“The one in the elevator.”
Rocco smiled. “That one.”
“I don’t suppose she was pleased to hear it?”
“I doubt it. She didn’t stick around.”
“What did you say to Amy?”
“I took her home and listened to her bitch the entire way.”
“Do you really think Jim is serious about this engagement and marriage?”
“It sure as hell sounded like it to me. I have no idea what Amy’s saying to them. She could be telling them anything. The little twit always was a first-class liar, starting in grade school. Her folks have always thought she’s pure as the driven snow—no drugs, hardly any booze, I’m not sure what they think about her sex life, but I doubt they understand the extent of it.”
Mary Beth wrinkled her nose. “I’ve never liked her, but then she was so much younger than I, I didn’t have much contact with her until . . . well—”
“I made the mistake of going out with her.”
“Yeah, that. She started calling me up, asking me about you. It was creepy. Like a stalker.”
“She likes to have her way. She’s been used to it. Both Marcy and Jim are buffaloed by this Miss-Goody-Two-Shoes persona she affects with them. Look, it doesn’t matter what I say or how I feel. She has her agenda and I’ve got to find a way out.”
“Because of this woman? Does she have a name you care to divulge?”
“I don’t know if it’s because of her. All I know is she’s on my mind twenty-four seven. Yeah, no shit, you can look at me like that. It’s a first.” He smiled. “Her name’s Chloe and she excites the hell out of me. Whatever that means.”
“You’re not calling this love.”
“Don’t ask me. What do you call your relationship with Doug?” His sister had been seeing a local senator who couldn’t leave his wife without jeopardizing his political career.
“If he ever leaves his wife, I might call it love,” Mary Beth said, her brows raised in skeptical arches.
“What if he doesn’t?”
She shrugged. “If he doesn’t, I’ll look around. Did I tell you I’m thinking about having a child?”
“Nooo. I would have remembered that. With him?”
She shook her head. “I was thinking about adopting or using a sperm bank. I still haven’t decided. I’m going to wait until we have everything up and running nicely here. And I don’t mean to put any added pressure on you. I can always go back to my job at Finnley and Katz. I’ve an open-ended offer. So if this venture flies or not isn’t as important to me . . . as, say, to Anthony.”
“I know. You and I are slightly more flexible—although if you’re talking about a child . . .”
“I can support myself, Rocco. Absolutely do not worry about me. You’ve got your hands full with Amy and her machinations.”
“I’m going to pass on our meeting with Jim tomorrow morning. Will you give him my excuses? Tell him I’m out of town checking on some buyers.”
“Were will you be?”
“Out of town, trying to get away from Amy. And trying to sort out this mess. I asked Chloe to give me some time to figure this all out.”
“Was she amenable?”
“She was until Amy started screaming. After that”—he grimaced—“fuck if I know.”
“Go up to the cabin.”
He nodded. “I was thinking of doing that.” Their grandparents had left them a cabin on Vermillion. “Do you know if Anthony’s going there this weekend?”
“I think Sylvie’s family is having a picnic.”
“Perfect.” Rocco smiled. “At least something’s going my way.”
SIXTEEN
GRACIE WAS THERE WHEN CHLOE ARRIVED at her parents’ house.
But then, Chloe was late.
“You’re late,” her father said from the easy chair he called his own—the one even the cat didn’t dare sleep in. “We’ve already had a martini.”
“Then make me one and I’ll try to catch up.”
Her father rose from his chair and went to the small bar they had in their living room and measured out a martini with the precision that made him the world’s most dependable bartender. He used lab beakers with the measurements in millimeters on the side and always held the container at eye level to make sure he was on the mark.
Chloe hugged her aunt and mother and took a chair in the bow window with the cat who was still living after twenty-seven years. Tiger had the markings of her namesake and the personality to match. Only certain people were allowed to touch her, although since she’d come to them the day Chloe was born, Chloe was one of the anointed few allowed that privilege.
Tiger hopped into her lap the moment she sat down.
“So tell me how rich you’re getting in your own business,” Gracie said with a smile. “We in the arts have no pretensions to make money, so I always view those who do with fascination.”
“I’m holding my own nicely. Perhaps I can pay off the mortgage on my building in three years, and my client list is increasing to the point where I might have to consider hiring a helper next year.”
“I’m impressed.”
“We’re all impressed,” her father said, handing Chloe a martini. “Lizzie most of all, who didn’t think our baby girl could get a client with her pink hair.”
“I never said that, Harold.”
He gave her a narrowed look and a grin.
“What I said, was some business managers might look askance at a woman with pink hair. Some and might, Harold. It was no more than a mother’s concern.”
“They don’t care, Mom, as long as the product works for them. They’re not buying me, they’re buying my talent.”
“And didn’t you always get such good, good grades in college,” her mother said proudly.
“I had to, Mom, or you wouldn’t pay me,” Chloe teased.
“We never did. Harold, tell Grace, Chloe’s joking. Grace, really, I don’t know where the child gets her sense of humor.” Chloe’s mother worked part-time as a social worker; she saw enough misery and poverty and lack of opportunity to be more proud than most of her daughter’s accomplishments. And even though she’d never understood her daughter’s blatantly arty lifestyle, she took most of it with as much grace as a practical person could.
“She gets her sense of humor from our grandfather, who was the world’s most persistent practical joker. Remember, Harold? You’d hardly dare shake his hand for fear of something going off. So how’s your love life, Chloe?” Gracie said with a grin.
“I thought we were here to discuss yours,” Chloe replied with an answering grin.
“Chloe! For heaven’s sake,” her mother protested. “Are you drunk? Harold, do not make her another drink.”
“It’s perfectly fine, Lizzie. I’m perfectly fine. The pool boy is perfectly fine, and he’s not a boy at all. He’s twenty-six, finishing up his doctorate and working at the club for the summer to make some money.”
“He’s still too young for you, Grace. Tell her he’s too young, Harold.”
“The last time I told Grace what to do, she left the country and didn’t come back for seven years.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Harold. Father was the real culprit. He threatened to put me in a nunnery.”
Her father looked at his sister over his martini glass. “Are there any convents left?”
“There were a few at the time. And Lizzie, you needn’t be concerned that I’m embarrassing the family, because young Tom is sleeping with any number of women at the club. So there’s embarrassment enough to go around. Would you like me to name names?” She grinned. “You might be surprised.”
“For heaven’s sake, no. How could I look those women in the eye if I knew?”
“He’s just a bit of fun for me. Nothing serious. So don’t be alarmed.”
Elizabeth Chisholm exhaled loudly. “I don’t know whether to be relieved or not. Does the club steward know?”
“I certainly hope not. His . . . well
, enough said on that score. But I’m afraid there would be a great outcry from a number of women if Tom were to leave before the end of the summer.”
“Well . . . I never,” Chloe’s mother exclaimed. “And it’s not as though I don’t understand the ways of the world. In my profession one sees it all, but”—she waved her hand ineffectually—“it’s just a little surprising, that’s all.”
“But no big deal, Mom. Really.”
“I must be getting very old-fashioned.”
“That’s okay, Lizzie,” her father said. “Old-fashioned suits me just fine. Please don’t ever come home with a motorcycle or a yen to travel the world and tell me you have to find yourself.”
“Why would I ever do that, Harold?”
Chloe liked the warm smile that passed between her parents. Home was always safe and secure. It was nice that some things never changed.
She and Gracie exchanged smiles, too. Their smiles were different; they had always had an understanding about a world where one took chances from time to time.
But both worlds were good.
After dinner, Chloe and Gracie had a chance to talk privately when Chloe’s parents cleared the table together like they always did and loaded the dishwasher before Chloe’s father brought out his twenty-five-year-old Dalwhinnie.
“So tell me about this new stud at the club,” Chloe murmured.
“He’s nice, he’s good in bed, he’s so busy pleasing his harem he’s not demanding. I can’t complain about a thing.”
“Is he really sleeping with, like, tons of women?”
“Sort of.”
“You don’t mind?”
“It’s just sex, darling. Why should I mind?”
“Is he really sleeping with Charlie Mercer’s wife?” Charlie was the club steward.
“ ’Fraid so. That one’s a bit more dicey than the others, but Heather won’t take no for an answer. She threatened to have him fired if he didn’t. Another little blonde prima donna did as well. So it’s not all fun and games for poor Tom.”
The words blonde prima donna set up a very loud ringing of bells in Chloe’s head. Nah. It couldn’t be. The Thiebauds didn’t belong to the club. She shouldn’t even ask. It was ridiculous. “Was the blonde prima donna Amy Thiebaud?” So much for reason and constraint.
“How did you know?”
“Unlucky guess,” she muttered. “How the hell did she cross Tom’s path?”
“She came to play tennis with some friends and zeroed in on him like a heat-seeking missile, apparently. How do you know her?”
“I’ve had a few run-ins with her lately. She really threatened to have this Tom fellow fired?”
“She has a temper, he says. Apparently she’s a randy little tart, busy sleeping around with just about everyone.”
“Really.” Chloe’s mouth set in a grim line. Not having sex with her, Rocco said. How likely was that with his reputation and little Amy’s propensity for fucking?
“She’s affecting you in some way?”
“Nothing serious,” Chloe said with a feigned calmness.
“That’s just as well from what I’ve heard about her. She’s not someone to be trifled with, according to Tom.” Gracie smiled. “I shouldn’t be telling tales out of school, but she likes to give orders in bed, and kinky suits her best—handcuffs, leather, that sort of thing.”
“Jesus.” It just came out; she couldn’t help it. Kinky? Fuck. So much for her fantasy world centered around Rocco Vinelli. She could kiss that dream good-bye.
“She knows someone you know?” Gracie didn’t have to be prescient to recognize Chloe’s ashen face.
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Someone you care about?”
“I don’t know—probably. Nah—not really. I’m just surprised about all this with Amy. I just found out Rocco’s engaged to her.” She grimaced. “The guy’s one smooth talker.”
“When you’ve reached my age, darling,” Gracie said with a commiserating smile, “you’ll find out that most men are smooth talkers. Just don’t expect too much and you won’t get hurt.”
“Good advice,” Chloe said softly. “Thanks.”
SEVENTEEN
ROCCO WAS SITTING ON THE DOCK AT LAKE Vermillion, smoking a spliff, drinking a beer and trying to figure out how to get himself out of Amy hell. It was a perfect summer day, the sky cloudless blue, the sun warm but not too warm, the lake like a mirror. He’d gotten there late the night before and it was mid-afternoon on Saturday and he was no more near to a solution to his problem than he’d been before.
It was a no go, getting that square peg into that round hole no matter how he tried to wedge it in. He’d reached the stage where he was thinking about staying up here the rest of his life and fishing for a living.
The cordless phone rang.
Paranoid, he checked the caller ID. He wasn’t taking any phone calls from Amy. He smiled when he saw the name and hit the button. “Howzit goin’?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Steve said. “How’s the lake?”
“Great. Peaceful. How did you know I was here?”
“I tried your house. No luck. I thought I’d give the cabin a try, seeing how it’s the height of the summer. Got any news?”
“Not much. The factory’s firing up. We’re pleased about that. I saw your folks the other night. Your dad’s helping us out, you know.”
“Yeah. I heard. Good.”
“So are you coming home this summer?”
“I don’t know. I might if there’s reason. Anything you can think of might bring me home . . . some occasion?” Steve’s voice had taken on a teasing tone.
The hair on the back of Rocco’s neck began to rise. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Amy called me.”
“Yeah?” Rocco tossed his spliff into the water and sat up straight.
“She told me you two were engaged.”
“She’s psycho.”
“I know, that’s why I thought I’d better check it out with you. She’s got big plans. Just a warning.”
“I’m up at the lake to get away from her. She’s driving me nuts.”
“That’s the Amy we all know and love,” Steve said sardonically. “I wish you luck.”
“I’m going to need more than luck. Apparently she’s feeding your folks some crap about us. Your dad made some pretty pointed allusions to son-in-laws when I saw him a couple of nights ago.”
“If I could talk to my dad without the conversation turning into a shouting match, I’d say I could try and give you a hand. But my interference won’t be much help.”
“Thanks. I’ll manage. So how’s the job going out there? I always see your name on the credits after the games. Impressive, dude. Are the ladies keeping you busy?”
“I’m sort of dating someone.”
“Sounds serious.”
“Could be. We’ll see.”
“Is she from out there?”
“San Francisco.”
“Hey, your mom mentioned a girl from San Francisco.”
“I told Mom about her. Anyway, Sarah’s keeping me home at night.”
“No more Playboy babes?”
“Nah. You go through a phase. I suppose you’re still turning the ladies away.” Rocco had always been a magnet for women.
“One in particular,” Rocco muttered.
Steve laughed. “Tell Amy she has to go and get a job if you marry her. That will scare her off.”
“I wish. I’m sure she could probably talk your parents into some suitable alternative. And I met someone, too—so Amy’s more of a pain in the ass than usual.”
“No shit. I figured you’d be the last one to give up bachelorhood. Who is she?”
“Her name’s Chloe and she’s hotter than hot.”
“And?” That wasn’t a new style of woman for Rocco.
“And she’s on my mind—a lot.”
“Bring her out to L.A. sometime. We’ll go clubbing together. Sarah k
nows everyone. She helps produce the entertainment news for Fox.”
“Maybe later—if she’s still talking to me after this Amy fiasco. Your sister screamed at Chloe the last time I was with her.”
“You used to do a better job of keeping the ladies in separate rooms.”
“Your sister’s not normal.”
“True. Do you want me to talk to my mom?”
“Not yet. If I can’t find a way out, I’ll consider it.”
“Hang in there, buddy.”
“That’s my plan. Thanks for calling.”
“I figured you needed a head’s up. I haven’t believed anything Amy’s said since—well . . . since never. See ya.”
“Yeah.”
Rocco set the phone down and lighted up another spliff to block out the huge black cloud of unease coming his way. That was one fucking ominous head’s up.
Lord—all he wanted to do was call Chloe, tell her to come on up and well . . . maybe do a few other things too, come to think of it.
But, dammit, he couldn’t. Not until Amy was off his back.
EIGHTEEN
CHLOE SPENT SATURDAY WORKING. TESS and Rosie weren’t home. She’d tried calling them a dozen times. So much for friends in need. It was a gorgeous summer weekend and everyone who walked by her office windows seemed to be hand in hand or pushing a baby stroller while smiling at their significant other or with a friend—roller blading, running, bicycling, carrying a picnic basket. She was the only sad, solitary, significant other–less woman in the entire city.
She could have gone to Chino’s and hung out. Their terrace looked out over the city and was always packed on a Saturday afternoon, and that cute bartender who’d been giving her the eye would be available, she knew. He looked like Colin Farrell. How good was that? But her recalcitrant libido decided it was only interested in Visnjic types this weekend, and there her libido sat—unbudgeable.
It was shocking, really . . . her inability to get past wanting a man who slept with everyone including kinky little heiresses and lied and cheated and in general was the playboy of the western world. Every reasonable brain cell understood that Rocco Vinelli was not the kind of man to get involved with—let alone crave.
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