Praise for SUSAN MALLERY
whose “prose is luscious and provocative”
(Publishers Weekly)
and her acclaimed women’s fiction debut
SUNSET BAY
“This heartwarming novel… perfectly shows off Mallery’s beautiful writing. It will evoke emotions from tears to laughter.”
—Romantic Times
“Mallery skillfully conducts an intense emotional
journey… in this richly textured, poignant tale.”
—Booklist
“Spellbinding, perceptive, absorbing, and simply breathtaking.”
—Single Titles
“Susan Mallery has unequivocally amazed and impressed me with the power, passion, and emotional writing in Sunset Bay… a MUST-READ.” (A Perfect 10)
—Romance Reviews Today
“An exceptional tale, and one you won’t want to miss.”
—ReaderToReader
“A book that simply refused to let me set it aside.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Ms. Mallery has created an enchanting story.… The humor and heart-piercing emotions throughout the tale make for a lively read.”
—Fallen Angel Reviews
Also by Susan Mallery
From Pocket Books
Sunset Bay
The Marcelli Princess
The Marcelli Bride
The Sparkling One
The Seductive One
The Sassy One
Married for a Month
Sweet Success
Pocket Star Books
A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
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New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events
or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2010 by Susan Macias Redmond
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or
portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address
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First Pocket Star Books paperback edition October 2010
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Designed by Jill Putorti
Cover design by Lisa Litwack. Illustration by Tom Hallman.
Manufactured in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
ISBN 978-1-4165-6718-9
ISBN 978-1-4165-6728-8 (ebook)
The
Best of Friends
Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
The Best of Friends Discussion Guide
One
“No gold-digging for me… I take diamonds! We may be off the gold standard someday.”
—Mae West
THERE WERE TWO TYPES of people, Jayne Scott told herself as she hurried from the waiting car toward the international terminal at the Los Angeles airport. Those who skated through life never spilling coffee on themselves, or tripping, or showing up at the wrong time for the wrong event. And the rest of the world. As she dabbed at the growing damp spot on her shirt, left by her grande nonfat latte, Jayne knew exactly into which camp she fell.
She scanned the crowded arrivals area, ignoring the dozens of different languages, the happy families reuniting, the couples in love. Instead, she looked for a tall, beautiful blonde with an excessive amount of luggage and a half dozen or so minions. Seconds later she spotted two porters with overflowing luggage carts, a burly guy with a briefcase chained to his wrist, and a head-turning woman wearing leather pants and a leopard duster. Rebecca always did like to make an entrance.
Jayne waited until her friend spotted her, then waved.
“I’m late,” Rebecca called, then hurried forward and hugged her. “I got stuck in customs. They thought I was a jewel thief. Don’t you love that?”
“Anyone offer to do a strip search?” Jayne asked, hugging her back and inhaling a custom-blended floral perfume.
Rebecca straightened and wrinkled her nose. “No, and I didn’t want anyone to.”
“No one cute enough?”
“Pretty much. Jayne, this is Hans, my bodyguard.”
The burly guy barely made eye contact before returning to scanning the crowd.
Jayne glanced at the briefcase in his hand. “You couldn’t use a courier service like everyone else?” she asked, leading the way to the waiting limo. “You had to bring them yourself?”
“That’s what the customs people said. They lack imagination.”
“Or maybe they were overwhelmed by seeing a couple million in loose gemstones.”
“I’m a jewelry designer. It’s what I do.”
“If you were a ship builder, would you travel with a three-ton hull?”
“Of course not. Ships are so last year,” Rebecca said, linking arms with Jayne. “Thanks for coming to meet me. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.”
They walked out to the waiting limo that Jayne had arranged. She’d known better than to bring her own car. Not only did Rebecca prefer to travel in style, there was no way all the luggage would fit in Jayne’s Jetta.
Rebecca stared at the vehicle with approval. “It’s a stretch limo.”
“I know you love them.”
“Wait until you see the place I rented in Santa Monica! It has a view of the ocean and everything. I’ll have to get a car, of course. Everyone needs a car in L.A.”
“You could just hire the limo permanently. It could go with you everywhere.”
Rebecca slid in the backseat, then looked up at her. “Now you’re mocking me.”
“I can’t help myself.” Jayne settled next to her. “Do you want to talk about your mother now or later?”
“How about never?”
“She’s the reason you’re back.”
“I’ve returned to announce myself,” Rebecca said, leaning back in the leather seat. “To reintroduce myself to society after a ten-year absence.”
“You’re here to be a pain in her ass.”
“That, too.”
“Rearranging your life to annoy your mother is expected at thirteen. At twenty-nine it’s just kind of sad.”
Rebecca turned to her. “Tragedy keeps my art fresh.”
“I see you’re still dramatic.”
“I see you’re still dressing badly.”
Jayne glanced down at the faded magenta scrub shirt she wore, now d
ecorated by the latte stain. “I came straight from work.”
“Maybe something more tailored?”
“I’m a nurse, Rebecca. This is what I wear.”
Rebecca gave a little sniff, then pulled a bottle of water out of her carry-on.
She was the only person Jayne knew who could fly from Italy to L.A. and look ready to step into a photo shoot. Carefully highlighted blond hair hung past her shoulders in layered curls. Her skin was flawless, her lips full, and gold-and-diamond earrings, her own design, glittered as she moved.
Hans finished supervising the luggage being loaded into the trunk, then walked to the front passenger seat and slid in next to the driver.
“What about a workspace?” Jayne asked. “You’re not going to be making jewelry at the condo you rented, are you?”
Rebecca laughed. “I think the landlord would object to me melting gold in my living room. I’m going to look at a place in an industrial park.”
“You’re not the industrial-park type.”
“People grow and change, Jayne. I have.”
Jayne ignored the smug smile. “Is this where I remind you that you’re back in L.A. to piss off your mother?”
“Not if you love me. Speaking of the socially correct Mrs. Worden, how is Elizabeth?”
“Stuck in France.”
Rebecca raised her eyebrows. “Seriously? Did the private jet develop mechanical trouble? Are my parents being forced to fly commercial?”
“Nothing that dramatic. There’s fog. She and Blaine are delayed a few hours.” Jayne glanced at her watch. “Which means I asked the driver to drop me off at my place. I need to head to your parents’ house.”
“Why?”
“I have to open it up for David.”
Jayne was careful to keep looking at Rebecca as she spoke. Her friend might be self-absorbed, but she wasn’t stupid. Still, after nearly twelve years of keeping her secret, Jayne was an expert at making sure nothing ever showed.
It was foolish, really. One of those freak things that happen every now and then—like plane-grounding fog in France. Twelve years ago, at the age of sixteen, Jayne had gone on vacation with the Worden family. They’d spent the holidays at an exclusive resort in the Bahamas. The hotel had been fabulous, the weather perfect, but what Jayne remembered most was how she’d taken one look at David, Rebecca’s older brother, and fallen madly and completely in love.
Well, as completely as a sixteen-year-old could.
Since then, she’d seen him every couple of years. The conversations had been casual and friendly. Siblinglike. Because that’s how David saw her. As a sister.
Having him ignore her would have been better. At least then she could have held on to the fantasy that one day he would look up, finally notice her, and utter the classic, “Ms. Scott, you’re beautiful.” He didn’t even need to think she was beautiful, although it would be a nice little bonus. But no, he thought of her as a sister.
She’d overheard the damning truth about eight years ago, at a lovely Worden Christmas celebration. The tasteful party had included a few hundred of Elizabeth and Blaine’s closest friends. David had flown home, and Jayne had been all quivery at the thought of seeing him again.
She’d been supervising the catering staff, checking that everyone had enough stuffed puffs or caviar when she’d heard David’s girlfriend du jour asking who Jayne was.
“A friend of the family,” he said easily. “Has been for years. She’s nice. Sort of a second sister, without being a pain in the ass.”
And that had been that.
She’d consoled herself with the knowledge that at least he’d had good things to say about her. While “not a pain in the ass” wasn’t anything she wanted on her tombstone, it was nice. In a dismissive, I’ve-barely-noticed-you kind of way.
Now in the back of the limo, she reminded herself it was better this way. It was one thing for her to be friends with Rebecca and an unpaid part-time assistant to Elizabeth. It was quite another to get involved with the heir… or, as Rebecca loved to call him, the “young prince.”
Over time Jayne had accepted that her feelings were little more than an intense crush. But knowing they were irrational, and based on nothing but her personal vision of what she wanted David to be, didn’t make her knees tremble any less when he was around.
“Carmine can do it,” Rebecca said.
Carmine was the Wordens’ housekeeper.
“Carmine is visiting her daughter in Chicago.”
“Let me guess… Mother called and asked for your help.”
“A few hours ago. She had planned to be back this morning, but fate intervened.”
“You’re choosing her over me?”
“On nearly a daily basis.”
Rebecca pouted. “You’re my best friend. You can’t do what she says. You have to take my side.”
“It’s an hour,” Jayne said calmly, used to Rebecca’s tantrums and mostly immune to the guilt. “I’ll be by later. Besides, if I don’t do what Elizabeth asks, she’ll want to know why. If she starts asking questions, she might find out you’re back before you want her to.”
“I hate it when you use logic on me.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Fine. Go be dutiful. One of us should be. It’s a family thing.”
Jayne didn’t bother pointing out she wasn’t family. Not in any way that mattered, at least from their perspective. From hers, the Wordens were the closest thing she had to relatives, which made her relationship with all of them complicated.
The driver pulled off the freeway. Rebecca looked out the window. “You still live in your condo?”
“We can’t all have a villa in Milan.”
“It wasn’t a villa, exactly.”
Jayne had seen Rebecca’s Italian house a few times. It was pretty damned fabulous, with seventeenth-century tile and the original stained-glass windows. “It was amazing.”
Rebecca shrugged. “I never did learn enough Italian to fit in with the locals. Your place is nice. Homey.”
“I like it.” The condo was close to work, affordable, and a safe haven from the craziness of the Worden world.
The limo pulled up in front of the multistory building. Before opening the door, Jayne hugged her friend. “I’ll be by later.”
Rebecca nodded. “You have the address?”
“You e-mailed it to me about forty times.”
“We’ll have dinner?”
“Yes, and drink wine and tell lies about boys. Here.” Jayne pulled the current issue of OK! magazine out of her handbag. “I bought this for you.”
Rebecca took it and hugged her. “You’re so sweet. All I brought you is a pair of earrings I made.”
Which was why, after all this time, they were still friends, Jayne thought, knowing that in Rebecca’s mind, the cheap magazine and the no-doubt-fabulously-expensive earrings were on par. Because she and Rebecca were freakishly addicted to celebrity gossip, and the magazine showed Jayne cared.
“I’ll see you later,” Jayne said, hugging her. “Welcome home.”
“Rearrange the pictures on the mantel,” Rebecca called after her. “It will make my mother crazy.”
“If I have time.”
Jayne waved, then hurried to her condo in the back of the building. She had less than an hour to shower, change, and get over to the Worden house in Beverly Hills. While she’d been willing to pick up Rebecca in her scrubs, her crush was powerful enough that she wasn’t willing to face David in shapeless hospital wear and no makeup.
She raced to unlock the front door and stepped inside. Bright light flooded the spacious room where her comfy IKEA sofa acted as a divider between the living and eating areas. There was a kitchen around the corner to the left and a hallway to the right, leading to the bedroom and bath.
What she liked best about the condo was the courtyard in back. It was nearly as big as the whole unit, with Mexican pavers and potted plants. She could sit out there in the morning and have her coffee. S
he often ate dinner at the glass-topped patio table. There was a small barbecue and a little fountain in the corner. It was her haven.
But there was no time to enjoy it now, she thought as she flew into the bedroom, tearing off clothes as she went. After plugging in her electric curlers, she brushed out her long brown hair and quickly rolled it on the curlers. She replaced her plain white bra with a lace one that pushed her breasts together and up in a way that made the most of what little she had, then washed her face and applied a tinted moisturizer. She used eye shadow, mascara, and blush.
She’d spent more time than she wanted to admit planning what she was going to wear. A dress seemed too fancy and obvious, while jeans were just… jeans. It was spring in L.A., which meant high seventies and clear skies. She pulled on a pair of tailored white pants and a fitted cotton shirt with a scoop neck. After taking out the curlers, she finger-combed her hair, sprayed the life out of it with hairspray—hoping the curls would last more than six minutes—then ran back toward the front door. She had less than thirty minutes to make it to Beverly Hills.
Blaine Worden’s great-great-great-grandfather had established Worden’s Jewelry back in the 1800s in New York. Blaine’s grandfather, excited by the fledgling movie business, had moved the family and the company headquarters to Los Angeles in the 1920s. He’d bought in Beverly Hills when land was cheap and houses were built to be the size of airplane hangars. Over the years the mansion had been remodeled and some of the land had been sold off, but the estate was still one of the largest and most elegant in town.
Jayne hit the remote control on the passenger’s-side visor, then waited for the big wrought-iron gates to swing open. She sped up to the main house, jumped out, and ran to the front door.
Her concern was silly—she knew that. Carmine would have taken care of everything before she left. It wasn’t as if David was expecting a marching band and floats to announce his return to the family home. But Elizabeth had asked, and Jayne… well, Jayne didn’t mind welcoming David home.
She’d seen him only a couple of times in the past few years. Before each meeting she’d desperately hoped he’d gotten old or fat or had grown an unattractive hump on his back. If that wasn’t possible, she waited desperately for her crush to fade. She was twenty-eight—a crush on her best friend’s brother was no longer cute.
The Best of Friends Page 1
