The Tycoon
Page 26
He had intended to call her when he returned from his hunt, but his cell phone had fallen from his vest pocket and he had stepped on it and crushed it, adding to his frustration. So as soon as he got back to Fort Worth, he would have to find somewhere to get a new phone. “Where can a guy get a new phone on a Sunday?” he asked his driver.
“Walmart in Camden,” the guy answered. “But that’s fifty miles from here.”
Five minutes later, Drake was buckling himself into the plane’s seat. He rested his head against the cool leather headrest and closed his eyes. The flight to Fort Worth would be short, but with no phone to disturb him, he hoped to catch forty winks.
His head felt like a basketball. He and his hunting pals had closed the bar last night, all five of them getting shitfaced. These days, he rarely drank enough to get drunk, but last night, he had sought a change of mood in a well of whiskey. Bad idea.
He was taking packages of frozen quail home with him—his own that he had shot and
those of some of his buddies’. Their motives for coming to Stone Mountain Lodge were different from his. He came to shoot, but with all of them married, they had been on the loose on an all-male weekend. Had they been in a place populated by flocks of women instead of birds, at least a couple of them would have been on the make.
If he were a married man himself, Drake wondered if he would behave that way. He wanted to believe he wouldn’t. God knew, he had seen the aftermath of his parents’ cheating and had heard about it in his grandparents’ marriage. He wanted to believe marital infidelity and family dysfunction were not programmed into the Lockhart DNA. He wanted to care enough about the woman he married not to cheat on her.
All of his pals had heard the rumor about his marrying Donna. Last night, there had been plenty of jokes and hoo-rah around the table about his association with her and her elite family and what it held for his future. Drake absorbed their teasing without bothering to discuss it. What went on between him and any woman was none of their business. And as for his future, nothing he did in his professional life had anything to do with Donna’s wealthy father.
As the engines revved and the plane began to taxi, his swirling thoughts finally circled back to the source of his irritation. Shannon. That woman had gotten under his skin in a big way.
I’ll call you and let you know.
Well, she had called all right. More than twenty-four hours after he had expected her to. Not only had that been frustrating, it was why his cell phone had gotten broken. Expecting to hear from her, he had carried it with him when he went out to shoot yesterday, something he never did.
A frown tightened his brow. Meeting her had been fucked up from the git-go and now she was fucking him up, too.
Fortunately, he didn’t have time to dwell on it. The end of the year dictated tasks he had to accomplish on his various projects to avoid tax disasters. He had to put Shannon—and all women—out of his mind for now.
He wouldn’t call her. Wouldn’t even think of her. What he had to think of now was getting as much as possible wrapped up by Christmas so his mind would be free and he would be able to enjoy the holiday at the ranch with his family. This year’s Christmas was shaping up to be great. His parents might be on the verge of putting their marriage back together after seven tumultuous years. If he could contribute anything that would expedite their reconciliation, he wanted to do it.
He could do just fine without calling Shannon. He might give her a buzz after Christmas. Or by then, he might forget her altogether and be relieved of the irresistible conundrum she presented in his life.
Back in Fort Worth, on his way home from the airport, he stopped at a Walmart store and bought a new phone. At home, he sat down to tinker with it and at the same time, watch a football game on TV, but Shannon refused to leave his head. At half time, he could stand it no longer. He walked into his bedroom, pulled her business card out of his wallet and called her on her cell.
She came on the line with a laugh. “Is this Unknown Number?”
“Yeah,” he said, strangely elated by her voice and to hear that she sounded happy to get his call.
She didn’t say anything right away, then “Listen, I couldn’t get away on Friday. Did you get my messages?”
He wanted to ask her what she had gotten so busy at, but if she wasn’t forthcoming with the information, he hated sounding like a fool by asking her or even discussing it. He curbed the sarcasm that tasted bitter as bile. “You missed a nice weekend. Look, I’m planning on going down to Drinkwell on Wednesday and I’ll be down there for a week. I won’t be able to stop off in Camden. I’d like for us to get together before then and—”
“For sex?”
He frowned, taken aback by the frankness of the question and too aware that with her, nothing was a foregone conclusion. “Isn’t that the agreement?”
A pause. “Uh, yes. Yes, it is.”
“Tuesday evening. We can have dinner. If you’d like to come up to Fort Worth, I can drive down and pick you up or I can send a car for you.”
Silence again. Then, “You don’t have to do that. If I decide to go up there, I can drive.”
If, if, if. Here we go again. So much evasion was starting to exasperate him. He couldn’t picture himself cooling his heels all day another day, waiting to hear from her. “Let’s get something out in the open and be done with it,” he said hoping all of the annoyance he felt didn’t travel across the phone lines. “If you want to come up and spend some time with me tomorrow evening, I’ll do whatever I can to make that convenient for you. But if you’re not interested or you want to renege on our arrangement, the sky won’t fall. Don’t give me a song and dance. Just say no.”
Silence. Then, “That’s fair.” More silence. He waited, rubbing the crease between his brows with his fingers. Was she going to say no? Then, “Actually, I wouldn’t mind an evening out. But I won’t have much time.”
Drake closed his eyes and drew a breath through his nose. “Okay. If time’s an issue, I could cook outside on my balcony. I don’t think it’s too cold.”
“That sounds good.”
“When should I expect you?”
“I’ll have to call you and let you know.” Then she added quickly. “But I can’t spend the night.”
“But you’ll be able to stay later than eight o’clock, right.”
“I promise I’ll try.”
“Fine. I’ll be waiting for your call.” He couldn’t believe he had just said that.
They disconnected. He sat there staring at his new phone, no longer interested in playing with it or watching the football game. He had never bent over backward so far for a dinner, an evening or a night with any woman. But what had he made a date for? Food or sex? He wasn’t sure.
Chapter 24
The next day, noon came and went and Shannon hadn’t called Drake back. Three days had passed since dinner at the steakhouse and she was dithering again. Why had she promoted such a stupid arrangement? A tryst here and there based on nothing but sex had sounded doable when she had talked about it with Christa, and even when she had suggested it to Drake at dinner. But now, it sounded sleazy and unrealistic. She had never done anything like that. Her past liaisons might have been a little wobbly, but they had included at least a modicum of caring.
But with the caring path being rocky and uncertain in her mind, an uncaring approach was the only way she could continue with Drake.
Her apprehensions went beyond the threat to her well-being. Besides the emotional pain he could cause her, nowadays, punctuating every move she made were the memories of the years she had been desperate for money. Still clear as day were the times she had stood in the cosmetics department at Walmart and debated if she could afford a new lipstick. And the times she had relied on payday loans to buy gas for her worn-out car even when she knew a payday loan was a rip-off.
A part of her wanted a man like Drake, but the common sense part of her told her he was too far out of her reach. If she let herse
lf fall for him, she risked becoming distracted to the point of neglecting her business and losing her and Grammy Evelyn’s livelihood, then eventually, having it all come apart, leaving her with nothing. And it would come apart. It always had.
Those negative thoughts carried her through the end of Monday. Then, finally, on Tuesday morning after the Multiple Listing breakfast, her will power retreated for a few seconds, what she really wanted won her inner battle and she made up her mind.
She called Christa and asked her to check on Grammy Evelyn before bedtime. Then she called and left a message on Drake’s voice mail that she would be at his condo by six o’clock. She also repeated that she couldn’t spend the night. They hadn’t made it clear on the phone if they would be meeting for dinner or for sex, but she suspected the limited time sealed the deal for only one of the two. There wouldn’t be enough time for both and she had no interest in another slam-bam episode like the one in Casa Familia’s parking lot.
She left her office at two and went home. She told Grammy Evelyn she was meeting friends in Fort Worth for dinner and that Christa and her two sons would come by and see if she needed anything and take Arthur outside. Then she withdrew to her bathroom to shower and dress.
Before she finished styling her hair, Grammy Evelyn came into the bathroom. She closed the toilet lid and took a seat. “You’ve got your mother’s hair,” she said. “She had such pretty red hair.” She got to her feet and came to stand beside Shannon, looking into the medicine cabinet mirror. She touched her own hair, which was snow-white, short and permed. “I always wished I had naturally curly hair.”
Shannon put the finishing touches on her curly do. “It’s a big pain most of the time, Grammy.”
“Well, I don’t want to bother you when you’re getting ready.” Her grandmother turned to leave the tiny room.
“You’re not a bother, Grammy.” Shannon switched off her flat iron and set it on the side of the sink. “Listen, Grammy, don’t go outside after dark to look for Arthur unless Christa’s here with you, okay? If he doesn’t come back into the house at a reasonable hour, let Christa’s boys go out and look for him.”
“It’s such a lot of trouble for Christa to come over and fool with me.”
“She doesn’t mind. She’s a good friend and she likes you. And her boys like watching your TV.” Last Christmas, Shannon had bought her grandmother a large flat-screen TV and she spent much of her time watching it while she crocheted. “She’s going to just drop by. And if her boys don’t find Arthur, just let him stay outside.”
“But dear, he might get chilled. Then he’d be sick and I’d have a vet bill.”
“It would be nice if Arthur didn’t have so many girlfriends,” Shannon replied. Then, fearing she might have sounded harsh when she hadn’t meant to, she smiled at her grandmother, looped an arm around her narrow shoulders and gave her a little hug. “But tell you what. If he stays outside and gets sick and has to go to the vet, I’ll pay for it. Better to pay for a vet bill for him than have you hurt yourself.”
Grammy Evelyn shook her head. “Catting around is such a waste of his time. He’s been fixed, you know, all the way back when he was a kitten. I try to tell him he wouldn’t know what to do with a pretty little female even if he caught her.”
Shannon couldn’t keep from laughing. “You just keep telling him that, Grammy.”
The elderly little woman raised her palms. “Oh, I tell him, believe me. But he’s just like all men. He doesn’t listen.” She started for the door again. “Well, I’d better let you finish. You should hurry. You don’t want to keep your friends waiting.”
More mysterious talk about men from Grammy Evelyn. Shannon paused a few seconds, watching her, wondering if she’d had a fling after Grandpa died and thinking how close they had become since they had been sharing the same house. She regretted that she hadn’t known her that well growing up. But so much had been going on in the family in those years.
Soon she was on her way to Fort Worth. All morning, she had pondered taking Drake a Christmas gift. But what could someone one like her give to a man she hardly knew, who had everything money could buy? She had settled on a fruit basket, a housewarming gift she usually gave her customers. Everyone, even the rich, liked to eat.
So at the outskirts of town, she stopped off at Camden’s small farmer’s market and picked up a gift basket of premium Washington apples and California oranges festively wrapped. The stop-off made her leaving Camden half an hour later than she originally planned.
At Lockhart Tower, she drove into the underground parking and to the slot the attendant told her was reserved for Drake’s guests. Guests? Who came to see him? As complicated as it was to get through the security between the building’s lobby and his condo, she couldn’t imagine that he had a parade of visitors. In fact, she wondered how she was going to reach his front door.
She hesitated before switching off the engine, recalling the conversation with Grammy Evelyn: …rich people always do what they want to, regardless of the damage they might leave behind them. They have no conscience about trampling daisies….
Wisdom from your grandmother, her cranky alter-ego said. Don’t forget it and do something foolish, like letting yourself believe this arrangement could turn into something more.
“Right,” Shannon said aloud. She and Drake Lockhart functioned on two different social planes and the likelihood of a merger in thought, philosophy and status was far-fetched to say the least. They meshed on only one level.
She took the elevator from the parking garage up to the main lobby. The doorman, guard, or whatever he was, met her. He knew her name, told her Mr. Lockhart was expecting her and would meet her at the elevator door on his floor upstairs.
And he did. He gave her a peck on the cheek. She thrust the fruit basked into his hands. “For the man who has everything. Merry Christmas.”
“Thank you,” he said with a huge smile as he examined the basket. “Looks good.” Then he tucked it under his arm, grasped her elbow with his opposite hand and hurried her along the hallway toward his door. “You’re late.”
“I couldn’t get away as soon as I planned. And I stopped and picked up the fruit basket. Hope you like apples and oranges.”
“Love fresh fruit,” he said.
Inside his condo, the smell of something cooking and music met them. She recognized Alan Jackson’s voice. “A honky-tonk guy?” she asked.
He set the fruit basket on his entry table, then helped her out of her coat and hung it in his coat closet. “Takes me back to my wilder days.” He pulled her close, locked her into an embrace and stamped a kiss onto her mouth. “Hi,” he said and smiled.
“Hi, yourself,” she said, smiling back and sliding her arms around his neck. “Smells good in here. Whatcha cooking, cowboy?”
He nibbled at her lips. “Potatoes.”
“Hmm. Baked?”
They continued little nibbling kisses. “When there’s time…I like potatoes…baked… instead of…microwaved.” He nuzzled beneath her ear, flicked with his tongue. “Damn, you smell good, too.”
He pulled back, released her and picked up the fruit basket, then reached for her hand and led her to the kitchen. Dinner instead of sex, was her thought at that point. In one way, she regretted that. The parking lot episode did need closure in her mind. But in another way, she was relieved because she now realized she would never be able to hold up her end of this goofy arrangement. It was a silly idea anyway and it was her fault.
A small, but long and narrow package with a little red glittery bow lay on the end of the dining table. He set the fruit basket on the eating bar between the dining room and kitchen, picked up the package and handed it to her. “I’ve got something for you, too.”
She blinked. Though she had thought of giving him a present, that he would have one for her hadn’t occurred to her. “Wow. I didn’t expect—”
“Open it,” he said, hovering at her side as if he couldn’t wait for her approval.
Finally, she found her tongue. “It’s beautiful.” She looked up into his amber eyes and saw happiness. And your eyes are beautiful, too, she thought. “But it’s too much,” she said.
“A professional woman should have an excellent pen,” he said.
She had received few presents in her life, Christmas or otherwise, that she believed were purchased with thought about who she was or what she did. His gift had filled her heart with so much emotion, she had trouble speaking. “Thank you for saying that. And thank you for the pen. I’ll guard it with my life.”
He chuckled. “You don’t have to go that far. It’s just a pen.”
Everything truly is relative, she thought. In his world, no doubt the price of a Mont Blanc pen was chickenfeed.
He picked up her hand again. “Let’s eat.” He led her on into the kitchen.
Two thick, deep red filet mignons rested on a plate on the cooking island. Just like that, a
visual came to her of herself spread before him to feast on. Lust, raw and pure, zoomed to her nether regions and she felt weakness in her knees.
She must have had an odd expression on her face because he said, “What’s wrong?”
“Uh, nothing.” She picked up a bottle of red wine standing beside the steaks and stared fuzzy-minded at the label. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this one in a grocery store,” she said tightly.