously.
Gray didn't even acknowledge her. Even when his attention was purposely drawn to her, he didn't even glance her way. Getting over her shock, she folded her arms and tapped her toe.
"You're not going out."
"I promised Aubrey a night on the town. Don't be so rude, Gray."
"You're going to St. Paul."
"St. Paul?” Doug looked stricken. “What on earth could I have done to deserve that?"
"You have Mom running around telling me you want more responsibility in the company,” Gray snapped. “You're going to St. Paul. They're having a trout fishing convention."
"Trout fishing?” Doug repeated. “It's the middle of winter!"
"I need someone there to make sure things go smoothly. This is a big event for the St. Paul Bienvenue."
Doug actually pouted. “You're sending me because you don't want to go yourself."
"Hell, yes,” Gray affirmed unrepentantly. “Who wants to go to St. Paul?"
"Well. This is clearly unfair. But we'll discuss it tomorrow. Tonight I have to—"
"You'll be in St. Paul tomorrow,” Gray told him. “You're leaving tonight."
Doug frowned darkly. “Can I talk to you alone for a second?"
"No,” Gray replied flatly.
Aubrey spoke up. “I'll leave the two of you alone to work this out. No problem. I'll be right over there.” And because she was furious with Gray for not paying the least attention to her, she kissed Doug full on the mouth. Complete with tongue. She walked away before she could faint from shock over her own actions.
Gray's jaw dropped. He felt it and was powerless to close his mouth so that he looked less stupid. It was just that he was floored. First the woman had dressed in an outfit so damned provocative he couldn't bear to look at her because he ached for her. And then she had kissed his brother with that lovely mouth that he really didn't think should be kissing mouths that belonged to men who were not him.
He could have noticed that Doug was equally speechless with shock and then he would have realized that whatever relationship he had with Aubrey was not that far along—but Gray was too busy watching Aubrey's hips sway as she walked over to one of the lobby streams.
So he and Doug stood in silence for what could have been a minute, then Doug said, “Gray. You have got to let me go out with this girl."
Gray blinked and looked at his brother without comprehension, trying to readjust to having his focus abruptly and unpleasantly taken from Aubrey's hips to his little brother, who was looking willing to promise Gray his firstborn for this one night with Aubrey.
And Gray knew from personal experience—maybe the girl was actually worth it.
Gray had been annoyed from the instant he'd spotted Doug with Aubrey. He thought it was annoyance with Doug—and maybe it was a little. Certainly he had taken it out on him, with the St. Paul threat. He had been flirting with the idea of sending Doug to St. Paul, with Danny along to provide the expertise, as a way of helping Doug along in the company. But he had not meant to wield it over him like a weapon. And it occurred to Gray that he wasn't truly annoyed with Doug.
He was annoyed with himself. He had let this girl get to him. Not only that, but he had let her get to him and then failed to close out the deal. Doug had won fair and square, and Gray had no one to blame but himself for the fact that Aubrey had broken out leather pants in honor of his brother and not him.
Gray's eyes flickered over to where Aubrey was now leaning against the wrought-iron railing, watching them inscrutably. Oh, damn it to hell, Gray thought. He hadn't looked at another woman since he had spent the night with Aubrey, and that was fairly ridiculous. Doug could have the girl. She was far, far more trouble then she was worth.
Liar, accused a voice inside of him that he was quite certain was speaking for the first time in his life. Which annoyed him further. He should have been acquainted, by now, with absolutely every single one of his inner voices. And because the more that he looked at Aubrey, the more that he wanted her, he turned back to Doug and snapped out, “Fine. You take her."
Doug looked ready to dance about the room. He sent Gray the most brilliant smile. “Thank you. I promise that we'll talk about St. Paul. It's a good idea, sending me."
Gray blinked in unconcealed surprise. Doug didn't think St. Paul was beneath him? Doug didn't think Honolulu, for instance, would be more appropriate?
"Good experience,” Doug continued. “I mean, for me. See how a smaller hotel works."
"I was going to send Danny along with you,” said Gray. “He knows what he's doing, he can—"
"Think the two of you could help me keep the tourists in line while you're down here?” Danny asked, coming up between the two of them.
"Huh?” Gray asked in confusion.
Danny nodded his head in that direction, sending Gray and Doug's gazes over to Aubrey, who was perched on the wrought-iron railing.
"Why the hell is she sitting on the railing?” asked Gray.
"We don't ask why,” Danny answered in the tone of voice of a schoolteacher. “We tell them to get off the railing before they get hurt and sue us."
"She's so damn much trouble,” muttered Gray, stalking over to Aubrey.
Aubrey watched his approach, trying to look elegant and languorous on the railing, when in fact she was balancing precariously and her hands gripped the iron for dear life. She hoped that she looked carefree and sexy perched on the railing; it was taking a lot of concentration to stay up there.
Gray didn't appear impressed with her carefree and sexy look. He seemed just about ready to murder her. Aubrey decided she'd better get off the railing—except that was difficult to do in really tight leather pants and stiletto heels. She stumbled and grabbed onto the nearest thing for support, which happened to be Gray's tie.
Gray uttered an unattractive and inarticulate choking sound as the knot in his tie rammed unapologetically up against his Adam's apple.
Aubrey, recovering her balance, let go and flashed a smile at him. “Sorry."
Gray loosened the knot in his tie and scowled down at her. “You cannot sit on the railing. See the sign?” He pointed at the fancy scrollwork sign next to the railing. “We spent a small fortune putting those signs up all over the place so foolish people wouldn't sit on the railings and subsequently fall off the railings and kill themselves or others and sue us for it."
Aubrey narrowed her eyes. “Doug and I are going out now."
"Good,” said Gray as Doug and Danny came up to them. “I hope you have a lovely time."
"You almost made that sound convincing,” Aubrey replied.
Doug and Danny looked from Aubrey to Gray and back again. Doug ventured, “Is there something—?"
"Let's go.” Aubrey took firm hold of Doug's arm pulled him away.
Gray frowned after them then turned to Danny, who was looking at him with his eyes narrowed in such a way that made Gray ask, self-consciously, “What?"
"Are you okay?” Danny asked it in genuine puzzlement.
"I'm fine,” Gray replied impatiently.
"You lost your temper,” said Danny. “With a guest. I've never seen you lose your temper with anybody, let alone—"
"Believe me, this is not me losing my temper. You will know when I have lost my temper. And anyhow, the woman choked me."
"Right,” Danny agreed slowly.
"She grabbed onto my tie. Didn't you see her? It choked me—"
"What's the woman's name?"
Gray, who had been in the middle of illustrating how exactly Aubrey had choked him, stopped. “What?"
"Her name wouldn't happen t
o be Aubrey, would it?"
Speculation, thought Gray. That was what was in Danny's eyes. Speculation. Gray dropped his hands away from his tie and said, “Do you have everything under control?"
"Everything's perfect,” Danny answered, still looking at him speculatively.
"Then I'm finished for the night."
"Okay."
Gray wanted to tell Danny to get that stupid look out of his eyes. Instead he turned on his heel, punishing him by not saying a proper good-bye, and took the elevator up to his suite, where he prowled around and decided he had given Danny cause to be speculative.
He was behaving in a manner distinctly unlike him. What he had to do was just take the jump and go out with another girl. For some strange reason, he seemed to have gotten himself stuck on Aubrey. He just needed to fix that.
So he did another completely uncharacteristic thing and went to his mother's suite.
The look on his mother's face as she opened the door on him showed how completely uncharacteristic it was. “Gray!” she exclaimed. “Is everything all right?"
Gray noticed that his mother was dressed in a short, fire-engine red dress that she clearly was not wearing to lounge around the suite. “You're going out,” he deduced.
"Well, yes."
Everyone on earth was going out but him. And it wasn't even Valentine's Day yet. It would be even worse on Valentine's Day.
He had to get a date.
"You know how you told me the Dunbars’ daughter got a divorce?"
His mother blinked at him. “What?"
"What's her name again? Is it Linda?"
"Hannah."
"Oh. I was close. You told me she'd just got divorced, right?"
"Yes,” his mother answered slowly.
Why had people suddenly taken to answering him slowly, as if he had lost his mind and was clearly going to have difficulty understanding speech spoken at a normal pace? “Do you know if she's seeing anybody?"
"What?"
"Well, surely you know. You've been trying to set me up with her for months now, haven't you?"
"Are you feeling okay?” his mother asked, leaning toward him in concern.
"I'm fine. Why does everyone keep asking me if I'm okay?"
Twenty Hours in Boston Page 11