“You’ve outdone yourself this time,” whispered Michael, laughing, while Douglas frowned; Black was nowhere to be seen. Lara watched enthusiastically. Moses and Alan’s eyes were wide with excitement. “Let’s see what magic trick he comes up with for this show.”
Michael’s brother answered with a wink.
The lid on the cake opened in a flurry of streamers. Seconds later, a model rose out of the cake, with a dazzling smile. ‘Curves to die for and a body made for sinning,’ thought Michael, gulping down the rest of his drink when the exotic woman had finished her entrance.
“I’m sure Blake will come out any second,” muttered Douglas, less convinced by the minute. He signaled his mother, who discreetly took the children away. The boys protested, but their grandmother’s withering stare put an end to that. Louisa could be sweet, but she was also very strict when necessary.
“I don’t get it,” murmured Lara, no longer laughing. She frowned. “I hope you did not plan a bachelor party for my birthday.”
“That’s exactly what this looks like,” interjected Michael, softly elbowing his brother in the ribs.
***
Rachel never imagined she would get claustrophobic when Jim told her she had to stay in the fake cake until she heard the first notes of the band playing a melody. The moment she heard her cue and the lid popped open, she activated an internal mechanism that made a small platform rise. When she saw a group of guests, curiously silent, she stuck to her role and cursed at Del in her head. What the heck was this party? There were women, something pretty unusual for a bachelor party that doubled as the groom’s birthday.
As if that weren’t enough, those people were wearing yards and yards of fabric compared to her outfit. Yes, she was going to kill Delaney. But the show must go on, and in case she had misunderstood the room and this was the right party, or a joke, or anything her best friend had been paid for, she could not skip the show. That would ruin Delaney’s reputation. She could not do that to her.
She put herself together and took Ronald’s hand; he was one of the waiters with the show, and he helped her down the steps that had emerged thanks to the structure’s electrical mechanism. She gathered her courage and sang Happy Birthday. She did not have the best voice, but at least she was in tune.
When she finished singing, sensual French music started to play. At this point, she had realized that her best friend had sent her to the wrong house. She did not know what to do, so she decided to get out as quickly as those platform heels would let her. She was living through a terrible logistical mistake.
“I have no idea where Bronson is,” said Rachel, holding the microphone tightly and feeling her legs tremble under her. She used the firmest voice she could. “I imagine I could find him at a different party,” she laughed nervously, “in any case, no matter what we’re celebrating today, well, happy birthday!” she exclaimed before turning and hurrying through the back of the tent.
Oh, God. She walked as quickly as she could until she found a secluded spot. She looked through her purse for her phone and called Delaney.
“What the hell, Delaney?!” That wasn’t a bachelor party or the groom’s birthday,” she blurted out as soon as Delaney picked up.
“Huh?”
Rachel found a rickety chair, but it would do. When she sat down, she felt her backside freeze. She signaled to Jim to wait for her; the man nodded as Delaney’s team carried the giant cake to the van.
“Wake up already, will you!” she demanded, more mortified than angry. “I just popped out of your famous cake to face a stunned family, and as I strutted in a costume two sizes too small, singing as if there were no tomorrow, and staring into the distance because there was no Bronson, I was surrounded by blushing faces, concealed sniggers, and nervous coughs. I’d never been so publicly embarrassed.”
“Oh, damn it! Wait for a second...” Delaney rifled through the nightstand to find her appointment book. She turned on her iPhone’s flashlight. “Isn’t the address 833 W Webster Avenue?”
Rachel covered the speaker and asked one of the waiters walking past for the exact address of the house. When he told her, she hung her head and groaned in frustration.
“Del... this is 866...” she mumbled.
“Oh... OH, GOD!” cried Delaney, closing her eyes. “They’ll demand a refund plus double the money for breach of contract,” she muttered desperately.
“And what about me? I just made the biggest fool of myself and it’s not even the right address.” Delaney was about to reply, but Rachel continued: “Don’t you dare tell me to take it in stride!”
Unable to help it, tired and with an aching head, Delaney laughed. Rachel laughed with her. Del apologized, but she was certain that Bronson Clark’s friend, who had hired her company, would sue her in the best of cases.
“I wasn’t going to say that... Tomorrow I’ll have to meet with an angry client,” she complained, covering her head with the blanket.
“You deserve it,” whispered Rachel. “Now, I’m going to go get out of this costume, before I catch pneumonia.”
“I’m sorry, Rachel.”
The redhead sighed.
“I guess it’ll be a story to tell my children one day, and I’ll laugh about it with you and yours.”
“See, that’s taking it in stride,” retorted Delaney, thinking about the explanation she would have to give the next day. She stretched her hand out and turned off the light. “I’m sorry, Rachel. Jim will drive you home.”
“I think it’s too late for that,” she whispered, watching Delaney’s van drive away. She could not yell at Jim to wait for her. “It looks like Jim thinks I want to hang around this party. I asked him to wait, but...”
“He left?”
“He’s doing just that.”
“Yell that I’ll pay him overtime!”
“I think I’ve made enough of a fool of myself for one day, Del.”
“All right... Should I send you a taxi?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll change clothes and then call myself. This type of mansion always has guest bathrooms in the back.”
“And a pool...” muttered Delaney. “I’m falling asleep...”
“Yes, go, rest. See you tomorrow.”
Rachel but her phone back in her purse and waited quietly, hearing peals of laughter from the people in the tent. They were probably laughing at what happened. Dejectedly, she picked up the small suitcase where she’d stored her everyday clothes so she could change. She found a small guest house in the back, opposite the main house. From where she stood, she could see the shadows milling around in the tent.
The guest house door was open. She walked in and, as soon as she found the bathroom, went inside. She took off the peacock tail and angrily stuffed it away. It took her twenty minutes to get out of the costume.
She could not remove the makeup, but no matter, she could do that at home. She pulled on her jeans, her black knee-high boots, a gray blouse, a white scarf, and a leather jacket to protect herself from the cold. The image in the mirror was less embarrassing than the impression she must have made on the guests that were enjoying themselves a few yards away.
She smiled and threw open the door. She took her belongings and made her way to the main entrance, only to find a silhouette standing in the light. She screamed and dropped her things on the floor. She was ready to run, but the voice she heard froze her where she stood.
“Well, well, the dancer from the... Moulin Rouge?” asked the man that, for years, many years, had lived in her head. She recognized him as soon as he approached her and the dim ambiance light revealed that face of his, chiseled by some Renaissance master. “I was looking for you; nobody can understand what happened.”
“Quite the mission you’ve been assigned,” she said, her heart racing. She could not believe what was happening.
Michael Whitmore was still very attractive. Clean-shaven and with those dazzling green eyes, it was hard not to stare. His informal suit emphasized his muscles. S
he remembered he was athletic. Now he had a wider, more manly frame. He radiated strength and virility. She wanted to slap herself for thinking that kind of thought. Not with a man like that.
“Luckily, I saw a peacock tail skulking away across my family’s large backyard,” he looked her up and down, “and now it looks like the tail disappeared. Strange, right?”
Rachel shrugged. She was not ready to face him. She was improvising and hoped she did a good job. She did not want to throw everything she thought about him in his face. She would look like a maniac, escaped from the closest mental hospital. What kind of joke was fate playing on her?
“A strategic mistake on the part of the owner of Party Themes, undoubtedly,” she answered. Her voice did not tremble. She wanted to call up the fury she’d been holding on to for all those years, but that emotional desire was answered by the desire to find out if those sensual lips still kissed as well as they did before. “And you are?” she asked, feigning ignorance. There was no way in the world she could mistake that face.
Michael thought her face looked vaguely familiar, but he could not remember where he knew her from. Asking her whether they’d met before was a pick-up line, and he was too old to interact with a woman that way. He would not have tried to find her if Lara, laughing non-stop, hadn’t asked him. His sister.in-law wanted an explanation. His brother was mortified, and his father, Jack, refused to stop teasing him, saying it had been him, and not Douglas, who had planned Lara’s surprise.
From afar, the woman who stood before him had seemed beautiful, but up close... words could not describe her. The image of that body, wrapped in glitter and provocative clothing, would be seared into his brain for a long time.
“Michael Whitmore,” he said, stretching his hand towards Rachel. She did not hesitate to shake it, but let go quickly, as if she’d touched red-hot iron. “I’m the birthday girl’s brother-in-law. Would you mind explaining what happened? My brother is outraged since his surprise made him a laughingstock.
She did not like to give explanations to anyone, much less to the man who had destroyed her family life. She tried to calm herself.
“My friend, whom I’m replacing as a favor, got the house number wrong. It seems the party I was dressed for today is somewhere else,” she replied. “I would like to apologize to your sister-in-law. I hope that...”
“Nonsense, no apologies. Lara is a very modern woman in that sense. She had a good time. I think you’re the one who’s mortified. Am I wrong?” he asked. Without thinking about what he was doing, he reached his arm towards her and repositioned a hairpin that was slipping out of Rachel’s straight hair. Instinctively, she moved away. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to startle you,” he said when she reacted.
“I don’t like having strangers moving towards me that way. You surprised me, and I was on my way out...” He moved aside. “And yes, of course, I’m mortified. Imagine planning for a bachelor party and ending up half-naked in the backyard of a conservative family.”
Michael laughed loudly. The sound was exquisite, like the best chocolate as it melted in your mouth. Warm and tempting.
“My family is not conservative, but that type of surprise is so rare that it’s impossible not to blush. Are you in a hurry?”
She wanted to run out, but she would resist that urge. Now that she had Michael in front of her, in the flesh, she had to take advantage of the opportunity provided by fate.
“It’s a bit chilly. I’d like to talk to your sister-in-law first, and then ask you for a cup of something to help warm me up.”
Michael nodded.
“Of course.” He smiled. “I must be losing my legal abilities because I haven’t yet asked for your name, Moulin Rouge dancer.”
So he did not remember her, thought Rachel. He could not understand why that silly fact had made her feel slightly, just barely, upset. Why would he remember her? It had been almost a decade.
“Veronica Marsh,” she replied quickly. She had to find a way to discover his weakness and make him feel the pain of loss and devastation. Only then would she feel like she had done something for Piper. For her family. All that mattered now was this stroke of luck or fate. And she would take advantage of it.
“A pleasure to meet you, then, Veronica,” said Michael, unaware of the speculation by the sensual woman who stood beside him. Rachel was not lying. Veronica was her middle name, and Marsh was her mother’s maiden name. In theory, it was still her. Right? “I’m sure my family and friends would love to find out what happened.”
Without letting her think about it, Michael bent down and picked up Rachel’s small suitcase. She looked at him, ready to argue, but decided against it. She let him guide her through a side alley and put her belongings in a private room.
Without saying a word, he led her to the party, where the owners of the house were standing. It was the beginning of the end for Michael Whitmore, thought Rachel with a dazzling smile that the handsome lawyer confused for the pleasure he thought his company gave her.
***
Michael watched the redhead with delight. She was vibrant, and her smile was the light of the party. Lara and Douglas had taken the situation well, as had the other guests, who gathered round when they saw dry Jack Whitmore laugh out loud as Veronica related the anecdote of this Delaney person.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and pulled him out of his reverie. When he saw that it was Heidi, he ignored the call, silencing the phone. He put the device away.
With his hands in his pockets, he leaned against the sliding door jamb leading to the backyard. He liked his family. He would do anything for them, especially his nephews. Those little rascals were his weakness. When he caught Veronica’s gaze, as if she’d been searching for him, Michael walked towards her.
“Your family is very kind,” she said when she saw him, “but it’s time for me to go. I have to go to the office tomorrow, and a late-night is not in my plans.”
“Can I drive you home?” he said, not believing he’d just asked that question. He could have suggested calling her a taxi, but not driving her himself, as if it were a date. What the hell was going on with him?
Rachel hesitated. She discreetly looked around her and noticed that the people who had been attentively listening to her story about Delaney, her cold and the mistake she’d made, were now chatting with Lara. She’d immediately taken a liking to the lady of the house, and Douglas too. The latter was a slightly younger replica of Michael, but with a mellower nature and softer features. ‘At least they had the chance to grow up together,’ she thought resentfully. That reminded her that the last thing she should be feeling for this family was empathy. Especially not for Michael.
“Sure, thank you,” she murmured. The idea was to get to know her enemy on his turf, and that was the reason, no other, that she accepted a ride home.
The trip was full of jazz notes. It was the type of music Rachel enjoyed. She let herself savor the melody. Michael made small talk, and she answered in kind. It was a pleasant chat, and it annoyed her to find that he could be charming. She did not need to find him anything, what she needed was to discover a weakness. A way to get to him and hurt him.
The elegant car parked in front of the door to Rachel’s building. Before she could get out, she realized he was opening the door for her. Now it turns out he’s a gentleman? Ha!
“Thank you, Michael. I guess that, as I told Delaney, this will be a funny anecdote to tell my children. And maybe one you’ll tell your own,” she said with a forced smile, as she fished her keys out of her purse and he placed her suitcase on the doorstep. At her feet.
“Perhaps,” he smiled. “What time will you finish work tomorrow? It’s Saturday, I hope you don’t plan to be there all day. Do you?”
The intense look he gave her to make her knees weak. Only slightly. Those eyes had haunted her for so many years. A kiss she’d never forgotten. The feeling of his mouth on her breasts. Her sexual experiences hadn’t been bad; however, she was convinced that
they would have been better with him.
“Probably around four in the afternoon. As I told you, the company I work for always has many projects. I’m the one in charge of the business coordination team. They have to consult me, and I have to write reports.”
“An independent, intelligent woman. I like it,” he said, caressing her cheek. “I assume that since you don’t have to replace anyone as a Moulin Rouge dancer...” Rachael could not help giggling. She hated how easy it was to feel comfortable with him,” you could go to dinner with me.”
It suddenly came to her. There were two ways to get to a man. The first would not work; she did not know how to cook. The second she could manage. She enjoyed sex just as much as any sane woman. And though she’d never tried it, she was sure she could separate pleasure and emotion. It could not be that hard, right?
She would seduce Michael. She would make him fall in love with her, and when that happened, she would humiliate him in front of everyone he cared about. Men like Michael could not stand being scorned by society. She knew it better than anyone. It had not been in vain that, during the time she’d lived in Chicago, she had met many people that fit the mold of the type of person a Whitmore would consider a friend.
“I could,” she replied, with a clear goal in her mind, “what do you think about picking me up tomorrow at seven?”
Michael nodded. He felt ecstatic. More than anything else, he yearned to kiss her. Seduce her and lose himself in her womanly scent. But before anything else, he had to talk to Heidi. He was not the type of man who could be with a woman, no matter the conditions of their relationship, and kiss or sleep with another. He did not plan to go against his male principles, no matter how much she tempted him. He’d learned that letting himself get carried away by emotions was a waste of time.
The next morning, his first task for the weekend would be breaking things off with Heidi. The hell with the invitations to events they’d accepted together. He would take Veronica and enjoy them with her. Fate had the most delicious way of surprising him, and he was more than pleased with the gorgeous redhead.
Flirting with Revenge Page 5