by Aimee Carson
So did the smile Paulo flashed her.
Alyssa watched the exchange with awe. Paulo lived in a world where people were happy to give him what he wanted. Where a respected name and oodles of money opened doors closed to others. The complete inverse of her world.
Her history slammed doors firmly in her face. Did she have the nerve to share the complete unvarnished truth?
Tension filled her body as the hostess led them to a table with a spectacular view of skyscrapers, the lights of Miami blazing against the night sky. Nestled in the corner, their secluded location detracted from the safety of a restaurant full of people. Paulo held out her chair, his fingers brushing her shoulder as she took her seat.
The scorching feel of Paulo’s skin stung her nerves, and her concentration faltered. After lacing her fingers in her lap, she drew in a breath to psych herself up while he sat down and placed their drink order.
When the hostess left, Paulo settled back. One corner of his lips lifted. “I recognize that expression on your face.”
Unless he’d seen her being led before a firing squad, she was pretty sure he didn’t.
She’d spent a long time preparing for—and dreading—this conversation. Wondering how honest she should be. But they could sit here until kingdom come, and she still wouldn’t be ready.
And then his half-smile turned into a full one, tripping up her focus. Dark hair framed the square-cut features and slash of eyebrows. But, as usual, it was the speckled milk-chocolate eyes that held her attention. Or maybe it was the sexy curve of his mouth?
“You have that determined look on your face again.” He crossed his arms, and his shirt stretched across broad shoulders, blitzing her last coherent thought. “All I want from you is the truth.”
The truth. Well, there was a mood killer. And he had no idea what he was asking.
She dropped her gaze to the table, her voice soft. “Sometimes it’s uglier than you think.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
The outright confidence in his voice brought her gaze back to his. “That just proves how much you don’t know.”
“I’m a big boy.” He looked so relaxed. So at ease with his request. Totally clueless as to what he was letting himself in for. “I’m sure I can deal with whatever you have to tell me.”
“Can you?” She laid her hands flat on the table and leaned forward, looking at Paulo with total concentration. “What if the reality of my life is more truth than you can handle?”
“Alyssa,” he said dryly, a faint look of amusement on his face. “Your life isn’t a remake of A Few Good Men. There’s nothing you can tell me that I can’t handle.”
“I was six years old the first time I helped my mother steal a box of cereal.”
The humorous glint was doused from his eyes and his body went still.
Little did he know she was just getting started. Alyssa met his gaze, realizing if she looked away her courage would falter. She supposed she could have eased into that statement, but his absolute faith in his capacity to understand had finally pushed her over the edge.
And there was nothing like jumping in with both feet. Because then there was no changing your mind.
But, boy, the cold shock to the system was more effective than five iced lattes.
As they stared at each other the waiter appeared, placing their drinks on the table. Without sparing him a glance, Paulo ordered the special for them both, and the man retreated again, leaving them alone. Alyssa held his gaze as she took a sip of her mojito. The fresh mint, lime and rum were refreshing, and the alcohol warmed her stomach, relaxing her a touch.
Which could only help—because this went beyond the professional. Beyond his belief in her ability to do her job. And when had his personal opinion come to mean so much?
Her stomach did a sickening slow roll, but she forged ahead. There was no backing out now. “It was ridiculously easy, you know,” she said. “I snuck out with the box under my sweater while my mother distracted the clerk. And who would ever suspect a kindergartner as an accomplice?” Her lips twisted wryly. “Of course, considering it was eighty degrees outside, the sweater should have been a red flag.”
After a long pause, his face stunned, he said quietly, “You were so young.”
“Yes. I was.”
He picked up his drink with a frown. “How often did you have to do that?”
Alyssa scrunched up her face at the impossible question. She was digging herself deeper and deeper into a gaping pit. “Whenever the money ran out before our month did. Which was frequent when I was little, but dwindled to a rarity by the time I started high school.”
Paulo seemed to recover from the initial shock, and with a muttered curse he plopped his glass down. “I can’t believe your mother taught you how.”
His defense of her wasn’t a surprise. But it also wasn’t fair.
“My mom is…” Alyssa shifted her gaze to the window, looking beyond the lights to the black sky above “…frequently frustrating, often intentionally obtuse, and occasionally incomprehensible.” She let out a little huff of surrender. The description really didn’t do her mother justice. “When I was in second grade I found this pretty little notebook with a beagle on it. I loved it, and I needed one for school. But of course we had no money. So I took it.” She gave an apologetic shrug at the words. Good grief, no wonder he had that expression on his face. “My mom made me take it back.”
Paulo looked dumbfounded. “So stealing cereal was okay but a notebook wasn’t?”
“Welcome to the world of my mother.” With a sigh, Alyssa leaned back. All of his judgment seemed directed at her mom. How could she explain the unexplainable? “She had a very definite idea of what was allowed and what wasn’t. Cereal or a jar of peanut butter was fine. Potato chips and soda were out. Which would lead one to assume it was based on nutritional content, except an occasional candy bar was okay—but only if it was chocolate.” Knowing it didn’t make sense, she sent him a weak smile. “I never could figure out her logic. Then again—” she slowly shook her head “—I often still can’t.”
“Faulty logic.” Brows furrowed, as if struggling to comprehend, he went on. “She taught a kindergartner it was okay to steal.”
“When I was born, my mother was fourteen…” Alyssa leaned forward again, scanning his eyes. “Fourteen. A runaway foster kid who had absolutely no trust in the social welfare system. She did what she had to do to survive.”
“Refusing to accept government help wasn’t fair to you.”
“At first she was afraid they’d take me away. After a while, the way of life became a trap.”
Paulo shook his head, his hair falling across his forehead. He pushed it back, looking unconvinced. “I appreciate your loyalty to your mother. And I also realize that I have no comparable experience to draw from, but—”
“That’s right,” she interjected in a low voice. “Unless you’ve gone to bed hungry, you don’t.” She refused to soften her gaze. Or reduce the strength in her tone. “Judgment is easy from a comfortable, cushy distance.”
They stared at each other, and the galaxy of differences between them expanded to include a new solar system. He couldn’t understand. It was too much to ask of anyone. Which was why she never had. Until now. She rubbed her forehead, trying to remember why.
“So what changed?” Paulo said.
She pushed aside the doubt. “Ironically enough, it was my arrest in high school.” She propped her elbows on the table. “With the money from my catering job, suddenly we didn’t have to choose between eating and paying the electric bill anymore. And that was it. My mother declared stealing was no longer allowed and—boom.” She spread out her hands. “We were done. And from then on, as far as she was concerned, we have always been law-abiding citizens.” And her mother had avoided all conversations on the matter since.
Even when Alyssa had slipped up again.
Damn.
With trembling fingers, she reached for her drink, the g
uilt eating at her. “We were both ready to put it all behind us, and my catering job was the way out.”
“Was that what college was? A way out?”
The queasy feeling returned, and she abandoned her glass. “Yes. I thought after two years of clean living, good grades in high school and working hard at my job I was ready to take on Osten College.” Her lips twisted wryly as she laid her cheek against her palm. “Even now, I’m still amazed at my own stupidity.”
Frustration carved on his face, he leaned forward, his eyes boring into hers. A prickle of shock and awareness skittered down her spine, dispersing her thoughts. She fought to control the rate of her heart and her breathing as he spoke.
“I don’t get it. You have so many choices as an event planner.” His face full of doubt, he said, “Why would you choose to work with the class of society you fear?”
Jeez, what a hopelessly loaded question.
Struggling to cover the emotion, she dropped her gaze to her hand, trailing a trembling finger on the tablecloth. “I’m not afraid of them, really. I just…” Her voice died. She opened her mouth to try again, but nothing came out. She knew she needed to go on, but was unsure how to finish the story. After deliberating for hours, she still didn’t know.
How could she explain she wasn’t worried about being exposed to their ridicule again? The ultra-wealthy of the world only served as a reminder that her ultimate humiliation was due to her own failure. Her weakness.
Up until now, his skepticism had been directed at her mother. Alyssa gripped the napkin in her lap. All in defense of her. But what about when he learned what she’d done in college? Would he lose all respect for her? There would be no more outrage on her behalf, for sure. And any illusion he had of her innocence would be killed cold. Tears pricked the back of her lids, and she turned her face to the window.
God, was she destined to be stuck in this spiral of shame forever?
“Paulo,” a feminine voice called out.
With a colossal sense of relief at the interruption, Alyssa turned to see an elegant redhead approach. In a strapless black dress, she had her arm wrapped around the elbow of a man who seemed vaguely familiar, a massive diamond ring on her finger. “I stopped by the Samba this afternoon to invite you over for dinner, but your reception clerk told me you were out.” Her smile was so bright Alyssa thought she would go blind from the flash of white. “Fortunately she was kind enough to tell me about your plans to dine here with Ms. Hunt.”
When Alyssa pivoted her gaze to Paulo, the look on his face put an end to her relief at the interruption. If his expression and the white-knuckled grip on his glass were any indication, this would be no pleasant interlude.
Paulo’s voice was soft, but his face was hard. “What are you up to, Bianca?”
The name came from the blue and blindsided Alyssa, knocking the breath from her lungs.
Bianca. Paulo’s ex-wife.
Which meant the man looked familiar because he was Paulo’s brother. Though he was sporting a gorgeous black suit, and his dark hair was cropped short, he was as tall as Paulo, with a matching bitter expression to boot.
Either she didn’t notice, or didn’t care, but Bianca’s face didn’t register Paulo’s terse manner as she glibly pressed on. “I thought Marcos and I could join you for a drink.” The redhead turned to Alyssa. “I was hoping to get these stubborn men together to discuss the money Paulo’s father left him. You don’t mind if we join you for a moment, do you?”
Alyssa’s mind scrambled for a diplomatic response, but Bianca didn’t wait, reaching to pull out a chair.
Paulo didn’t bother with diplomacy. “I mind.” His words stopped the woman cold. And, though he was talking to his ex-wife, his gaze was fixed on his brother. “I will not pretend we’re a happy family sharing a pre-dinner drink.”
A flicker of annoyance came and went in Bianca’s eyes. The tension upgraded from uncomfortable to stifling, triggering a pause that ground out the seconds into a sci-fi-worthy time warp that lasted forever. Alyssa shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her gaze moving from Bianca, to Paulo, and then to his brother.
Marcos’s expression was one step away from pure stone. “This is a waste of time, Bianca.” The man said nothing to his brother. “He won’t discuss the trust.”
The woman turned to her husband, still oddly upbeat. “I’m sure Paulo will be reasonable.”
“No, I won’t.” And without further explanation Paulo stood. “So, if you’ll excuse us, Alyssa and I will be leaving.”
Bianca’s shiny veneer cracked, her desperation oozing to the surface, while Marcos’s face took the final step, taking on a look of granite. But at least he was finally acknowledging his brother’s presence, even if it was with a glare.
Paulo tossed a thick wad of money on the table and shot Marcos a smile laced with sarcasm. “Enjoy the meal. And give our regards to the waiter.”
Desperate to escape the unhappy atmosphere, Alyssa began to stand, but stopped when Bianca touched her arm. “I believe we have an acquaintance in common, Alyssa.” Her rediscovered smile would have done Malibu Barbie proud.
What a piece of work. How could she stand there and pretend everything was fine?
Bianca went on. “At the South Beach Historic Society’s luncheon yesterday I ran into Tessa Harrison. We were discussing the wonderful newspaper article about the Meyer reception when your name came up.”
The blood in Alyssa’s face made a beeline for her toes; it was a good thing she was still sitting or she might have collapsed. No doubt Tessa Harrison had gleefully described Alyssa’s arrest. And as her heart rate slowed, each beat growing more forceful than the last, she was sure the thudding vibration would shake the table.
“I have a party I’m planning at the country club.” Bianca pulled a business card from her clutch purse and held it out to Alyssa. “I could use some expert advice. Perhaps you could call me sometime to discuss it?”
Acting purely on protocol, Alyssa accepted the card and discreetly removed her arm from the woman’s hand. She rose from the table. “Perhaps,” she said vaguely. Right about the time she sprouted wings and learned to fly. With a tight smile, she gave a polite nod. “Enjoy your dinner.”
Paulo took her arm and steered her toward the elevator. Alyssa trudged along, grateful to escape but still mortified and unable to focus.
“You’ve lost every ounce of color in your face,” he said. After coming to a stop at the door, Paulo pushed the down button, staring at her with a frown. “I’m the first to admit my family is hellaciously unpleasant, but why would the mere mention of Tessa Harrison upset you so much?” With a muted ding, the doors slid open and Paulo led her inside.
Alyssa leaned weakly against the glass wall, ignoring the lights of Miami as the elevator began its descent down the side of the building. Maybe the bottom would swallow her up and ferry her directly to hell. That would be fitting.
“It’s nothing,” she said, avoiding his gaze.
“You’re a lousy liar. You look like you’ve run into a ghost.” He gently turned her face to meet his gaze, his eyes troubled. “What are you not telling me, Alyssa?”
She pulled her chin away and dropped her head back against the wall, exhausted from the encounter. She guessed the decision of how to finish the story had just been made for her. “Osten, the college that was supposed to save my reputation, kicked me out.”
“You were expelled?” When she nodded, there was a pause before he asked the inescapable question. “Why?”
She slowly rolled her head along the wall to meet his gaze. “Because I got arrested again.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“DRINK this,” Paulo said, breaking the silence.
He held out one of the two tumblers of bourbon in his hands and waited. As Alyssa sat on his living room couch, head resting against the back, eyes closed, he grew concerned by the lack of response. She hadn’t said a word since the elevator. After her stunning declaration, he’d silently hustled her
to the limousine, because Alyssa looked too strung out for questions.
Her face was white. Lips devoid of color. The circles under her eyes so well defined his gut clenched reflexively at the sight, a twinge pinching his chest.
It was damn disturbing.
But one glance at her and there had been no question he would bring her to his home. He didn’t care about the run-in with his duplicitous brother and his ex-wife. Could even put aside hearing about the trust again. Everything was overpowered by the need to ease Alyssa’s pain.
Finally, she sent him a weary expression and accepted the drink. “Aren’t you tired of watching me fall apart and then shoving refreshments in my hand?”
Though relieved she’d recovered enough to speak, he watched to make sure she took a sip. He should have fed her first, but he suspected they both needed a bit of false courage.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” she said.
“I’m waiting for you to tell me what happened.”
“I thought I already did.”
He hated how she looked. Vulnerable. Defeated. As if someone had pulled the plug on her sassiness, sucking her spirit down the drain. The need to see the spunk return was fierce. Some color in her face wouldn’t hurt either.
As he took a seat his hip brushed hers, sending a firestorm of signals that lit the deep, dark depths of his body. It wasn’t a planned move, but Alyssa’s cheeks turned pink. While that was a good thing, he pushed his need for her aside.
Now was not the time for a sensual road trip.
He fortified his resolve with a sip of bourbon. “You told me the beginning and the end. I want to hear the middle.”
Staring at the drink in her hand, she rubbed her fingers along the glass, as if gathering her thoughts. It was a full minute before she spoke.
