* * *
DOROTHY RETURNED TO her kitchen and slammed a lump of bread dough onto her kitchen counter, giving it a hard thump.
She didn’t know what Patrick wanted out of the whole thing, just that he’d lied. William had never lied to her. She should have remembered that instead of worrying that he’d had an affair.
But Patrick or Connor or whatever he called himself had deliberately lied throughout their acquaintance.
She dusted flour over the dough and began kneading it, trying to lose herself in the familiar pattern. Making bread was therapeutic. She hadn’t needed it the past few days, though. Learning that her vague fears about William were groundless had taken a huge weight from her shoulders. But now she didn’t know what to feel. Layne had offered to come over and keep her company, but this was something she needed to work out on her own.
Forward, roll back, forward again. Another dusting of flour. The dough slowly gained the necessary consistency and Dorothy put it in a bowl to rise.
Unable to resist, she went to the front window and looked out. She didn’t see Patrick, but a blue truck was in her driveway and she assumed it belonged to him.
Several unladylike words came to mind as she dropped the curtain. She rarely cursed, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t when the occasion demanded. The words even slipped out at times, though she had been raised by an old-fashioned father with strong views about how his daughters should talk and behave.
To think she’d believed Patrick and her father would have gotten along because they were cut from the same honorable cloth.
* * *
LAYNE WANTED TO stay angry with Matt, but as the afternoon wore on, she kept remembering the expression on his face, sort of worried and frustrated and regretful, all at the same time. It hadn’t kept her from blowing up, but it was enough to make her wish now that she hadn’t.
After all, he’d been in the Mustang with her when they were hit. If Peter Davidson was involved, then he’d nearly killed his own stepson.
The doorbell rang shortly after four. “Layne, it’s me,” called Matt.
A lingering flicker of annoyance went through her. “I told you to go away.”
“Please let me in.”
She gave a tug to the thin, sleeveless T-shirt she wore, trying to pull it over her belly button. It was miserably hot, so she wasn’t wearing a bra, and her short shorts were barely more than bikini bottoms. And he probably wouldn’t even notice.
With that sour thought, Layne sighed and opened the door. Matt held an enormous bunch of flowers and three bags.
“Aren’t flowers a little trite, Mr. Hollister?”
“Flowers are never trite.” He thrust them into her arms and stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.
Layne looked at the bouquet. The few guys who’d brought her flowers had gotten things like daisies, saying they suited her personality, while Matt was offering her lovely blue Dutch irises with baby’s breath, peach tulips and white roses. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. And he probably brought the same bouquet to every woman.
“I told you to get lost.”
“More or less, then you slammed the door in my face so hard I expected the glass to shatter the way it does in the movies.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t thought about that.
Layne cast a quick glance at the leaded, beveled glass; surely she would have noticed any damage before now. Not seeing any, she went to the kitchen and took out vases for the flowers.
“Mr. Two-Faced O’Brian showed up at my aunt’s house and tried to talk to her,” she said over her shoulder. “He’s the security chief you’ve talked about, isn’t he? The one with connections?”
“Yes. If you hadn’t been so ticked earlier, we could have discussed it rationally.” Matt stopped. “Uh, that is—”
“Don’t try backtracking—you already said it.” Layne turned and crossed her arms over her bare stomach. “I wasn’t being irrational. I had every reason to be furious. Don’t try denying that you and that duplicitous rat were way out of line. It’s one thing to check someone out on the internet, another to spy on them.”
Matt put the bags he carried on the counter. “Whatever. I brought a peace offering. Cherry Garcia ice cream and the makings for deli sandwiches.”
“Isn’t that what the flowers are for?”
“Anybody can bring flowers as an apology. Cherry Garcia, on the other hand, is good for any occasion.” Matt put several pints in the freezer.
“Some people might say you have a fetish about that stuff.”
“Only the ones who’ve never tasted it.”
He set out sandwich ingredients on the counter—crusty bread and deli meats and cheeses and garnishes like pickled peppers. Layne hadn’t eaten lunch, her appetite killed by the heat, yet her stomach rumbled at the rich scents. Trust Matt to show up with regular food, instead of a fussy gourmet meal. Not that he’d gone to the deli counter at the supermarket. He’d probably purchased everything from a high-end delicatessen where it cost four times what any other place would charge.
Unable to resist, Layne sampled something from a container marked cornichons—which turned out to be teensy little pickles. She ate another. They were very good, and probably very expensive. Spending much time with Matt was hazardous if you didn’t want to develop lavish tastes. It was also dangerous when you were a woman with the unfortunate habit of being taken for granted by her boyfriends.
Layne had always wondered what it would be like to be pursued and adored the way her sisters were—in other words, how would it feel to be the kind of woman who was given extravagantly feminine flowers instead of bouncy girl-next-door daisies. Not that daisies weren’t pretty, but they said something about a man’s impression.
Sighing, she put one vase of flowers on the kitchen table and another in the living room. She couldn’t make herself into something she wasn’t, but being around Matt was the ultimate downer because he’d been with the most beautiful women in the world and he had to be making comparisons.
Back in the kitchen Matt handed her one of the bags he’d brought. “That’s the cookbook from Peter, plus the contact and background info my security people have found for the employees on the recipe contributor list.”
A stack of paper was inside with the book and she scanned the first couple of pages.
“Hey, do you want to make your own sandwich or want me to make it?” Matt asked, popping a Greek olive in his mouth.
“I’ll do it.”
Refusing to eat would be silly, and Layne’s mouth watered as she sat at the table and bit into her thickly piled sandwich.
Matt’s was even thicker than hers, and he gazed at it with satisfaction. “This is a masterpiece. By the way, why did you come by my office today?”
“I got copies of the sales agreement and stuff.”
He frowned. “All the documents we’ve gone through lately have been photocopies. You don’t trust me with the originals?”
“It isn’t that—any important originals are in a safe deposit box. Either mine or Aunt Dee’s.”
Matt carefully set his sandwich on his plate and wiped his hands with a napkin. “Any special reason?”
“Just being careful. Someone may have tried to break into the house, so I got a box to protect important documents and told her to take anything critical to hers.”
“Damn it,” he exploded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought I was being ridiculous at the time, though now it doesn’t seem so far-fetched.”
“You think? And what about your aunt? She could be at risk, as well. Did you consider that?”
“Of course I did,” Layne said, exasperated. “She has a top-of-the-line security system and I make sure she uses it.”
* * *
THE KNOT IN Matt’s stomach tightened. The best security system could be circumvented. Layne had to know that, even if she didn’t have one herself.
“Besides,” she continued, “like I said, I thought I was being ridiculous. And now your security people are out there, so it’s okay, even if they are being supervised by that two-faced Connor O’Brian.”
Matt poured lemonade into glasses and handed one to Layne. Let’s see, so far she’d called his security chief two-faced and a duplicitous rat...and God knew what else in private. But she was eating the food he’d brought and hadn’t run his flowers down the garbage disposal. Obviously Layne was more concerned about her aunt’s feelings than her own.
It was fascinating to see someone so passionate on behalf of a loved one. Not that his mother didn’t care about him, but Katrina lived in an ivory tower and was barely aware of what was going on in his life. And he no longer knew what to think when it came to Peter.
As for Matt’s father, he was a charming hedonist with only rare flickers of parental concern. Spence had eight children...no, nine, Matt corrected himself. One of Spence’s girlfriends from two years ago had gotten pregnant; their son was fourteen months old now and lived with his mother in Australia. That made nine children with eight different women. How many people had so many ex-stepmothers they couldn’t keep track of them all?
Hell, the more Matt learned about Layne’s family, the more screwed-up his own looked. And that was taking her frustrations with the McGraws into account—they might drive her crazy, but it was only because they cared about her.
“What was that?” Matt said, realizing Layne had said something.
“I haven’t had a chance to tell you—Uncle Rob finally called and he says that Uncle Will visited him several times in Aberdeen when my aunt was away.”
Matt was confused. “Finally called?”
“Uh...I guess I didn’t tell you about that, either.” Layne explained about the phone message she’d found and where that had led her. “Except Uncle Rob can’t verify specific dates,” she concluded. “Only that it was always on a Thursday and Uncle Will always came as promised.”
“Who took the phone message? Maybe between the two, it’s good enough to be an alibi.”
Layne looked discouraged. “There was no signature or even initials. The thing is, it’s very unusual—informal, shorthand texting language, which probably isn’t customary for a financial management company. So far nobody at Hudson & Davidson remembers an employee writing messages that way. It’s an outside chance the author would remember taking the call, but at least they could say it was their handwriting and whether they thought the date was right.”
“We’ll just have to keep calling and asking questions. And now we have a better list of employees to work with.”
If anything, Layne’s face turned even more downcast. “It’s awful talking to those people. They’re nervous and defensive. I understand how they feel, but it’s tough getting information when people are afraid they’ll be accused of embezzling.”
“I’ll help with the calls. They might not be so concerned about speaking with me.”
“Maybe, maybe not. I’m careful about what I say, but somebody is telling them I want to clear Uncle Will’s name by any means possible.”
Matt really hoped the “somebody” wasn’t his stepfather.
“By the way,” Layne said, “I don’t have room for the Volvo in my garage, so you need to have it picked up.”
“It’s fine in the driveway. I told you, it’s just one in a fleet of vehicles. We’ll never miss it.”
“No.”
“What’s the big deal?” Matt demanded, exasperated. “It’s fully insured and free of charge.”
She made a disgusted sound. “I work for a living and expect to pay my way. Just because you won’t miss it isn’t a good enough reason for me to accept the loan of an expensive car. You may have gotten used to giving money away at the Eisley Foundation, but people have dignity, you know. And pride. You can’t just wave a checkbook and think it’s the answer to everything.”
Matt’s frustration doubled. “I’m not waving a checkbook. How about this...I don’t want to see one of my few friends get hurt and the Volvo is insurance. Surely that doesn’t wound your dignity.”
Layne blinked and Matt was a little startled himself.
He did have friends, though not that many. There was Terrence from childhood. Connor, though the Irishman would probably snort at the suggestion. And a couple of people from college. He didn’t count anybody from his former party days—once they had realized he was serious about doing something real with his life, they’d dropped him cold.
Matt was also fond of his siblings—most of them, at least—though they’d never been close. He’d enjoyed Tamlyn’s recent visit and had seen April and Oona not long before taking over the Eisley Foundation. Melanie had just graduated high school and was a sweet kid, unlike Pierre, who was a pain in the posterior. Hopefully he’d straighten out before some nanny had him shot. Aaron and Jake were nearest to him in age and they talked relatively often. Of course, usually Jake could only be reached by satellite phone since he spent most of his time in the Himalayas or somewhere equally remote.
In a way, Matt had more in common with Jake than with Aaron or the others. He knew the adrenaline rush of pushing yourself to extremes, and that was what Jake did, getting his photographs.
“How about it, Layne?” Matt murmured. “You’re the type of person who values friendship.”
A peculiar look went across her face and for some reason she was staring at the flowers in the middle of the table. “We’re not friends, Matt. And we never would have met if it wasn’t for the case against Uncle Will.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”
“Fine, I’ll use the Volvo. But only until I get the Mustang fixed.”
“Until they catch whoever tried to run us off the road,” he qualified. “The Mustang stands out like a beacon.”
She didn’t look happy, but she finally nodded. “Okay, until then.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“LET’S GO OUT to the patio to go over the new paperwork,” Layne suggested when they were finished eating. “It’s stifling here in the house.”
Matt glanced into the backyard, seeing the appeal. It was shaded by trees and there were sturdy chaises available in a very private setting.
Stop, he ordered.
Layne wasn’t offering anything intimate; she was looking for a place to work in the fresh air. Nonetheless, she was getting to him. The first time he’d seen her he hadn’t noticed the red and gold glints in her silky brown hair, or the way every emotion could be read on her expressive face. As for her smile...when she really let loose, it was breathtaking. And while she wasn’t tall, she had great legs. Her skin was like silk and she had the prettiest breasts—not large, but nicely proportioned.
Today she was barefoot and wearing some sort of skimpy, sleeveless knit shirt that laced up between her breasts and ended well above the waistband of her shorts. And all of it sort of stuck to her damp skin, begging to be peeled off....
“Uh, sounds good,” Matt said hoarsely.
Fortunately Layne pulled out a cushioned chair at the outdoor table, rather than one of the comfy chaises, saving him from making a mistake he wasn’t sure he’d regret.
She had two copies of the partnership agreement, and they read in silence, only occasionally stopping to compare notes. The language was standard. William Hudson had sold half of his company to Peter for a very reasonable price, with everything, including business decisions, to be shared equally.
“No strange ‘in event of death’ language or other questionable clauses,” Matt murmured at length.
“I don’t think Mr. Davidson is disputing that Aunt Dee owns half of the company, just
that she shouldn’t get anything because of what happened. And now she’s so discouraged, she’s talking about selling the house.”
Layne was rubbing the back of her neck and Matt almost got up to massage it when he remembered the security team had installed cameras to help keep an eye on things. Did they pick up sound, as well as video? If so, the team could hear every word being said, on top of seeing them.
The sense of privacy vanished and he suddenly understood why Layne and her aunt were so upset. He’d lived with so little privacy all his life, he should have seen it earlier. Yet even Terry had complained about the loss of privacy that came with a major illness, and that was practically the only thing he complained about.
“Er...how about going back inside?” Matt asked.
Layne seemed surprised, but she agreed and they settled on the couch in the living room in front of a table fan. Much better, Matt thought, though he’d enjoyed being outdoors before remembering the hidden video cameras.
Matt fingered his copy of the partnership agreement. Layne was pale and she’d lost weight since the first day they’d met. He’d have to think if there was anything else he could do to help in a way that wouldn’t offend her. Thanks to Spence and Gordon Eisley, he had more money than he could ever spend, no matter how hard he tried. Perhaps he could help Dorothy with her mortgage—it would certainly make Layne feel better if her aunt’s financial situation improved.
You can’t just wave a checkbook and think it’s the answer to everything.
Matt gritted his teeth. Okay, maybe Layne was right about him and his checkbook, but waving it seemed to be the only effective thing he could do at the moment.
“Here’s the sales agreement, and the papers Mr. Davidson wants Aunt Dee to sign,” Layne said a few minutes later, handing him a thick bunch of papers.
The sales agreement seemed equally straightforward aside from a paragraph stating the payment would be placed in a special account and distributed per a separate contract between Peter and Dorothy. Well, that and another clause that showed Peter would continue to receive a tidy percentage of the company’s income for ten years in exchange for eight hours of investment consultation each quarter and serving on their board of directors.
Challenging Matt Page 21
