Hot Wheels and High Heels

by Jane Graves

  Bernie raised her chin ever so slightly, her dark eyes narrowing.

  “But I’m sure you’re very good at it,” Darcy added.

  “Bernie is ex-military,” Jeremy said. “And a martial arts expert. She runs five miles a day unless it’s raining. Then she runs ten.” He leaned in and whispered, “She’s rumored to have once killed a man with a Popsicle stick.”

  Darcy glanced back at Bernie and swallowed hard. Forget the Popsicle stick. She could probably kill a man with a cotton ball.

  “Bernie,” Jeremy said, “why don’t you wait outside for just a minute while I talk to Darcy? I think you’re making her nervous.”

  Without a word, Bernie got out of the car. She closed the door and stood beside it with her arms folded, waiting vigilantly for one of the residents of Wingate Manufactured Home Park to get the urge to kidnap a multimillionaire.

  “Lovely woman,” Darcy said, even though the “lovely” didn’t fit, and the jury was still out on “woman.”

  “Uh-huh.” Jeremy took a swig of his beer, then rested it on his knee again. “You’re staring.”

  Darcy blinked. “Oh. I’m sorry. It’s just that . . .”

  “Yeah, I know. I don’t look like a millionaire. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

  “Uh . . .”

  “You know, I can’t imagine anyone with money going for that rich-guy look. If a man has enough money that he doesn’t have to answer to anyone, why would he put on a suit coat and wear a noose around his neck?”

  Actually, that made a lot of sense to Darcy. In her mind, though, millionaire still equaled Armani. “But you do have a limousine.”

  “Dallas traffic sucks. It’s more comfortable to have somebody else drive while I watch TV and have a beer. Wait a minute—where are my manners? Would you like a beer?”

  “Uh . . . no, thanks.”

  “If you’d rather have a shot of caffeine, I think I have a couple of Mountain Dews in the fridge.”

  Beer? Mountain Dew? What was this, a tailgate party at the Super Bowl? “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

  “So,” he said, “where do you suppose Warren is, and what has he done with my three hundred thousand dollars?”

  Darcy cringed, feeling guilty by association, even though she was as much in the dark as Jeremy. “I’m afraid I don’t know.”

  “Yeah, that’s what you told the police. I was hoping you’d have a different story for me.”

  “A different story? I don’t understand.”

  “Are you covering for Warren?”

  Darcy nearly choked. “Covering for him? Why would I be doing that? He ran off with everything I own!”

  “So the police told me.”

  “I came back from a vacation and he’d disappeared. He’d sold our house. Cashed in our assets. Ran up our credit cards. He took everything.”

  “Yeah, you’d think something like that would really piss a woman off. But they’re funny sometimes. Guys crap all over them, but still they cover for them.”

  “No. I assure you, I don’t have the first clue where my husband is. And he should be glad of that. If I ever see him again, I just might . . .”

  Her voice trailed off, and Jeremy smiled. “What? Put your knee where it would inflict the most damage?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t have put it that way, but—”

  “But the thought has crossed your mind.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.

  “Good. That means we’re on the same page. So you had no warning that he was getting ready to take off?”

  “None at all.”

  “No weird behavior? Odd phone calls?”

  “Not that I remember.”

  “Is there anywhere in particular he likes to travel outside the United States?”

  “He tends to gravitate toward anyplace there’s a casino, but I’m afraid that doesn’t narrow it down much.”

  Jeremy took out a business card. “This number will get me directly. If you happen to remember something, let me know, will you?”

  “Of course,” she said, taking the card. “But I have to tell you, I’m surprised you’re bothering to chase down such a tiny sum of money.” She gave him a flattering smile. “You probably make three hundred thousand dollars every day before lunch.”

  “Uh-huh. But I didn’t get where I am by allowing people to steal from me. Anytime one of my employees sticks his hand in the cookie jar”—he leaned in and emphasized every word—“I take it very personally.”

  His no-nonsense expression sounded a warning bell, telling Darcy this was a man she should never underestimate. He might look like an overgrown kid, but he sounded like Tony Soprano.

  He nodded toward her parents’ mobile home. “You’re probably taking it a little personally yourself.”

  He didn’t know the half of it. “How did you know where I was living now?”

  “It’s one of the perks of being filthy rich. I can find out anything I want to.” He smiled. “So how are you getting along now that your husband cleaned you out?”

  Darcy sighed. “I’m managing.”

  “Hope you stuck a few bucks under your mattress for a rainy day.”

  Darcy was getting a little tired of hearing that. First from her mother and now from this man. Was it really so unbelievable that she hadn’t foreseen a day when her husband would walk off with every dime she had?

  “Let’s just say that maintaining a decent lifestyle is going to be difficult,” she said.

  “Do you have a job?”

  Now he’d morphed into her father, and she didn’t want to hear that, either. But the truth was that without a job, maintaining any lifestyle was going to be a challenge.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “How old are you?” he asked.

  Did he have to hit every sore spot she had? She smiled indulgently, trying not to act as offended as she was. “Now, Jeremy, don’t you know that’s a question you should never ask a lady?”

  “Let’s put it this way. You’re considerably younger than Warren.”

  “Yes.”

  “How long have you been married?”

  “Fourteen years.”

  “You know, I’ve always wondered something. Maybe you can help me out.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Why do you suppose beautiful young women marry men old enough to be their fathers?”

  Darcy was stunned. Over the years, she knew friends and acquaintances had wondered the same thing about her, but no one had ever come right out and asked. And certainly not a total stranger.

  “Love is unpredictable,” she said. “Who knows when it will strike?”

  “Ah. Now I understand. It’s all about love. I assumed you married Warren for his money.”

  Her mouth fell open. “I did not marry Warren for his money!”

  “You’re pretty uptight about losing the material stuff. What about losing the man you love?”

  Darcy glared at him. “When a woman finds out her husband is a criminal, it’s amazing how quickly love fades.”

  “When a beautiful young woman marries an older man, I’m thinking love doesn’t have much to do with it.”

  “You don’t know anything about my relationship with Warren!”

  “Hey, take it easy, will you? You’re assuming I think that’s a bad thing.” He shrugged offhandedly. “Personally, I’ve never had much luck with love, either. It requires at least a little bit of selflessness, and just between you and me, I’ve never lived a selfless day in my life.” He smiled. “I have a feeling we’re a lot alike. Two people with their eyes always on the bottom line.”

  “If my eyes are on the bottom line,” she said, her voice escalating, “it’s because Warren left me with nothing. Do you know what it feels like to live with your parents in a mobile home? To drive a car so old it leaves a trail of oil on the street behind you? To pass right by Starbucks because you can’t even afford to stop for a cup of coffee?”

  Jeremy drew back. “No Star
bucks? My God. Please tell me it isn’t so.”

  “This conversation is over.”

  Darcy turned to get out of the car, wanting to put as much distance as possible between her and Richie Rich. There was nothing she hated more than a microscopic examination of her motives, especially from a man, and especially when that man was right.

  “Wait a minute,” Jeremy said.

  Slowly she turned back, glaring at him. “What?”

  “Does this mean you won’t be looking for another man to take Warren’s place?”

  As he spoke, he slid his hand along the top of the seat behind her head. Darcy froze, watching its advance out of the corner of her eye. He hooked his finger around a strand of her hair, then pulled back slowly until it fell away and fluttered to her shoulder again.

  “Darcy, don’t you know there are men out there who can offer you far more than Warren ever did?”

  He continued to stare at her, his eyes full of promise. Somehow the tide had turned, making Darcy’s stomach quiver with excitement. She pictured lounging around his palatial home. Dining at the Mansion on Turtle Creek as often as other people ate Big Macs. Tooling around town in this very limousine, cursing the tinted windows because they kept the world from seeing her inside it.

  Wearing a wedding ring that would make her current four-carat stone look like something she’d pulled out of a box of Cracker Jack.

  Jeremy Bridges could buy and sell Warren a hundred times over, making all her problems go away with a single swipe of his pen. Was it possible her luck had turned? That maybe, just maybe, she was on the verge of finding a gold-plated way out of this mess?

  She lazily looked him up and down, letting a soft, sensual expression ease across her face. She dropped her voice to a seductive murmur.

  “Are you applying for the job?”

  His eyebrows rose with interest, and when his gaze went to her lips and hovered there, Darcy knew for a fact what was on his mind. Just the thought of it made her mouth go dry.

  Then, inexplicably, he leaned away, settling back against the seat with a knowing smile. “No, but it’s interesting to know you’re hiring. How about I put a notice on the job board at the next Millionaire’s Club meeting?”

  Humiliation shot through Darcy, and it was all she could do to keep her chin up and her gaze steady. He’d dangled the bait, and she’d snapped at it like a starving carp.

  Well, the cat was out of the bag now. Further denial would only make her look like a bigger fool.

  “You might want to reconsider,” she told him. “You wouldn’t believe the benefits that come with the job.”

  “I don’t doubt that for a moment.” His gaze drifted to her breasts, then slowly rose again. “If you’d consider hiring on a short-term contract, maybe we could talk.”

  “Sorry, Bridges. I marry rich. I don’t give it away on a one-shot basis.”

  With one last go-to-hell look, she opened the limo door and got out, resisting the urge to slam it behind her. She never thought she’d be glad that Warren had bilked his boss out of three hundred thousand dollars, but she sure as hell was now.

  She only wished it had been three million.

  As the driver started the car, Bernie slid back into the seat across from Jeremy and shut the door behind her.

  “Does she know where her husband is?” she asked.

  “Nope.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “He was her meal ticket, and dinner’s over. If she sees him again, I have no doubt she’ll bust his balls.”

  Jeremy tapped on the Plexiglas between him and his driver, and he pulled away from the curb. “So, what did you think of her?” he asked Bernie. “On a scale of one to ten.”

  “What criteria?”

  “Looks.”

  “Seven. Too much phony stuff going on.”

  “I don’t mind the phony stuff, as long as it’s well done. I’d give her a nine.”

  “What would have bumped her to a ten? A D-cup instead of a C?”

  Jeremy grinned. “Of course not. That would make me a very shallow man.”

  “She’s a gold digger.”

  “They’re all gold diggers.”

  “She’s a gold digger at rock bottom. Dangerous combination.”

  “I was at rock bottom once.”

  “Then you’ve found your soul mate. Shall I make reservations in Vegas?”

  “Now, Bernie. You know marriage isn’t my thing. By the time my lawyers got the prenup drafted, we’d both be dead and gone.”

  “You’ll be dead and gone eventually, anyway. You have more money than God. Why not spread it around a little?”

  “I’ve never been very good at sharing.”

  “In other words, you’re selfish.”

  Jeremy smiled. “You don’t like me very much, do you, Bernie?”

  “What’s to like? I don’t give a rat’s ass about your money.”

  “My scintillating personality, maybe?”

  “You have the personal habits of a frat boy. You think Jackass is quality TV programming. You go through women like a chain smoker goes through a pack of Camels. The next time somebody moves in to grab you, I’m just going to stand back and let it happen. That’ll teach ’em.”

  “Nah. You’d never pass up an opportunity for a little hand-to-hand combat.”

  “Don’t bank on that.”

  “This is gross insubordination. You’re fired.”

  “Right. Good luck finding somebody else who’ll put up with you.”

  She folded her arms and turned to look out the window, scouring the landscape for evildoers. Jeremy couldn’t help but smile. So few people in his life did anything but kiss his ass; a bodyguard with a bad attitude was actually a breath of fresh air.

  Darcy McDaniel had a bit of an attitude herself.

  Sorry, Bridges. I marry rich. I don’t give it away on a one-shot basis.

  That had been a blatant, in-your-face, I-am-what-I-am remark that he hadn’t seen coming. Once he had people nailed, they generally backed away, groveling and making excuses. Not this woman. Even when she didn’t have a dime to her name, she stuck her nose in the air and looked at him as if he were a slug slithering down the sidewalk.

  He took the last swig of his beer and tossed the bottle into the trash, trying to decide what was next on his agenda for the day. Over the years, he’d discovered that he didn’t much like the day-to-day operations of running a conglomerate of companies, so he hired smart people in suits who popped Maalox like candy and let them do what they did best. He took meetings here and there to keep his finger on the pulse, spent a few hours every day monitoring things, and that was about it. Playing the young, eccentric millionaire in the business world had always given him an edge with his competition because they never took him nearly as seriously as they should, but even that was getting to be a bore.

  His hands-off approach worried people sometimes, but even if the worst happened and it all fell apart tomorrow, he had so much put away that he’d still be set for life. It was as if he had a fistful of Monopoly money and landed on Boardwalk every time around, so why knock himself out to make more?

  Darcy, on the other hand, had just lost every dime she had, and that was fertile ground for all kinds of interesting behavior. Warren had dealt his wife a really crappy hand, and Jeremy couldn’t think of anything more entertaining than keeping tabs on her to see how she played it.

  Chapter 6

  The moment Darcy stepped back in the trailer, her mother dragged her to the kitchen table, sat her down, and started in with a barrage of questions, all of them centered around why a wealthy and important man like Jeremy Bridges had taken time out of his day to come see her.

  “He thought I might know where Warren is,” Darcy said.

  Lyla’s expression became panicked. “But you don’t. You have no idea. He doesn’t think you had anything to do with Warren embezzling from him, does he?”

  “To tell you the truth, Mom, I don’t give much of a da
mn what Jeremy Bridges thinks about anything.”

  “Oh, God. You didn’t tell him that, did you?”

  “In so many words.”

  Her mother gasped. “But he’s a very wealthy man!”

  “Like a man can’t be wealthy and be a jerk?”

  “I can’t believe you’re blowing this opportunity. I can’t believe it!”

  What her mother didn’t realize was that it was only an opportunity if her target was at least a little open to the possibility of being hooked. This man . . . no way. So why hang around and be humiliated?

  “You’re broke,” Lyla said. “Your husband is clearly not coming back. A man like Jeremy Bridges comes to see you, and you refuse to turn on at least a little charm?”

  Fortunately, Darcy’s cell phone rang in the middle of the inquisition. She looked at the caller ID. Carolyn. She pressed the TALK button and got hit with yet another round of questions. Carolyn had seen the article that morning about Warren, which begged the question: Since when did Carolyn read the business section?

  “Oh, you poor thing!” Carolyn said. “Why didn’t you let me know what was happening? You have to tell me everything!”

  Darcy sighed at the thought of going through it all over again. But given a choice between that and hanging around listening to her mother’s incessant harping, she decided it was the lesser of two evils.

  “Meet me at our Starbucks,” she told Carolyn, “and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  A few minutes later, Darcy was driving west on Park Boulevard toward Central Expressway, the boundary between east and west Plano. The moment she crossed over it, she felt like Dorothy opening the farmhouse door and seeing Oz. Everything seemed to go from black and white to Technicolor.

  She may have been raised on the east side, but this was her place. These were her people. Shopping malls and shiny new office buildings and gas-guzzling SUVs and huge houses with lush landscaping and decorator window treatments and high-definition TVs.

  And Starbucks. Ahh. That little slice of heaven where you pay for your coffee by the adjective and inhale pastries fit for royalty. With almost no money in her pocket, Darcy knew the last thing she should be doing was spending a good percentage of it on a cup of coffee, but right now she needed her table by the window with sunlight streaming in and the aroma of coffee and brownies and macadamia-nut cookies to make her feel normal again, at least for a little while.