by Rhodan, Rhea
Instead of appearing suitably proud, Clint said, “Please don’t say anything to your parents. I don’t want them to know.”
Cayden wanted to slap some sense into him. Sadly, she’d need all her wherewithal for the impending ordeal.
She stood in front of the double French doors that opened onto the excessively orderly rose garden. “The royal couple.”
Muriel was posed on a padded teak chaise lounge in a frothy peach designer thing, sipping what was probably a mimosa. Todd was sitting in the chair next to her, his face buried in a magazine with a yacht on the cover.
Cayden took pains to wrench the doors open as noisily as possible. She wasn’t able to make out Muriel’s cool blue eyes behind the large sunglasses. Her mother did straighten and purse her lips in displeasure, though.
At least Cayden had her attention. “Cayden, sweetheart, I do wish you’d listen to me when I tell you black simply isn’t flattering to your complexion. It makes her look sallow, don’t you think, Todd?”
Todd’s glance flicked up. His face was already back in the magazine when he said, “She always looks sallow.”
“Guess you won’t be needing that CPR after all,” Cayden said dryly to Clint.
Muriel directed her best phony smile at him. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” She slid her shades to the top of her head.
“Oh yeah, meet my lover, Clint.”
Clint choked and grasped for the glass of scotch on Robert’s suddenly-there tray. Cayden noted her old nemesis was silent and spry as ever.
Muriel rolled her eyes and turned to Clint. “You must be new. You’re obviously not used to these little dramas of hers. Though I have to say, you’re a visual improvement over her previous dalliances. There was one boy who wore a fish hook through his lip.” Muriel’s perfect pink lips grimaced. “His eyes bore a striking resemblance to those yellowtail snappers you enjoy catching off Nassau, Todd.”
Todd looked up from his magazine and stared at his wife. “Now that you mention it, Muffy, he did at that. Bottom feeders, you know.” He went back to his magazine.
Clint downed half the glass of scotch. Robert was still hovering, of course, so Cayden sent him to fetch Clint another. This was one of those rare times she wished she drank. Muriel had been uncommonly rude, even for her, and made her own daughter look like a total loser.
Cayden touched Clint’s arm. “This was a bad idea. If we leave right away, we might be able to catch dessert at your parents’. You made me miss it last week.”
Muriel snapped to attention. Todd frowned and closed his magazine. If she didn’t know these two better, Cayden might have believed the abrupt change was because they recognized clues that indicated her relationship with Clint was serious.
“You and…” Muriel clearly struggled to remember his name. “Flint can’t possibly leave without dinner. There are things we simply must discuss.”
Ah-ha. And Todd appeared to be vested in their special discussion, as well. This was getting interesting enough to stick around for. She intended to make them work for it, though. “Fine. Then quit sniping at Clint and me and get to it. I’ve lost my appetite.”
Clint paled.
Muriel, unfortunately, noticed. “We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot. I don’t see why we can’t manage to have a nice dinner and converse like civilized people.”
“You first,” Cayden challenged.
“Cayden.”
The tone of his voice made her question whether Clint was attempting to calm her or shush her.
Robert, having reappeared, followed dutifully as they filed into the dining room. “I shall inform the kitchen you are prepared to dine.” He removed Clint’s scotch from his silly tray and placed it precisely at the upper right edge of the linen placemat next to the head of the table. The way the chairs and the other drinks were arranged, she would have to sit across from Clint rather than next to him, flanked by her parents. Touché, Muriel.
Cayden had always found the formal dining room oppressive. The crystal vases filled with flawless-but-scentless roses didn’t soften the strict lines and stark colors. Muriel and Todd’s impersonal chatter did nothing to warm the atmosphere.
Across the table, Clint took the first swallow of his second drink. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Sinclair, and the excellent scotch, Mr. Sinclair. It was Cayden’s suggestion. I don’t normally drink before five.”
“Of course you don’t,” Muriel said smoothly.
Clint folded his hands in his lap.
“May I ask what manner of business you’re in, Clint, was it?” Todd asked.
Cayden nearly fell off her chair. Todd wasn’t only trying to make conversation with her date, he’d remembered his name. He was definitely vested. But how?
Clint nodded. “MacAllen, sir. Construction.”
“As in the scotch? Hear that, Muffy? This one’s employed.”
“An “E” at the end and different caps. Employer. Green Man’s mine.” Clint’s tone was measured, confident. His smile pleasant, but firm. It gave Cayden a glimpse of him in an office, handling negotiations. Kind of sexy, in spite of the conservative clothes.
Todd took a long sip of what was sure to be a gin and tonic. “Ah, I see. Ambitious.”
Muriel blinked. “It’s only fair to warn you. At this point in time, our daughter is not due to inherit anything.” She added, a second too late, “From us.”
Cayden mentally filed that little pause.
After another long sip, Todd said, “We had to cut her off. Completely irresponsible. She’s been expelled from every proper school on the eastern seaboard, from Dartmouth to Harvard to Yale to Columbia to Princeton to Georgetown to Duke. Name one, and they’ve given her the boot. Dismissed from all the prep schools, too. If it wasn’t for her inherited intelligence, fencing talent, and my—”
“Precious money,” Cayden supplied.
“I was going to say ‘affiliations’—”
“With. Money,” Cayden enunciated.
Todd didn’t even glance at her. “It would have been impossible following the first three incidents. As it was, well, I’ve done what I could. I’d love to have her on the fencing team, but she’s not interested. She refuses to assume the smallest responsibilities. We just don’t know what will become of her.”
Clint jerked back in his chair. “From what I’ve seen, nothing could be further from the truth. And excuse me, sir, but it’s hardly fair to blame your daughter for everything. I’m aware of extenuating circumstances at Cornell, for example.”
“I’m afraid I don’t find anything extenuating in the explosion of a half-dozen laboratories.”
Clint leaned forward in his chair. “I was referring to the fact that she was attacked by another student, and the university administration didn’t do anything about it.”
Todd frowned. “Attacked?” He raised his glass and sipped. “Oh, yes, I remember. She always had an excuse. I’m sure she exaggerated. As Muffy said, she’s quite dramatic. Pity she didn’t have an interest in the theater. I’m sure they would have been cheaper to replace than engineering and chemistry laboratories.”
Cayden glanced across the table and discerned the new awareness in Clint’s eyes. She gave him a thin-lipped non-verbal, I told you so.
She’d didn’t get to hear Clint’s response because Muriel signaled for the salads to be served. For the duration of the meal, conversation died down to Muriel talking while Todd stared at her, nodding. Clint focused on his food. She shoved hers around her plate with the fork. Only his presence made it different from any meal she’d shared with Todd and Muriel. She’d have asked the kitchen for a bowl of Ben & Jerry’s if she wouldn’t have minded Clint hearing Muriel’s inevitable snide remark regarding her size and the availability of fat-free desserts.
; The dishes were no sooner cleared and beverages served, with Clint switching to coffee, when Muriel said, “Cayden, sweetheart, it’s time we speak about your grandmother and her little cottage.”
Cayden strained to keep her voice level. “What about it? When Gran gets out of the hospital—”
“If she gets out of the hospital. You simply must face facts. Your grandmother has been in a coma for a week. She may never wake up. Even if she does, she’s not going to be able to look after herself, much less the house.”
“She will wake up, and she won’t be alone. She hasn’t been alone. As you well know, I’ve been—”
Muriel ran right over her as usual. “Sell the place. It would be best for your grandmother and for you. You certainly aren’t capable of maintaining it. You can scarcely take care of yourself.” She ran a long-nailed fingertip up and down her glass casually, unaware it was one of her tells. “I understand there’s been an offer, a generous one, that expires in a few weeks. You have her power of attorney. With your grandmother in her present condition, the deadline could pass and the opportunity would be squandered. It would be so typical of you.”
Cayden glanced at Todd. For what may have been the first time she didn’t have a fencing foil in her hand, he was watching her intently. It didn’t take a great deal of imagination to ascertain where Muriel had come by her information. The Cumberlands must be getting desperate. What she didn’t understand was how Muriel and Todd could be so unmistakably vested. It wasn’t as if they had anything to gain from a sale, unless—
“What did he offer you?” This time, she failed to keep her voice level. It erupted at just under a scream.
Clint flinched. Neither Muriel nor Todd twitched a single facial muscle, their frozen expressions a tell they both shared.
“What did who offer us?” Muriel appeared indignant enough to fool almost anyone. “My mother has not seen fit to leave me a dime. It’s not as if we want for money. Honestly.” She employed her most-long suffering sigh and looked at her husband. “Why is it inconceivable that I should want what’s best for my own mother and daughter?”
“Honesty? You want honesty? I’ll give you honesty, Mother.” She poured all of her anger and frustration into the words.
“Cayden, sweetheart, we’d take care of your grandmother,” Muriel said in that fake-soothing, patronizing voice some adults use on children. “There are splendid homes. You wouldn’t have to worry about her any longer. We know you could use the money. Your cousin Trip mentioned a fencing studio for needy children, and there’s that horrible apartment of yours.”
“I like my condo. The studio’s fine. The kids aren’t needy, they just aren’t rich,” Cayden gritted out between clenched teeth. “Let’s get back to that ‘honesty.’ What do you and Todd get if you can convince me to sell Gran out?” Both her pitch and volume had risen considerably by the last word.
Muriel and Todd exchanged even more telling glances. Todd nodded smugly at Clint. “You see what we mean by dramatic now, don’t you, MacAllen?”
Cayden was so furious by then she couldn’t fathom why her recalcitrant power hadn’t thrown the entire Boston metropolitan area into a blackout. Yet the dining room chandelier hadn’t so much as flickered. Muriel took a sip of her meal-appropriate chardonnay. Cayden yearned to throw it in her face.
Then it happened. Contrary to the mild tilt of the glass and the law of gravity, its contents instantaneously, and completely, emptied onto Muriel’s face. Cayden would never forget her mother’s wide-eyed shock beneath the rivulets of wine.
Robert scurried for something to clean up the mess. Muriel patted her face with the linen napkin and muttered how badly Cayden had upset her.
Oh, she’d upset Muriel, all right. Todd was buying the cover-up, and Clint, being Clint, would too. But she knew what had happened, and so did Muriel.
Cayden hadn’t noticed him rise, but Clint was standing when he said, “Speaking of what is best for everyone, I’m sure Cayden is considering all of the alternatives.”
“Are you crazy? I’d never—”
Suddenly his hand was on her arm, and his calm, controlled expression halted her invective mid-sentence. “As I was about to say, I think it’s best we were leaving. Mrs. Sinclair.” He nodded at Muriel. “Mr. Sinclair. It’s been…enlightening. Thank you for your generous hospitality. Enjoy your afternoon and your beautiful house.”
With that, he marched her out the door. Cayden didn’t know whether to smack him for interrupting her or kiss him for getting her out of there before she did something she might actually regret. Muriel didn’t have a history of quitting when she was behind.
“Okay, I’ll give you a full six-point touchdown for your warning, even if it was understated. But you have to give me three points for the scotch and the food. They were awesome.”
In spite of her pique, Cayden grinned at Clint’s novel use of football scoring. “Not unless I receive an additional three points, since I much prefer your mother’s cooking and the scotch is lost on me.”
He readjusted the seat. The chauffeur, substantially shorter than Clint, had forgotten. “I’m not saying my mom isn’t a great cook, it’s just…”
“That you were sucked in by the whole pretentious facade. Admit it.”
He shrugged and put the truck in gear. “Only someone who grew up in a palace eating gourmet food and beverages delivered by servants wouldn’t be impressed.”
“Staff,” Cayden corrected.
“Oh, excuse me, ‘staff.’ Thank you for making my case.”
When they drove past the gate, Cayden sighed in relief. “Tell me you at least understand why growing up there was so awful for me.”
Clint tucked his lips into his mouth, then blew them out in a half raspberry. “Oh yeah, I totally get that. I thought I had a clue, but your mom was worse than I expected. Your dad, though…” He shook his head. “My dad may be a hard ass. But yours, he doesn’t even seem to—”
“Care?” Cayden finished.
“Maybe I just don’t know the guy well enough to recognize it. I mean, he’s your dad, he must love you. Maybe he copes with your wardrobe and school problems by pretending he doesn’t give a damn.” He glanced over at her. “Did you really blow up a bunch of labs?”
“Not on purpose. I told you I haven’t had much of control over my magic. Electronics and mechanics are my interests; the chemistry was mandatory, and frustrating.”
“Right.” He paused. “Listen, Cayden, don’t take this the wrong way, but have you ever considered they might have a point?” He took a hand off the steering wheel and held it up. “Wait, before you stab me with one of your tricky weapons, I agree both of your parents treat you like shit. I don’t blame you a bit for not wanting to be around them. Still, if you would look at it from their side, well, you can be pretty dramatic. And the, uh, magic thing has to be tough on them.”
“Did you notice how Todd looks at Muriel? How he acts as if I’m not even there?”
“Kind of hard to miss. He’s obviously crazy about her. I think it’s sweet. I mean, except for the ignoring you part.”
Cayden wasn’t sure why she’d gone down this road, but they were already on it. “It’s a charm. She used up all of her magic on a charm to make him fall for her.”
Clint was staring straight ahead. Cayden could almost see him selecting and discarding words. “Right. I can understand why you’d want an explanation for the lack of attention while you were growing up. I really can. I understand a lot of things now.”
Great, he thought she’d conjured a magical explanation for her childhood neglect. Well, she’d brought it on herself. Protesting would only make it worse.
He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “The important thing is not to allow your emotions to influence your business decisions. Sentimentality is not a sound b
asis for fiscal management. I grew Green Man to what it is today by using my head, not my heart.”
“I don’t buy that for one minute. Every decision we make is based on our past experiences and the emotions attached to them, whether we recognize them or not. I am fully aware of the reasons I won’t sell Buchanan’s Crossing. That’s what we’re really talking about, isn’t it? You’re on their side, aren’t you?” The words tasted as bitter as they felt.
“I’m on your side, damn it. But your mom’s right. Selling the place would be best for everyone. It’s going to be a long time, if ever, before your grandmother will be able to live on her own again. It will definitely take more than a month, the offer will expire, and you’ll both have lost out. Developers are pretty damn good at getting what they want. If you don’t sell, you’re likely to lose both the place and the chance to get decent money for it.”
“The deadline is meaningless. And I can help Gran, same as I have been.”
“Except it won’t be how it has been. Coming out of the hospital, she’s going to need a lot more care than she has in the past, especially at first. If you sell the place, you wouldn’t have to work at HandiMart to pay for health insurance. Then, you’d have more time to spend at the school, more time to work on the cool stuff you have such a talent for, and still have lots to spend with your grandmother.” He glanced over at her, then turned back to the road. “And me. I love coming home to you every night.”
His last words gave her hope, tempting her to forgive him for the rest. What could she say, anyway? Telling him why she wouldn’t sell Buchanan’s Crossing was pointless. He’d just think it was more of her imaginative coping mechanism.
In frustrated silence, she watched her kind, sexy, exceedingly pragmatic boyfriend concentrate on the treacherous merge with I-90 and wondered what kind of future they could share.
“Hey, I was just thinking. You look fantastic and we could both use some fun after that.” He hooked his thumb behind them “Why don’t we go out? It’s too early to hit a club, but the Red Sox will be on screen at O’Malley’s, the bar the crew and I hang out at. We wouldn’t have to watch. It’ll be busy though, loud and distracting.”
