“Do you know Jeff’s lawyer?”
Zach smiled again, but it wasn’t the least bit friendly. “I’ve dealt with him before. Not to worry. I’m a whole lot better.”
“Will you think I’m a complete bitch if I say ‘good’?”
“No. She’s your sister. She’s in pain and you want blood for that.” He studied her. “You can’t have it both ways, Katie. You can’t complain about my tactics, then use them for your own self-interest.”
“Actually, I can, but it’s tacky.” She shuffled through the papers she’d brought, pulling out three more sets of the budget. “So you don’t have to make copies.”
“Very thoughtful.”
She returned to the issue of her sister’s divorce. “While there might have been a snag in the ‘all Marcellis stay married forever’ theory, I’m still not on your side about breaking off Mia and David’s engagement.”
“I’m okay with that. However, I reserve the right to use any means at my disposal to change your mind.”
Hardly news, she thought wryly. “Why me?”
He leaned back in his chair and considered the question. “Two reasons. No, three. First, I have the most access to you. That means plenty of time to work my charm.”
She widened her eyes in surprise. “Is this charm? I hadn’t noticed.”
He grinned. “Second, your family listens to you. If I convince you, you’ll convince them, or at least Mia, and she’s the one who matters.”
“Never going to happen.”
“I’m taking bets.”
“Sure you are. What’s number three?”
He turned his gaze fully on her. Dark blue eyes narrowed slightly, and his expression turned predatory. “You’re the Marcelli who interests me the most.”
Two parts intrigued and one part terrified, she did her best to act unconcerned. “You’re saying spending this much time with Grandpa Lorenzo wouldn’t blow your skirt up?”
“I don’t wear a skirt, but if I did, no.”
“Those are really fabulous reasons. Thanks for sharing.” She began to pack up her briefcase.
“Leaving so soon?”
“I have another meeting.”
“What if I wanted to take a few minutes to work on convincing you?”
“No, thanks.”
He chuckled. “You haven’t heard what I had in mind.”
Oh, but she could imagine. “I don’t need to know.”
“You’re tempted.”
“Not even close.”
She had a feeling they both knew she was lying. She finished with her briefcase and went to work on the file box. When she was done, she turned back to him.
“Thanks for taking the time to see me today, Zach.”
He leaned forward and rested his hand on hers. “I’m always happy to see you, Katie. You know that.”
Was it her or had it just gotten really hot in here?
“How nice,” she said primly and stood. She’d wondered if he would kiss her again. Now that he hadn’t, she told herself she was happy. Really.
He stood. “You’re not easy.”
“That’s not much of a compliment, but thank you anyway.”
He grinned. “I’m not easy, either. If we manage to get through the next couple of months without killing each other, I’d like you to be my date for the fund-raiser.”
The phrase about being knocked over by a feather had never been more appropriate. A date? With Zach? Only a fool would say yes.
“I’ll be working,” she said instead.
“That’s okay with me.” He winked. “I like to watch.”
Zach never left work early and he almost never took Pacific Coast Highway home. But at three o’clock that afternoon, he did both. He drove west to Lincoln and turned south. The congested street met up with PCH in Marina Del Rey. It was a warm, sunny afternoon, with a hint of salt in the air. He opened his car’s sunroof, as well as the windows, inhaling deeply.
Despite his busy schedule, he felt restless. As he headed toward the airport, he saw jets taking off toward the ocean, heading west. Where were they going? Who was on board and what would they do when they arrived? He didn’t want to be going with them, but he did want something…A woman?
He had an answer to the question before he even asked it. Yes. A woman. And not just in bed, although he wouldn’t mind an hour or two of pleasure in a pair of willing arms. No, what he wanted was more than sex. He wanted to talk to someone long enough to grow comfortable. He wanted rhythms and patterns and familiarity.
How long had it been since he’d had a relationship that lasted more than two dates? A year? Longer, he thought. Although he’d never been interested in getting married again—Ainsley and his belief that long-term relationships didn’t work had cured him of that particular desire—he’d always enjoyed the company of women. Generally one at a time, and often for as long as a few months, then he walked away. He might not do marriage, but he was deeply committed to serial monogamy.
It had been a long time since anyone had tempted him for more than a night or two. He couldn’t remember the last woman who had surprised and challenged him. Some of it was his own fault. His position in a prominent law firm and his growing bank balance brought out a certain kind of woman. Those who were more interested in what he had than who he was. He’d gone out with enough of them to earn a reputation. Once he’d dated the shallow, those with substance didn’t think he was worth the effort. Which meant he had to go find them.
Or wait on fate.
Is that what had happened with Katie Marcelli? Had fate dropped her into his lap? Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, he intended to take advantage of the situation, because that was what he did. Fate might have brought her to him, but he would be the one getting her into his bed.
9
“Maybe we could figure out a way you could just borrow my hips and thighs,” Brenna said as she shifted to get more comfortable on her sister’s lumpy double bed. Not only was the mattress more like a rocky path than a place for restful sleep, the only light in the room was diffused by heavy lampshades, making it difficult for Brenna to bead as neatly as she would like. She had no doubt that if she did a less than perfect job, Katie would reject the lace appliqué out of hand.
Francesca smiled in response to Brenna’s comment, but didn’t speak as she continued to work on her face. Not her makeup…her face. While the light in the bedroom might be dim enough to qualify for a mood-lit nightclub, that in the bathroom rivaled the intensity of an operating room. Several bulbs illuminated the bathroom mirror from nearly every angle possible. Francesca had placed an eighteen-inch-wide board over her pedestal sink to give herself a work area for her array of cosmetics.
While Brenna found the various pots, jars, and pencils interesting, what really captured her attention was the fat suit hanging in the open doorway. The foam…what, she thought—Garment? Creation? Outfit—consisted of padded shoulders, full breasts, a bulging tummy and thick thighs. Actually it was everything Brenna hated about her own body. If only she could unzip the extra fifteen or twenty pounds she carried around.
Talk about a miracle, she thought glumly.
She reached for another bead from the small bag and sewed it into place. So far she’d completed fifteen lace flowers. She hadn’t been back to L.A. since Jeff had announced he wanted a divorce. She’d called in her resignation to the job she’d always hated and had only taken because the pay was decent. She clenched her teeth. Just thinking about all she’d gone through with Jeff made her furious. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw something. She wanted to stab an ice pick through his two-timing heart.
Instead she beaded lace. And fumed. Because if she allowed her anger to fade, she found herself feeling lost and alone, not to mention slightly panicked about the future.
She glanced around Francesca’s tiny bedroom. “I can’t stay here forever,” she said more to herself than to her sister.
“Sure you can.” Francesca applied a grayish-taupe sha
dow under her eyes. She instantly looked tired and drawn. “I like having you around.”
Brenna smiled. “That’s because you like rescuing people. But if I spend many more nights on your sofa, I’m going to be in physical therapy for the rest of my life. It’s not exactly comfortable.”
“Are you thinking of going back to L.A.?”
“For what? I don’t have any real ties there. I quit my job. I guess I need to get my stuff out of the apartment, but other than that…” Her voice trailed off. She’d been too busy working and taking care of her husband to make friends. God, her life was damn empty. Why had she allowed that to happen?
“We should have him killed,” Francesca said, sounding calm enough to be scary.
While Brenna appreciated the support, she wasn’t sure Jeff’s death would make up for much. It would be too easy. In a perfect world, he would have to suffer.
“Are you sure he’s worth prison time?” she asked.
“Good point.” Francesca turned and shrugged. “It’s just he’s such a bastard. I know your pain is the worst and I want to make it better, but on a personal level, and for the family, I want revenge.”
“We could brainstorm a plan.”
“Works for me.”
“I’ll come up with some ideas while I bead.” Brenna returned her attention to the lace in her hands. “In the meantime, I need a place to live.”
“You could move home.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
Moving back to the hacienda wouldn’t be her first choice, but at this point what options did she have? There wasn’t any money. She had worked her ass off to cover the monthly bills and keep up with Jeff’s student loans. Savings had been a luxury they couldn’t afford.
“You know Mom and Dad would be thrilled to have you back. The Grands would treat you like a princess.”
“I could use a little pampering,” Brenna admitted. “Although I’d have to redecorate our old room. It looks exactly the same as when we moved out. My tastes have changed in the past few years.”
“Mine, too.”
“You were smart to stay single after Todd died,” Brenna told her. “You learned your lesson early.”
Francesca shrugged. “My marriage wasn’t all good times and laughter. I’m much happier on my own. Now you get to make that choice if you want to.”
“It’s already made.” Fall for another guy who would only use her to get what he wanted? No, thanks.
“So we’ll be unmarried into our dotage,” Brenna said. “People will think we’re lesbians.”
Francesca smiled, but didn’t look up from the mirror. “Can you imagine how many rosaries would be said by the Grands if they suspected that? They’d need a hotline to heaven.”
As Brenna watched, Francesca used a sharp eyebrow pencil to draw in tiny lines which thickened her eyebrows. She’d already applied fake skin along her jaw line, to round out the shape.
“Are you going for the ugly look on purpose?”
Francesca glanced at her over her shoulder. “I don’t want to be recognized.”
“No chance of that.” Brenna eyed the fat suit. “Doesn’t it freak you out to gain weight instantly?”
“Not really. I know it comes right off.”
Which was true, but made Brenna feel cranky. “I know this is all part of your studies, but I have to tell you that wearing a fat suit is a weird way to get a doctorate.”
Francesca shrugged and returned her attention to the mirror. She shaded more of her face. “Actually today I’m going out in a wheelchair. I’ll use the padded suit later. As for my doctorate, my purpose is to document how people react to me, based on different physical appearances.”
“Oh, I get the theory,” Brenna told her. “I just think it’s strange.”
Francesca reached for a lip pencil that matched the color of her skin. She carefully outlined her mouth, making the curves appear smaller. A tiny dot of a line at each corner drew the shape of her mouth downward, giving her a pinched appearance.
She applied a flesh-colored lipstick which made her mouth practically invisible. Then she reached for her hair-brush.
Several strong strokes tamed her thick, dark hair. She pulled it into a severe bun, after which she sprinkled baby powder on her hands and smoothed it over her sleek hair. Dark brown faded to muddy gray. Heavily rimmed glasses and a shapeless dress completed her transformation. She turned to face her sister.
“What do you think?”
Brenna wrinkled her nose in distaste. “You’re my sister and I really love you, but I have to tell you, sometimes you scare me.”
Several tables clustered together on one side of the vast hotel ballroom. Try as he might, Zach couldn’t imagine the space filled with two thousand guests, nor did he have any interest in the china chosen for the event. But when Katie had asked him to drop by the hotel to make the final seating choice, he’d found himself agreeing. Maybe it was because hotels were filled with beds and he was determined to get her into one.
“There are different philosophies,” she was saying. “Tables of eight are more intimate. People can actually talk around the table. It’s also easier for couples to buy a table when there are only eight seats to fill. Tables for twelve can make for an easier seating plan in a room this size. They’re more efficient for the serving staff, but they make it virtually impossible to speak with anyone but immediate neighbors.”
Katie indicated a large round table set with everything from water glasses to salt shakers.
“With our ’cook your own dinner’ menu, we have to consider allowing people to move in and out of the area. A table for ten falls somewhere in the middle of the two. Obviously.” She shot him a quick smile. “As an aside, tables for eight mean more linen rentals and centerpieces. I could work out the cost differences if you would like.”
Zach already felt his eyes glazing over just hearing her talk about it. A spreadsheet on the subject was about as appealing as a root canal.
“You’re the expert, Katie,” he said. “It’s your call.”
She grinned. “I had a feeling you’d say that. Somehow I suspect this isn’t all that interesting to you.”
“You think?”
Her grin turned into a chuckle. He leaned a little closer to better hear the soft sound. In the process he caught a whiff of feminine fragrance…something sweet and just a little sultry. Tempting—much like Katie herself.
As usual she dressed for success—slacks and a cropped jacket in black, with a red silk blouse. Her hair had been piled on top of her head in a style that was probably supposed to be professional. But it was late afternoon and too many tendrils had escaped for the look to be anything but sexy.
She was doing the “I’m a businesswoman” dance, and all it did was make him want to see her naked. If she knew, she would smack the crap out of him.
“Okay, so you have no vote on the table size,” she said, making a note on her ever-present pad of paper. “Do you want to express an opinion on the color and style of linens?”
“Do you want to have a detailed conversation about torte law?”
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Gee, Zach, if I’d known you were going to be so difficult, I wouldn’t have asked for your opinion on anything.”
“Sure you would. You like hanging out with me.”
She raised her eyebrows. “No wonder you drive such a big car. You need room for your ego. What do you do when you fly? Will it fit in the overhead compartment or do you have to check it into baggage?”
“You know what they say. Big ego, big…”
“Idiot?” she offered with a smile and walked toward her briefcase, which rested on a chair. After opening the bag, she pulled out a thick folder.
“Back to the subject at hand,” she said. “I have a list of the prizes for our high-end donors. I’ve spoken with the jewelry designers Sara recommended. They’re—”
“Who?” he interrupted.
“Sara.” Her eyes twinkled with humo
r. “Probably better known to you as ‘John’s wife.’”
“Okay. The pregnant one.”
“Right. She recommended a few jewelry designers. They all agreed to sell us unique pieces at cost. Of course their names will be prominently displayed in the program, and I’m sure we’ll start a fashion trend or two that night.” She looked up from the paper. “I don’t suppose you want to look at the design sketches.”
“Not really.”
“Then how about a list of the various prize packages? I’ve worked up a ski vacation in Europe, golfing in Scotland and Pebble Beach, and a lovely weekend in Napa, complete with a private dinner with the three top wine makers there.” She closed the folder. “I used family connections on that last one.”
“I’m impressed.”
“It’s all a matter of knowing who to call. Now, about the centerpieces.”
Zach held up his hands in front of him and took a step back. “Absolutely no flower decisions,” he said. “Order whatever you like in any color or style. I’m sure they’ll be wonderful.”
Katie slid a little closer. “Is the big, bad lawyer frightened of a few orchids?”
He was saved from replying by the arrival of a tall, painfully thin man in a white coat. The dark-haired stranger crossed to Katie, spoke her name in a tone of delight, and kissed the backs of both her hands.
She disentangled herself with grace and a small laugh. “Jerome, you spent way too much time in France. Stop acting so Continental, or I’ll tell my client that you’re actually from Nebraska.”
The tall man winced. “Katie, don’t even joke about that.” He turned to Zach and held out a hand. “I’m Jerome. I’m the head chef here at the hotel, and I’ll be in charge of the food for the charity event.”
“Nice to meet you.” Zach shook hands with the man, then glanced from one to the other. “You two have worked together before?”
“Several times,” Katie said easily. “Jerome is a perfectionist. Fresh produce is practically a religion with him, and his food is the better for it. He’s creative, yet willing to work within the confines of my ideas and, just as important, my budget. That’s unheard of at his level.”
The Sparkling One Page 11
