Killer Curves

by Roxanne St Claire

  She took off her sunglasses, and Beau sucked in a breath at her red, swollen eyes. “We’re finished.”

  He put a hand on the wrought iron handrail and shook his head. “No. I came here with a very clear objective and I don’t intend to leave without—”

  “My kidney?” She choked on the word. “Are you planning to drag me over to Mt. Sinai, yank it out of me, and carry it off in a cooler?”

  “Actually, you’ll need to come to Florida. The team’s based in Daytona Beach.”

  She laughed in disbelief. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You expect me to donate a body part to a man I’ve never met. A man who took money to be rid of me.”

  “I came to New York to see if you had a heart—”

  “I thought it was a kidney.”

  Oh, she was Travis’s daughter all right. “A heart with a soft spot in it for a man who needs your help. He’s your father, whether you like it—”

  “Sssshhhh.” She grabbed his arm, her nails digging into the inner flesh of his wrist, her focus beyond him. He heard the click of approaching high heels.

  “Good morning, Celeste.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Anderson.”

  An older woman paused next to them, resplendent in Pepto-Bismol pink and diamond earrings that could light up the night. She assessed him with a dismissive look.

  He nodded. “Ma’am.”

  She threw a questioning glance at Celeste, then stepped past him with the same expression she might have used avoiding dog droppings on the sidewalk.

  Celeste exhaled, her breath blowing a lock of caramel-colored hair over her cheek. “Come on. You can’t stand out here stopping traffic all day.”

  She swung around the railing and took a few steps down to a glossy black door with a brass knocker and ornate handle, tucked into a corner between a bay window and the stairs. With a turn of her key, she let him into her world.

  He stood in the vestibule, taking in the fresh flowers, swooshy drapes around a curved window, and pastel-toned Oriental carpets on hardwood floors. Everything was silky and soft and beautiful. It matched the owner.

  She dropped her handbag on a table by the front door and stepped aside. “Please have a seat. Would you like something to drink?”

  He had to hand it to her, nothing could impede her good manners. That would come from the other side of the family.

  “I’m fine.” He stepped into the immaculate living room. “Nice crib. Rent controlled?”

  “I own it.”

  “Docents do well, I see.”

  She shot him a look, but “shut up” would have been just as effective. He grinned back at her. “Do you have another day gig, then?”

  She sat on the edge of a fancy mint green chair, the color doing amazing things for her eyes, regardless of the disdain in them.

  “We’re not here to discuss my career or lifestyle,” she said. “I just didn’t want to argue with you on the street.”

  “In a sense, we are discussing your career and lifestyle.” He dropped onto a chair. “Can you take time off? Do docents get vacation?”

  “I’m a volunteer at the museum. My time is spent on a number of charitable, social, and philanthropic activities.”

  “Yep. I’ve read about them. The Guggenheim, the Junior League, the fund-raisers at Lincoln Center, the silent auction at the Darien Country Club.”

  Her jaw fell open, leaving her pretty mouth in an O shape.

  “You’ve also apparently found time for love, since I saw not one, but two engagement announcements.” He leaned forward and copped a friendly tone. “All that volunteer stuff can be rescheduled around the operation, I know. But when’s the wedding? I wouldn’t want to interfere with the big day.”

  “You are out of your mind,” she said with a quick laugh. “And you know way too much about me.”

  “No, that’s all, really. And no Internet search could tell me what I really need to know.”

  “Which is?”

  “Do you have the courage to save your biological father’s life?”

  A flush deepened her creamy skin. “Well, I don’t know.” She leaned back and drummed her fingers on the armrests. “Did he have courage when he abandoned my mother and took thousands of dollars to sever all ties to us?”

  He phrased his answer carefully. “Travis is a little rough around the edges and has never been confused with a gentleman, but he’s not a coward.”

  “That’s not how it appears to me.”

  “Why don’t you get to know him?” he suggested. “Come on down and spend a few weeks with him.” Lord, how would Travis react to this debutante? Surely he’d be on his best behavior to his long-lost daughter who’d come to save his life. Maybe. “He’s really a good guy.”

  The ice in her gaze melted a degree, giving him hope. Without a word, she stood and walked into the galley kitchen, opened a cabinet, and set a glass on the counter. She opened the refrigerator door and brought out a cobalt blue bottle of designer water that she held in his direction. “Are you certain you don’t want something?”

  “Sure. I’ll have a glass of water.”

  She reached for another glass, opened the bottle, and poured. Then she took a lemon out of a fruit basket, sliced it, and placed a slice on the rim of each glass. She set the two glasses on a tiny silver tray, laid two linen napkins on it, carried it into the living room, and set the tray on the coffee table between them.

  Without a word, she slid back onto the chair and crossed her ankles in one smooth move, her lovely jaw poised at its practiced, rich-girl angle.

  Now why would all that send a shot of pure arousal through his body? “Thanks.” He took the glass from the tray.

  “What’s he like?” she asked. “Is he funny? Is he loud? Is he hot-tempered?”

  “Travis?” All of the above. “He’s, uh, pretty colorful.”

  “Is he in the hospital or…home, or where will he be until…until…”

  Now they were getting somewhere. “He’s going to live a perfectly normal life for a few months, except he’ll have to do dialysis. We can work that into his schedule and still race.”

  Although Travis’s health was only one of the team’s problems right now. He shifted on the chair and waited for her next question. He had to win this. He only had today.

  And then she stood abruptly. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

  Shit. All that work for a lousy glass of water and she was booting him out before he got to drink it. Before he got to convince her that there was no way she could not do this. “I’m leaving for Florida tonight.”

  “Fine.” She walked to the door and opened it wide. “I’m sure you have my phone number.”

  He stood and approached her, purposely invading her personal space by getting right in her face. “Exactly what needs to happen for you to make the right decision?”

  She didn’t flinch. “I have to face some immediate demons in my life before I can take on any new ones.”

  “Then I hope you face them fast, darlin’. A man is dying.”

  She just held the door and stared out toward the street.

  Okay. She needed time to get used to the idea, and he’d give her a little. But then he’d be back.

  Jesus, the old man could go at it for hours.

  Craig Lang shifted in his office chair, looking out over Manhattan from his office on the twenty-sixth floor of Independence Bank. He glanced at his watch and exhaled a stream of smoke. Three o’clock on a Saturday afternoon. Come on, Gavin. Surely he’d done that girl every way imaginable by now.

  At the click of a door opening, he snuffed out his cigarette and peered into the hall, expecting Noelle MacPherson to emerge from the CEO’s office with her lips swollen and her makeup smeared. The up-and-coming speechwriter was certainly doing her part to earn her promotion to assistant campaign manager. And here he was, the executive vice president of the bank and newly engaged to the boss’s daughter, pulling palace guard duty.

  But that, he reminded himself,
was a privilege, not a chore. As long as Gavin trusted him, and only him, Craig could get what he needed. And what he needed was Bennett money, since banking didn’t pay for the lifestyle he craved, and he couldn’t live off the Lang trust fund anymore. Not after that last market crash.

  Gavin’s door was tightly shut, so Craig stood and listened for any other sounds from the hall. Lobby security hadn’t called up to announce any visitors.

  “Craig? Are you here?”

  Celeste. What the hell was she doing here? He couldn’t let her see Noelle emerge from Gavin’s office.

  “Hey.” She tapped on the frame of his office door and sniffed, disappointment registering on her face. “I thought you quit smoking.”

  He laughed guiltily and shrugged. “After the election, I promise.” Rounding his massive desk, he reached out to her, surreptitiously glancing over her shoulder at Gavin’s door. He tried to guide her into his office, but she remained planted in the doorway.

  “How’d you find me?” He let the note of annoyance come through. He didn’t like the idea that she could just pop in on him. Would she be that kind of wife?

  “Daddy mentioned it last night, remember? He said he needed you to work on a speech this afternoon. Where is he?”

  Craig cocked his head toward the closed door across the hall. “He and his speechwriter are going over the final draft now.”

  He imagined Noelle bent over and Gavin pounding himself into her from behind. The erotic image skittered down to his groin, mixing with a pang of envy. Someday he’d have his own minions who would cover for his appetites.

  Celeste crossed her arms. “I need to talk to you.”

  At her serious tone he noticed the dark circles under her eyes, which could have been sleep deprivation but looked more like smeared makeup.

  “What’s the matter, Celeste?” He resisted the urge to look at Gavin’s door again. The longer she was here, the greater the chance of Noelle appearing. At fifty-five, even the stallion Gavin Bennett couldn’t last too much longer.

  “I’ve been really thinking about something.”

  “What is it?”

  She frowned at his insistent voice. He almost added “dear” but then she uncrossed her arms and started to tug at the thirty-fucking-thousand-dollar gem he’d placed on her finger the night before. “This isn’t a decision I’ve made lightly.” She held the ring toward him in her open palm. “I’m not ready for this. I have a lot of issues I need to work out in my life and I’m not ready for marriage.”

  A stab of alarm hit his gut. God damn her! He took a deep breath and remembered the closed door just thirty feet away. Celeste could be very reasonable and agreeable, like her mother. But then, she had that obnoxious, strong-minded streak too. He stared at the ring, trying to form his line of persuasion. “What kind of issues?”

  She shook her head, deepening his worry as that despicable willful look began to darken her eyes. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” she said. “This happened too suddenly. We’ve only been dating for three months, Craig. I should have told you this last night, but I’m not prepared to accept this ring.”

  He stared at her, stunned. “Celeste? What the hell is going on with you?”

  “I’m sorry, Craig. This isn’t the right time in my life.”

  “The right time in your life?” He choked on the words. “You’re thirty years old, for Christ’s sake. What are you waiting for, Prince Charming?”

  He knew from her expression he’d stepped over the line. He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she jerked away. They stared at each other for a long moment, the stubborn burn in her eyes infuriating him.

  He forced himself to soften his tone. “I urge you to reconsider.”

  She shook her head, squaring her shoulders. “This is my decision.”

  “Oh, fuck.”

  “Craig.” Her green eyes flared. “We’re talking about marriage. About the rest of our lives.”

  “I know that.” And she was the ticket to the life he wanted. He put his hand on her shoulder again, but she literally dodged him. Rage bubbled up in him. “Your father’s right,” he said sharply, wanting to smack the resolute look off her face. “You’re a coward. Weak, just like your mother.”

  She closed her eyes at that, and he could have kicked himself. What the hell was the matter with him? The old man might not keep him around without the marriage.

  “Celeste.” He looked away, feigning disappointment but really checking Gavin’s door. Any second it would open. “Let’s go somewhere and talk.”

  “No. I’m leaving. I have some things I—”

  The trill of Noelle’s laughter cut her off, and Celeste looked toward the sound.

  “Come here,” Craig demanded, reaching for her again.

  But she stepped backward into the hallway, with a clear view of Noelle leaning like a satisfied cat against the doorjamb of Gavin’s office. Gavin came from behind Noelle, snaked his arm around her, and sank his mouth into her neck. His hands roamed the front of her sweater.

  Noelle turned into his arms and gave up another sultry laugh. “You fuck like a president, Gavin.”

  “Naturally.” Gavin squeezed one of Noelle’s tits and shoved his crotch against her. “I’m a Democrat.”

  Craig’s throat constricted to the size of a cinder. He heard the engagement ring clunk to the floor as Celeste turned and ran out of Independence Bank’s executive suites.

  Noelle gasped as Gavin shoved her away, and the look the old man shot Craig confirmed his worst fears. Gavin had zero tolerance for mistakes, and the palace guard had just fucked up royally.

  When the brass knocker tapped on her apartment door at seven-twenty that evening, Celeste had no doubt who it was. She peered through the peephole, straight into the lightning bolt logo on Beau’s chest.

  She opened the door and looked up at him. “That didn’t take long.”

  “I’m on my way to the airport.” Beau pointed a thumb over his shoulder to a waiting taxicab. “Did you decide?”

  She ignored the question. “Were you telling me the truth when you said he didn’t know who I was or where I lived?” she asked.

  “Yep.”

  She stepped aside to let him in. “Come here for a minute.”

  He signaled the cabbie to wait, then she led him to the laptop sitting on her countertop. She clicked to the Chastaine Motorsports site and turned the screen so he could see the listing of crew and staff positions that came up. “I see you have some openings.”

  He glanced from the screen to her. “You know any shock specialists or brakemen?”

  “What exactly does the sponsor liaison do?”

  He stepped back, crossing his arms. “Party planning. Hand holding. Cheek kissing.”

  She picked up a single sheet of paper and handed it to him. “I know someone who’s been training for that job her whole life.”

  He gave her a dubious look and then studied the résumé she’d just finished. “Who is Cece Benson?”

  “Your new sponsor liaison. Me.”

  He stared at her.

  “He might recognize my name. Even in the circles you, uh, drive in.”

  “Why would you want the job?”

  “You said he has six months. I need time to make a decision. I want to get to know him, but not as his long-lost illegitimate daughter, not someone he has to impress so he can live. I don’t want him to know who I am, but I need a reason to be around him. Then I’ll decide what to do.”

  “It’s an interesting idea,” he said slowly. “But we could come up with a less complicated way of getting you down there. We’re having some real serious problems with our sponsor right now, and it wouldn’t be the easiest job to walk into.”

  “You’re having some real serious problems with a lot of things, it seems.” She narrowed her eyes and held up her hand to start counting. “You’ve had two car fires, a broken seat belt, and a deafening roar of approval every time you crashed this year. Which was often. Yo
ur biggest sponsor is making threatening noises, your pit crew is young and inexperienced, and you are personally under investigation from NASCAR for your questionable role in the death of another driver last March.”

  At his speechless response, she offered up a smug smile. “You’d be amazed at what you can get off the Internet.”

  He laughed under his breath. “You’re more Chastaine than Bennett, no doubt about that.”

  An image of her father groping the girl in his office doorway flashed in her mind. Maybe Chastaine was better than Bennett, after all. It was time to find that out. She lifted her chin. “Yes or no?”

  He glanced at the résumé and back at her. “I don’t know about this.”

  But she knew she held the cards. “This is the only way I’ll consider helping you. I don’t want anyone there to know who I am, and I don’t want anyone here to know where I am. I can be there in a few days.”

  He shook his head. “Travis won’t like it. He’s looking for a racing expert for this job, a marketing guru. A real player who can handle difficult personalities.”

  “I know my way around a fund-raiser. Isn’t that all sponsorship really is?”

  “You don’t know about racing.”

  “You can give me a crash course. This is the best I can offer. Take it, or get in the cab and forget I exist.”

  He rolled her résumé into a tube. “I guess I could get you an interview.”

  “Get me the job.”

  “You don’t know Travis.”

  “But I intend to, before I consider donating body parts to save his life. And if you tell him who I am, I will leave immediately—with all my organs in their proper place.”

  He tapped the paper tube on the palm of his hand. “We race the Pepsi 400 in Daytona this Saturday night.”

  Victory.

  The cabbie honked, and she ushered him back toward the front door. “I’ll be there. Just remember to call me Cece.”

  “Right. And you can call me insane.”

  She closed the door behind him and dropped her head against it, giving into the burn of tears she’d been fighting all day. She might have something Beau Lansing needed, but he had something she needed too.