A CLASS ACT

by Pamela Burford

  Dena knew he was referring to that disastrous night fifteen years ago when Gabe had "sensibly" escorted Andrea to a function similar to this one. Obviously his father didn't know what had happened out there on one of the club's manicured fairways, and it wasn't Dena's place to enlighten him.

  She asked, "Has it occurred to you that your son might actually love me?"

  "I don't doubt he thinks so. I would have hoped that at his age he'd know better than to get carried away by a fling."

  "A fling?"

  "You're the forbidden fruit, Dena. Too exciting to resist. Just as you were back in high school." He shrugged. "A normal male response, I suppose. The problem is, Gabe can't seem to tell the difference between the kind of woman one shares one's life with and the kind of woman one shares one's bed with."

  Reflexively Dena tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip on her fingers and her waist, still moving fluidly to the music. Dena glanced toward their table. She wasn't surprised to find Gabe's eyes on her, even as Andrea slid into Dena's vacated seat.

  "No need to act offended," Lucien said. "I'm no puritan. What you and my son do in private is of no concern to me."

  "As long as it stays private, is that right? As long as I'm kept hidden away. The dirty little secret. The trashy 'fling' who knows her place."

  He chuckled. "You make it sound so sordid. Men and women have enjoyed each other's company throughout history. Not every relationship is meant to end in marriage."

  "Oh, so I'm a mistress?" she asked. "How downright Victorian. I feel much better now. You know, you don't have to crush my fingers, Mr. Moreau. I'm not going to stalk off the dance floor or slap your face or do anything else that might embarrass Gabe. No matter how much I may be tempted."

  Lucien's smile was unpleasant. "You'll pardon me if I have my doubts." If anything, he squeezed her fingers tighter.

  Smiling sweetly, Dena pressed her stiletto heel into his instep. Hard. He sucked in a breath, his features rigid. After a moment he loosened his grip on her hand.

  "Oops." Dena smiled apologetically as she lifted her heel. "I get clumsy when I'm riled up."

  He stared sullenly at her. "There's a disagreeable edge to your personality that was never there before. I'm surprised Gabe puts up with it."

  "It's called self-respect, and Gabe likes it just fine."

  * * *

  I never should have brought her here, Gabe thought as he watched his father lead Dena around the dance floor. Dad's impassive facade had slipped; he looked downright menacing. What was he saying to her?

  Damn it, this hadn't been part of the plan. Stick with me, Gabe had told her. He'd intended to keep her at his side the whole evening, do all the talking, show her she had nothing to fear.

  He was debating the wisdom of trying to cut in on the dance when Andrea's nasal voice intruded.

  "You look worried," she said, following his line of sight to the dance floor.

  When had she planted herself in Dena's chair?

  Gabe looked around the empty table. "Where's Spencer?"

  She nodded across the room. "Cozying up to Dad. Spencer was passed over for partner at Manning McLeod, and now he's got his sights set on us."

  "It doesn't bother you that he's probably just using you as an entree into the firm?"

  Andrea's smirk was more than a little suggestive. "Ask me tomorrow morning."

  Gabe didn't comment. Despite the image Andrea cultivated of a thick-skinned, independent, sexually liberated woman, he suspected that deep down, she was very lonely. He felt sorry for her, though he was careful not to show it.

  "You didn't answer me," she said.

  "You didn't ask a question."

  "I'd be worried, too," she said as she watched Dena dance and converse with his father. "There's no telling what she'll come out with next. Whatever possessed you to bring her here, Gabe?"

  He was asking himself the same question, but for different reasons. What had possessed him to subject the woman he loved to this kind of strain? She'd handled his mother with admirable ease, but Lucien Moreau was in a different league. Gabe had seen him verbally slice and dice the most stalwart of adversaries in the court of law.

  Dena may not be the same "scaredy-cat" she'd been back in high school, but she didn't stand a chance against his shark of a father. She didn't deserve whatever abuse he was heaping on her right now, and she sure as hell didn't deserve to be treated like a pariah. She was worth this whole pretentious lot put together.

  What if she succumbed to Dad's bullying—or simply decided Gabe wasn't worth a lifetime of this kind of aggravation? He had to admit, he wouldn't blame her if she walked out of his life. For good this time.

  "One word of advice," Andrea said. "If you're determined to throw her in everyone's face, at least teach her how to dress."

  * * *

  Dena's patience was stretched to the limit. "What else did you want to say, Mr. Moreau? This song'll be over in a minute and I'm not sticking around for the next one."

  Lucien glowered at her. His color was a little high under the suntan. "I'm prepared to pay you fifty thousand dollars."

  She nearly tripped. "Excuse me?"

  "Fifty thousand, Dena. Think what that kind of money could do for those kennels of yours."

  "Mr. Moreau. Tell me you're not trying to bribe me to give up your son."

  "It's an unsuitable match. He's obviously far too serious about you, and it's affecting his judgment."

  "Gabe is thirty-three years old. Don't you think it's high time you stopped trying to run his life?"

  "What I think is that it's high time he settled down. He needs a woman appropriate to his station in life, a woman reared with the same values, a woman who will be an asset to his career—not a liability and an embarrassment, which is what you'd become the first time he asked you to help entertain an important client."

  Lucien should know that wasn't true, having witnessed her interchange with Helmut Danziger. But he obviously had his mind made up and didn't want to be confused with the facts.

  "If you have any feelings for my son at all," he said, "you'll let him go."

  "So he can marry Andrea Pittman."

  "I haven't given up hope. It's an ideal match."

  "You're delusional if you believe that, Mr. Moreau. Gabe and Andrea both know it's not meant to be."

  "When Gabe was young he resisted the idea, simply because he knew it was what his mother and I wanted. Typical youthful rebellion. Now, however, he's more mature and realistic. He and Andrea both have a better understanding—"

  "You're not listening," she said. "They're incompatible. They tolerate each other for the sake of the firm, but they'll never be close friends, much less life partners."

  "Fifty thousand, Dena. It's a onetime offer."

  "You're embarrassing yourself, Mr. Moreau. Bribing me is beneath you. Whatever our differences in the past, at least I never doubted your integrity."

  Lucien flinched as if she'd stomped his foot again. He started to speak, and glanced around as if to ensure no one was within earshot. Without meeting her eyes he murmured, "You needn't call it a bribe. What I'm suggesting is a simple business arrangement."

  "It's a bribe, Mr. Moreau. You know it. I know it. I wouldn't have taken your money when I was dirtpoor. I'm sure as hell not going to jump at it now, when Xanadu is worth over five million dollars."

  His eyes flared. "I don't believe you."

  "Ask Andrea. She made it her business to find out my net worth, right before she tried to raid me away from Gilliam, Shapiro."

  Lucien's throat worked. He fixed his gaze on a point past Dena's shoulder. The song was winding down.

  When he spoke, his voice was tight. "If I've been, perhaps … overzealous, it's because I have my son's best interests at heart."

  "I know that," she said gently.

  He studied her intently. "Do you love him?"

  "Yes. I love him very much, and I'll do my best to make him happy."

  Foreve
r, Gabe had said. Suddenly Dena knew she'd settle for nothing less.

  Lucien looked toward their table. Gabe was scowling at something Andrea had said. "You won't mention the … business arrangement we discussed?"

  "He won't hear about it from me."

  Dena suspected Lucien wanted to apologize but was too proud. Still, she didn't delude herself. She knew he'd be happy to see her exit his son's life for good. Perhaps he'd always feel that way. If so, she'd settle for a policy of noninterference.

  A sardonic half smile creased Lucien's face. "Thank you for the dance, Dena." He started to lead her toward their table.

  She smiled, too. "How's your foot?"

  "Next time I get you riled up, I'll make sure you're wearing sneakers."

  * * *

  After that crack about teaching Dena to dress, Gabe gave Andrea his undivided attention. He stared at her until she started to squirm.

  "Tell me," he said. "Have your parents ever heard about that little escapade on the golf course?"

  The lingering vestiges of her smirk faded away. Gabe knew the answer. The Pittmans didn't have a clue about that night, any more than his parents did. Bob and Gwen would have been horrified to learn that their precious teenage daughter had doggedly seduced their best friends' son when she was supposed to be making a favorable first impression on her future colleagues. Even now, they probably thought there were two or three discreet lovers in her past, tops.

  And Andrea wanted to keep it that way.

  "Are you threatening me?" That telltale flush crept up her throat.

  "I've had enough of your meddling," Gabe said. "It stops as of now."

  "Who the hell do you think you are?"

  "No more of your snide comments to Dena," Gabe said. "All the little jabs and innuendoes. You know what I'm talking about."

  "I never thought I'd see you lose your head like this over some—"

  "Don't say it," he warned. "I mean it, Andrea. Personally, I don't give a damn what you think of Dena. You don't have to like her. You do have to treat her with the courtesy and respect she deserves."

  Andrea glanced quickly around, and snapped, "You're as overbearing as your old man. What makes you think you can dictate to me?"

  "I'm under no illusions that your malevolence is motivated by jealousy. It's wounded pride, pure and simple. You just can't stand it that Dena wouldn't let you add Xanadu to your client roster. You shouldn't have tried it, Andrea. We discussed it."

  "You're bluffing." She stood and smoothed out her gown. "If you were going to blab about that night, you'd have done it long ago."

  He smiled. "Maybe I never had a reason."

  She shrugged. "And maybe I don't care who finds out about the golf course. That youthful folly happened a long time ago. If anything, it's an amusing anecdote. Who'd get excited about it at this late date?"

  Gabe laughed. "I can only pray you never bluff that clumsily in the courtroom."

  Andrea gave him what she no doubt considered a withering glare and hied herself off to the bar.

  Gabe suddenly realized "Strangers in the Night" had ended. The band was now playing "Isn't It Romantic?" He leaped to his feet and scanned the dance floor. Dena and his father were no longer on it. Someone tapped his shoulder and he spun around to find Dena standing there with Dad.

  Gabe was in no mood to mince words. He slid his arm protectively around Dena and looked his father in the eye. "Okay, what did you do to her?"

  Dad looked affronted. "I didn't do anything to her!"

  "You know what I mean." Gabe pulled the two of them a little farther from the nearest knot of people and growled, "I know you weren't making small talk about the weather. What did you say to her, Dad?"

  "What this young lady and I discussed is between us."

  "Don't give me that. I know how—"

  "May I say something?" Dena asked.

  "No. I know how you feel about her," Gabe told his father. "I wish it were different, and I hope someday you do feel differently, once you get to know her and find out what an incredible woman she is, but—"

  "This is not necessary," Dad said.

  "But," Gabe persisted, "ultimately it makes no difference to me how you feel about Dena. About us. Because I love her and I'm keeping her and you'll just have to get used to it."

  His father waited patiently for him to continue.

  Gabe was a little out of breath after his tirade. "That's all I have to say."

  Lucien gave a small nod to acknowledge his son's position. Then he said simply, "I don't approve."

  Gabe waited. "That's it?" he said at last. "You don't approve?"

  Dena said, "May I say something?"

  Distracted, Gabe waved her to silence. "Dad, I know you have more to say on the subject than that. Let's have it."

  "Will it make a difference?"

  "Hell no."

  "Then what would be the point?"

  Gabe turned his incredulous gaze on Dena. "What did you do to him?"

  She rolled her eyes.

  Dad examined one of his black patent-leather shoes. "Nothing that an ice bag and a dry martini won't cure."

  "What happened out there?" Gabe demanded.

  Dena appeared to give it some thought. "Let's just say your father and I have come to an understanding of sorts."

  "An understanding," Gabe parroted.

  Dad was looking at Dena with something akin to respect. Grudging respect, but respect nonetheless. "May I get you a drink, my dear?"

  "I'd better go with you," she told his father. "Looks like you've got a bit of a limp there."

  As Gabe watched them disappear through the crowd, he knew that fifty or sixty years with this remarkable woman wasn't going to be nearly enough.

  "Isn't It Romantic?" was winding down. He made his way across the dance floor, stepped onto the band's stage and asked the lead singer for the microphone. He faced the packed ballroom.

  "It has recently come to my attention," Gabe said into the mike, as conversation stilled and all eyes turned to him, "that certain partners and staff have been involved in illegal wagering on office property."

  He heard a few snickers.

  "The subject of this wagering is purported to be the matrimonial prospects of yours truly."

  This was met with sprinkled applause.

  Gabe placed a hand on his chest and affected an air of wounded dignity. "I'm told that people have been placing cash bets based on evidence that is circumstantial at best. Such evidence includes lapses in concentration, an uncharacteristic spring to my step, and what has been described as a—" he crooked his fingers to indicate quotation marks "—'sappy grin.'"

  The crowd's enthusiastic agreement turned to groans when Gabe added, "Also, I understand I've been humming 'It Had to Be You.'

  "As some of you have learned firsthand this evening, there is indeed a special lady in my life. Her name is Dena Devlin. Dena's a shy, unassuming little thing, but maybe, if we're very lucky, she'll come out here and say hi. Dena? How about it?"

  After a moment the crowd parted and Dena sailed through in all her striking, statuesque glory, as shy and unassuming as a parade float. The organza petals of her skirt billowed behind her as she strode into the clearing in front of the stage on which Gabe stood, with the twenty-piece band arrayed behind him. As she made her grand entrance, one of the saxophones launched into the first few bars of "It Had to Be You."

  A handful of guests did stare at Dena and murmur to one another, Gabe noticed, but most welcomed her with spirited applause. There were even one or two wolf whistles. For her part, she smiled and spread her arms in a well-here-I-am gesture, and the crowd went wild.

  Gabe held up his hand for quiet. Into the mike he said, "Dena, these folks want to know if you and I are getting married."

  There were several shouts of "Yeah!" and one Teutonic-sounding "ja!"

  Dena stepped onto the stage, with an assist from Gabe. She took the mike from his hand and they shared it. "I'd be happy to satisfy thei
r curiosity, Gabe, but I don't recall having been asked."

  Cries of "Ask her!" filled the ballroom.

  Gabe looked into her gorgeous green eyes. "Dena, will you marry me?"

  Gravely she shook her head. Gabe's heart sank like a lead weight until she said, "That's not how you ask."

  The male guests instructed him with shouts of "Do it right!" and "Get down on your knee!"

  Obediently Gabe went down on one knee. Behind him the band's drummer executed a drumroll. Dena held the microphone near his mouth.

  He clutched his heart. "Is this better?"

  "I'm waiting."

  "I don't have a ring."

  "Good. I'll pick out the biggest diamond I can find. Now, get on with it!"

  "Dena, my love, will you do me the honor of marrying me?"

  She answered with a jubilant, full-throated whoop that was probably heard in Boston, followed by, "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

  Then she was in his arms and the crowd was surging around them and the band was playing the most exuberant, discordant version of the wedding march he'd ever heard.

  Gabe held her tight and looked out over the ballroom. He spotted his parents. His mother was ecstatic, weeping happy tears, basking in the congratulations being bestowed on her. His father stood a little apart. He caught his son's eye and, after a moment, raised his martini glass in a silent toast.

  It wasn't much, but for Lucien Moreau, it was astounding. But then, Gabe doubted his old man had been prepared for the janitor's daughter all grown up.

  The crowd took up the chant of "Kiss her!" and Gabe complied, treating Dena to a toe-curling clinch that had the younger, less staid segment of their audience hooting in encouragement. Even the stodgier guests couldn't keep from smiling.

  Breathless, Dena looped her arms around his neck. "Remember when I said a kiss of yours is still just a kiss?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I lied."

  I was right, Gabe thought as he kissed that sexy lopsided grin off her face. Fifty or sixty years was definitely not going to be enough.

  * * * * *