“See that you do.” Then he dug out his wallet and handed me an AmEx card. “Since you’ll technically be at the party for business purposes, use this. Try not to exceed five hundred dollars.”
I stared at the card—at my name stamped into the plastic—and couldn’t keep the grin off my face. “Am I, like, your partner now?”
“Absolutely not. You are an employee. Most likely a temporary one.” Before climbing into his car, he gave me one last look, indecipherable of course, because of the dark glasses. “Call me after you get home. I want a thorough status report.”
“Yes, sir.” I was beginning to see right through him. He didn’t just want an update, he wanted to make sure I got home safe and sound. Which was unexpected. And kind. Maybe Andre was human after all.
Just because Hardass had given me a five hundred-dollar limit didn’t mean I needed to spend that much. I was a girl who lived within my means. I planned on keeping it that way.
I sorted through a rack of fancy dresses with Pete by my side. I held up a blue one. “What do you think?” This was possibly the sixth or seventh dress I’d shown him.
He stared down at me, resignation dulling his dark eyes. “I think you should grab the gun from my ankle holster and shoot me with it.”
I hung the dress back. “That’s a no, then?” Next, I pulled out a red one-strap. “I don’t think this is a summer color, is it? Sugar said I was a summer all the way.”
He dropped his head in his hands and groaned.
Torturing Pete was good, clean fun, and I enjoyed myself for forty-five minutes, until I finally circled back to the red dress that was a bit too big in the boobs. I didn’t care, because it was in my price range and would look fine with my dressy black heels.
After making my purchase, we swung by Andre’s office to pick up my car. Pete planned on trailing me tonight, and I had to cross my heart that I wouldn’t give him the slip. I didn’t want Sullivan to fire him. Pete was a nice guy. You know, for a henchman.
I rolled down the window and cranked up the air. It was so damn hot I burned my hands on the steering wheel. I let the car cool down for a few, then drove to Jacks’ house.
Scotty opened the door and greeted me with a hug. “Hi, Aunt Rose.”
“Hey, Sport. Did you have a better day at school?”
“Oui. Ma matière préférée est les mathématiques.”
“What’s that mean?”
“My favorite subject is math. It’s not really, but that’s what we learned today.”
“Très bien. My favorite subject was recess.”
My sister trotted down the stairs with her hair in rollers. “Scotty, I think Maria has dinner ready. Go eat, sweetie.”
“Why can’t I go with you and Aunt Rose?”
“Because you’re not old enough for cocktail parties.”
I gave him a gentle shove. “They’re boring, Sport. You aren’t missing a thing.”
“That’s what grownups always say.” With a pouty lip, he stomped off.
Once he was out of earshot, Jacks smiled. “He reminds me of you. Always questioning the status quo. Come on, I have some dresses for you to try on.”
I held up the shopping bag. “I have my own dress. I don’t always need to borrow something out of my big sister’s wardrobe.”
“That stubborn look”—she wagged a finger at my face—“that’s the same one Scotty uses when I tell him to brush his teeth. He’s just like his aunt.”
“Lucky you.” I trekked up the steps and into her grand master suite. The deep orange and cinnamon tones added warmth to the spacious room. A silver tray filled with different kinds of fancy cheese, stoned wheat crackers, and two glasses of champs sat on a side table in the sitting room.
“Grab a glass and you can help me decide what to wear.”
I skipped the bubbles, but snagged some cheese and crackers. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and I was starving. Shoving food in my face, I crossed to stand next to Jacks.
She threw open the doors to her massive closet and somewhere in the distance, a choir of angels sang in awe. Calling Jacks’ dressing room a closet was akin to calling the Taj Mahal a crypt.
I stood in the doorway, half-afraid to touch anything. Hanging off to the side were two dresses—both black, both expensive. “Sure you don’t want to wear one of these? I rifled through my closet and these spoke to me.”
“When clothes start yapping, you’ve had too much champagne.”
She glanced at me, a little uncertain. “You know how Mom is when everything isn’t perfect. I just want you to look your best.”
“Ouch. Out for blood today?”
Her shoulders sagged. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
I didn’t know how else to take it. “It’s fine. Can I use the bathroom down the hall?”
“Sure. I really didn’t mean it in a bitchy way, Rose,” she said as I walked out the door.
I schlepped down the hall with my duffle bag and new dress. In the guest powder room, the soft lights from the mini chandelier bounced off the mirror and created a glow on the ivory granite countertops.
I changed into the new dress, suddenly self-conscious that I’d chosen the wrong color. Or maybe I should have gone with something a little more form-fitting. “Too late to worry about that now,” I said to my reflection. And I was far too proud to borrow a dress at this point. I’d just have to roll with it.
After applying a little makeup and my expensive heels, I checked myself in the full-length mirror. Not horrifying.
After shoving my work clothes into the bag, I called Axton. I wanted to find out the latest on his sexy secretary. “How did it go, Axman? Did you ask your girl for a date?”
“Nah, I wussed out. Then I made a fool of myself. I noticed she was wearing one of those fitness bracelets and asked how she liked it. We spent ten minutes talking about how many steps a person needs to walk in a day. I suck at chitchat.”
“You’ll see her tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah. But what if she only likes sporty dudes? Or super rich guys?”
“Then she’s not for you. Ax, you’re a catch for any girl. She’d be lucky to have you.”
“Thanks, Rosie.”
When I hung up, I decided I’d been wussing out as well. When I’d told Sullivan I wanted more of a public relationship, he flipped the script, accused me of keeping things a secret. He was right, and it was time I told my sister the truth.
I found Jacks in her en suite, fussing with a stubborn strand of hair. She was gorgeous in a navy dress with a fitted bodice. “Well?” she asked.
“Stunning.”
She eyed me up and down. “You look nice too.”
It was less than “stunning,” but I’d take it. “Hey, before we leave, I need to talk to you.”
“Sure, what is it?” Walking back to the closet, she grabbed a silver clutch and transferred the contents of a larger purse into the smaller one.
I stroked my forefingers against my thumbs. I shouldn’t be nervous, but I was. Sullivan was the real deal to me. He mattered. And I knew Jacks wouldn’t approve. I guessed that’s what I’d been afraid of all this time—her judgment, her disappointment. Grow a pair, Rose. “I haven’t exactly been truthful with you.”
She dropped her gloss in the small bag and lifted her head. “About what?”
“First, I need you to swear on that Chanel purse you won’t breathe a word of this to Mom. Do not break the sister code. I’ll tell her in my own time, my own way.”
“You’re scaring me.” She walked toward me, reaching out to grab my hand. “Oh God, are you pregnant?”
“No! FYI, I know how to prevent that. But I can’t go on a blind date with that doctor because I’ve been seeing someone.”
Her brow lifted.
“Jeez, Rose.” She flung my hand away. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. So who is he? How long have you been going out? He doesn’t work at the diner too, does he?” Her lips puckered into a horrified “O,” and she immediately began backpedaling. “That didn’t come out right. I mean, as long as he has a job, that’s what’s important.”
And there it was, that disappointment lurking in her eyes every time she saw me. “I work at the diner. What does that make me, Jacks, a piece of crap or something?”
She shook her head and waved me off. “Don’t do this. Not tonight. You know that’s not what I meant.”
I didn’t want to fight either, but we needed to clear the air. Bring out all the shit that we’d been sweeping under the rug for so long. “I think that’s exactly what you meant. What about the doctor you wanted me to meet? Did you tell him the truth, that I’m a waitress?”
Her gaze fell from mine. “I told him you work in an office. Which you do. You’re not going to be a waitress forever. You’re better than that. Smarter. Eventually you’ll get over your adolescent snit and move on.”
That’s what she thought? The last six years of my life had been a fit of rebellion? She still didn’t understand. I was beginning to think she never would. Jacks had always gone along with my parents’ wishes. She was the good girl. I was the enfant difficile. “If that’s what you really think, you don’t know me at all. And Ma Ferguson is one of the smartest women I know. She’s run a successful business for decades.”
“She runs a diner.” Exasperation colored her words. “You could run your own company, Rose. But you’re so stubborn, you won’t put aside your pride and admit you’re wrong.”
I was stubborn. And prideful. I could add those to my other lack of virtues. But I never regretted going my own way, getting out from under my mother’s thumb. It was the most empowering thing I’d ever done. “I am never coming back to this world, Jacks. Not because I’m punishing Mom. I like my independence, even though it means I’m poor and I struggle. This is my life.”
“Rose—”
I held up my hand. “I just wanted to come clean about my boyfriend. I’ve been dating him for the last six months. It’s serious.”
Her red lips parted and hurt filled her blue-green eyes, so similar to my own. “You’ve been dating him for that long and didn’t tell me?”
“I wanted to see where we were headed before I told anyone.”
“I’m just anyone?” She twisted the twin tennis bracelets circling her wrist. “Has Roxy met him?”
“Yeah, a couple of times.”
“You told her, but not me. I see. And Axton? Has he met your mystery man?”
I sighed. “Yeah.”
“Got it.” She evaded my gaze. “Let’s go. Mom will have a stroke if we’re late.”
“I’m in love with him, Jacks.”
“Good for you.” She turned her back on me and walked out of the room.
I’d insisted on driving in case I needed to make a hasty exit. For sanity purposes. Every time I glanced in my rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of Pete’s SUV. Following me around must be the most boring job ever.
The ride to the party was a cold one, and not because of my car’s spotty air conditioner. My sister stared out the window, doing that thing my mom did—freezing me out. I was used to it from Barbara, but it stung coming from Jacks.
Finally, after what seemed like an endless trip, we arrived at Mitzi Rutherford’s house—and by house, I meant an elaborate stone monstrosity that would be a perfect setting for minor European royals.
Mitzi wasn’t rich. She wasn’t wealthy. No, the Rutherfords had Money with a capital M. The vast grounds leading up to the estate were impeccably maintained. An occasional aged oak tree broke up the wide, rolling green hills.
After the valet took my car, Jacks waited for me at the bottom of the stone steps leading to the house. She gave me her profile, not lowering herself to look at me.
Before she walked away, I placed a hand on her elbow. “You’re acting just like Mom right now. I get that you’re angry with me. While I’m sorry you’re hurt, you’re making me regret telling you at all.”
A well-heeled couple passed us. Jacks offered them a fake polite grin, then turned on me. “Of course I’m hurt. You didn’t trust me enough to tell me you’re in love. In love. And I didn’t even see it. Are you that good at hiding your emotions or am I blind? And while we’re at it, I hate it when you push me into an argument. Some things are better left unsaid.”
She was right. Maybe we shouldn’t be honest with each other. Growing up, Jacks had been my best friend. I looked up to her, emulated her. But things changed, people drifted. I’d known for a long time that she didn’t approve of my life, but to find out she was ashamed of me—that ripped my heart apart. Was this how Sullivan felt? If so, I owed him an apology.
I took a deep breath and tried to shake off the pain. Family drama needed to take a backseat right now. I had to find Will Carlucci. If Rob won enough fights, would Carlucci have let him go, free and clear? And what did he know about these cheating allegations? So many questions. I sure as hell hoped I’d find some answers tonight.
Chapter 15
Jacks darted up the steps, leaving me behind. I walked at a more sedate pace.
Flanking the door, two men in dark glasses and black suits stood with their hands folded. Bouncers? Secret Service wannabes? At an opera house wingding? I openly studied them as I entered. But once inside, my gaze swept across the stunning interior and I quickly forgot about Frick and Frack.
I’d been in mansions, but the Rutherford home was like tripping backward in time—buttresses and plastered walls covered with ancient tapestries. Very old paintings that resembled Dutch masters hung on the wall and threadbare antique carpets covered the dark wood floors.
As I took it all in, a waiter waved a tray of champagne under my nose. I nearly snatched two glasses, so I could double fist my way through the evening, but managed to restrain myself by accepting only one. “Thanks.”
“Please proceed to the garden, ma’am.” He nodded toward the back of the house. A few people trailed by me, and I glanced at them all, hoping to spot the Carlucci family. No such luck.
I followed the trickle of couples outside. Some distance from the house, a swimming pool shimmered bright blue in the fading sunlight. In the other direction, I could barely make out a tennis court. Here in the garden, a riot of colors bloomed and left their fragrance hanging in the hot, stilted air. Off to the side, a ten-piece orchestra played light background music.
Though the setting was lovely, the early evening sun had me broiling like a kielbasa at a barbeque. I stood on the top stair next to a stone balustrade and scanned groups of people, hunting for Will Carlucci. When I didn’t see him, I grabbed the railing and slowly made my way down to the thick green turf.
From nowhere, my mother appeared. I wasn’t sure how she always managed to get the drop on me—black magic, probably. I had a feeling she did it just to be annoying.
“Rosalyn.”
“Mom.”
She wore an expensive, deceptively simple ivory silk dress that nearly matched her hair color. As she inspected me, obvious distaste was reflected in her eyes. “What are you wearing? Peplum and acetate satin. Who let you buy this?”
I glanced down at my red one-shouldered number. “Is that a rhetorical question? Or do you want the actual name of the saleswoman?”
She breathed deeply through her nose—visible proof of her displeasure. The deeper she inhaled, the higher I climbed on her shit list. “I thought Jacqueline was providing you with something to wear.” She took a step closer, until her nose nearly brushed mine. “We are at the Rutherfords’ home, and you turn up looking like a bargain basement bridesmaid reject.”
“That explains my sudden craving for peach schna
pps.” I got wasted on the stuff after Jacks’ wedding and spent the next day wishing I hadn’t.
“Why do you insist on doing this to me, Rosalyn?”
“Mom, I know you like to think every move I make is a personal assault on you,” I whispered, leaning my head back in order to get a little breathing room, “but honestly, you don’t occupy that much space in my brain. The dress looks fine.”
Another deep, deep, deep breath through her nose. “It’s just lucky for you Will Carlucci’s daughter looks worse. Come along.” She snatched my hand in a bruising grip and dragged me across the garden, as though I were a wayward toddler heading for a timeout.
First, she stopped near the fountain to introduce me to the Rutherfords. Mitzi came from a powerful family. Her husband, Hank, used her trust fund and connections to start Rutherford Sportswear. Now they were zillionaires and made the Forbes list a few years back.
Mitzi’s hair, clothes, and jewelry were flawless, and she wore it all with a casual air that bespoke her long-standing history as a member of the privileged class. However, like every other Huntingford socialite over a certain age, Mitzi was going to kick Father Time’s ass by any surgical means necessary. And if she couldn’t blink as a result, so be it. “Lovely to meet you, Rosalyn.” She bared her teeth in what I assumed was a smile.
“Thank you for having me. Your garden is lovely.”
“Thank you,” she said with a regal nod.
Then Hank clapped his hand over my shoulder. Tanned and hearty from endless rounds of golf, he probably used to be quite handsome twenty years ago. Living the high life left him soft and a little doughy, with a pair of droopy jowls reminding me of a basset hound. “Thanks for coming.” His hand lingered a few seconds too long, and he stared into my eyes for an uncomfortable length of time before winking slowly. I could smell the booze wafting off him from a foot away.
I gave my mom a quick glance to see if she noticed our pervy drunk host had just made a pass at me. While my mother’s face remained a mask of politeness, her eyes hardened just a fraction.
Diner Knock Out (A Rose Strickland Mystery Book 4) Page 17