Tell Me What You Need

by Susan Sheehey

  “He passed a few years ago.” Her throat went dry.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” He adjusted his tux, and scraped his jaw. “What are you doing now?”

  Cora’s heart fluttered, and she grabbed his water from the table. “Do you mind?” Before he answered, she gulped it down.

  When did it become the freaking Sahara in here?

  “I’m in antiquities,” she finally answered. Get back to the job. The cover. “Which is why I’m going to this event tonight.”

  “For which you needed a date?”

  She nodded, a lump growing at the base of her throat blocking off her voice.

  “Please, don’t take this the wrong way, but why in the world do you have to hire me? You’re absolutely stunning, if I may say so.”

  Heat flooded her face. “Thank you. I didn’t want any kind of romantic…entanglements. This is strictly business. It’s more appropriate if I bring along a date.”

  Those eyes studied her a little too closely. “Appropriate for appearances, or another purpose?”

  “Um…” Cora forced a deep breath. “I thought escorts were strictly appearances.”

  “Knights. And there’s a hell of a lot more than appearances to my service.”

  “Right. Obviously.” She licked her lip. “But, that’s not why I hired you. I just need a…a…”

  Where the hell did my brain go?

  “A wingman,” he finished for her, leaning forward.

  “Exactly.” Focus on the job. She straightened her shoulders. “Portia Conway is the heiress to a large auction company, specializing in historical antiquities. They deal in high-valued artifacts and collectibles, and partner with a dozen foundations. Society’s elite attend these exclusive formal events, and she raises insane money.”

  “And you want her as your benefactor, or client?”

  “Both.” In a sense.

  “Gotcha.” Vaughn sat up. “So, tell me what you need from me. Pose as the significant other, or associate?”

  “Associate.”

  “Do you want me to imply an interest?”

  Damn, how I wish he would’ve asked that in high school. “I want you to imply availability.”

  He tilted his head, his eyes playful.

  She lowered her voice. “Ms. Conway is widowed, and is known for a seasonal boy-toy, if you will. With younger men.”

  “A cougar.”

  “Tastefully. The men aren’t college-aged or anything, but they’re never older than thirty-five.”

  “You want me to flirt with her, make her assume the door is open, so she’ll be more willing to broach a professional relationship with you, and coincidentally have access to me.”

  Cora blinked, a smile tugging at her lips. “You catch on quick.”

  “Not my first rodeo.”

  “That’s why I hired a professional.”

  Something flickered across his face, too fast for her to identify. Perhaps disappointment, or just his business mode. It left her heart a little deflated.

  “Ready to go?” She stood. Burying her guilt in her stomach over the oncoming deception was harder than she expected this time.

  She’d need a few extra antacids by the end of this job.

  “Last question.” Vaughn gently grabbed her hand. “Am I arriving with Caroline, tonight? Is Cora off-limits?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Vaughn

  Portia Conway’s extravagant shamrock gown and grandeur nearly overpowered her gaudy townhouse in the middle of uptown Dallas.

  A double marble staircase greeted her guests behind the thick glass doorway with a gigantic C etched across the front.

  The only thing that flowed more freely than the champagne was her voice, boasting about her latest achievements, easily heard through every room on the first floor.

  If there was more time, or a different purpose, Vaughn would’ve much rather viewed the priceless paintings on every wall. Aesthetically pleasing, with proper lighting, and decent security cameras watching their every move.

  The Conway legacy clearly placed its emphasis on art and sculptures.

  The second the woman’s gaze fell on them, her face brightened. “Miss Lake! You grace this event with your brilliance in that dress.” Her stare never left Vaughn.

  “Thank you so much.”

  “It is I, who must thank you, for your generous donation to our charity. I had no idea you were following our little foundation.”

  He nearly snorted.

  Translation; she can’t remember from where she knows Cora, or what she donated.

  Cora pulled him closer to her side, and he felt a slight hitch in her step. “May I introduce Vaughn Ayers. My associate.”

  On cue, he flashed his Knight smile, and took Portia’s hand. “A treasure to meet the famous Ms. Conway.” Vaughn kissed her knuckles. He’d never heard of her before, but that was clearly her weakness. Notability. Or at least a vicious desire for attention, based on her gaudy diamond wreath necklace flaunting an emerald centerpiece.

  The woman’s face pinked. “Aren’t you a charmer?”

  “Your collection is impressive.” He gestured to the wall. “Superior taste.”

  “You have an eye for fine art, Mr. Ayers. Caroline, you have a keeper.”

  The knowing wink didn’t fool him.

  “Oh, Vaughn and I are purely professional. If Conway Industries decides to do business with us, we will be your account handlers.”

  Vaughn kept his smile in place, though it nearly slipped. An outright lie. Not what he’d expected from the opinionated Cora in high school. The days of the vigilant debater and book nerd from adolescence had learned a few deceitful tricks to get ahead in business. Complete with a false identity.

  Perhaps she’s been learning from seedy mentors like my father.

  “How delightful!” Portia replied. “Well, please, enjoy the hors d’oeuvres. We’ll start the auction in about an hour. Feel free to tour the house.”

  More guests poured in, handing their invitations to the security personnel, and getting their coveted introductions to the Conway Empire.

  Cora kept a tight hold on Vaughn’s arm as they moved into the parlor off the entryway. “Very well done,” she muttered under her breath.

  “You’re an outright fibber, Caroline.”

  She shrugged with one shoulder, and took a champagne flute from a passing waiter. More wait-staff strolled around serving desserts, including chocolate covered miniature strawberries, tiramisu truffles, and creme brûlée bites.

  Vaughn grabbed a flute as well, trying to stick to the Knight’s rules. Drink whatever the client drinks, but only one. A Knight must never become drunk in public. The champagne was bubbly, and left a bitter taste in his mouth. “You’ve changed since high school, in more ways than one.” He winked .

  She hid her blush behind another sip of champagne. “For better or worse?”

  “Can’t decide.” He leaned against the arm of an oversized love seat, crossing his ankles. “You’re taller.”

  “From the heels.” She kicked up a foot, showing off the shimmer on her four-inch stiletto.

  “Stunning.”

  “You’re still a lady killer. I’m sure you’re beating women back with a stick. So, that hasn’t changed.”

  “I never used sticks. Nothing that leaves a mark.” He winked. “Unlike you.”

  Cora raised a perfect brow. “Excuse me?”

  Vaughn stood and tilted toward her. “I recall you leaving interesting marks all over Cory Bloomfeld’s mustang. Purple spray paint, right?”

  Her smile vanished, and her eyes narrowed. Irritation clearly crawled up her spine at the reminder of her prank.

  She was as gorgeous angry as she was smiling.

  “He bullied me and three other girls relentlessly sophomore year.”

  “The polka dots were a bit much.”

  “Bloomfeld needed a lesson in anti-homophobia. Besides, no one knew it was me.”

  “Except me.” H
e’d caught her in the middle of the act, and she’d shown no remorse.

  Cora sighed. And didn’t say a word.

  “You never thanked me for not turning you in.”

  “I didn’t get the chance. You were always surrounded.” She moved away, sipping her flute and studying the artwork on the walls. Probably feigning intrigue, when really she just wanted to put distance between them.

  Vaughn recognized the move very well. He followed at a short distance, the paintings nothing compared to the Latin beauty in front of him. “Did it ever occur to you that Bloomfeld’s homophobia stemmed from deep-seated repression?”

  She turned, her expression skeptical. “I highly doubt that.”

  “It’s true. Everyone on the team knew it.”

  Her skepticism slowly faded, and she stared blankly.

  “That’s why none of the guys took his comments seriously. We knew he was hiding, too afraid to come out of the closet. Probably because of his old man.”

  Cora brought her clutch to her stomach, gripping it tightly. “I just assumed—”

  “That he was an asshole?”

  Her lips pressed together, and he fought hard not to reach out and touch her mouth.

  “He was,” he finished.

  “Was what?”

  “An asshole.”

  She smirked. “I knew that already.”

  “You were always so outspoken,” he continued. “Fighting for what you thought was right. An opinion on everything, and too smart for your own good.”

  “On the contrary, my intelligence has served me well over the years. Not my fault some jocks found it intimidating.”

  Vaughn grinned. “I never found you intimidating,” he whispered in her ear.

  Her cheeks went crimson once again, and he loved setting that fire loose in her.

  What would she be like behind closed doors?

  “I found you fascinating.”

  Her chest rose and fell a little faster.

  He relished the effect he clearly had on her. The feeling was more than mutual.

  “You need to step back,” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “If you’re supposed to appear available, you can’t flirt with me like this.”

  His sigh filtered through his body as heavy as the disappointment. For a moment, he’d actually forgotten his main purpose.

  A Knight.

  A high-pitched ringing broke their connection. A butler came into the room, shaking a small bell for the attendees’ attention. “Ms. Conway requests everyone’s presence in the ballroom. The auction is about to start.”

  The rest of the room emptied, until only the two of them remained.

  “You’ve changed in one more way,” Vaughn added, slipping his hands in his pockets.

  “Which is?”

  “I never expected you to lie to get ahead in business.” He moved away, toward the door.

  Cora paled, and her stare followed him across the room. From the expression on her divine face, for a second, she was that sophomore again, caught holding paint cans.

  He held out his arm, waiting for her to take it. “Ready for the con?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Cora

  The man had no idea how much of a con she was.

  Cora’s insides twisted. Not only was she flat out lying to Vaughn, she was about to show her true colors.

  Focus on the job. Six months of hard work have led to this moment.

  She straightened, and took his arm.

  In the ballroom, over fifty elitist men and their trophy wives stood around, drinking their fill. Some danced on the waxed, tile floor, with a four string quartet in the corner playing classical pieces. But mostly, people drank. And drank some more.

  Which was the whole point. Liquor people up enough to open their pocket books wider.

  Which would give Cora the diversion she needed.

  Portia approached a microphone by the dance floor, and introduced the emcee, some famous auctioneer, who would lead the efforts of selling off some raffle basket with high-end prizes.

  Wealthy benefactors and emperors of business who’d donated vacation packages, spa weekends, VIP sports tickets, and more toys meant for the ultra-rich.

  The hostess maneuvered her way over to the pair of them, and grinned at Vaughn. “May I ask a favor of you?”

  “Certainly.”

  “I have another charity event coming up, where we are asking men to volunteer for a bachelor auction. I think you’d be a wonderful addition. Are you willing to donate your time for a good cause?”

  Vaughn blinked. “That sounds like…fun. I’ll have to check my schedule.”

  Portia grinned. “Wonderful. I’ll follow up with you this weekend. Enjoy the fireworks!” She stepped away, talking to a few people in the crowd.

  Cora checked her phone. The timing had to be perfect on this one.

  One minute to go.

  She tapped Vaughn on the shoulder so he would dip down for a whisper. “I’ll be right back. I have to use the restroom.”

  Before she pulled back, he kissed her cheek. The gesture was so intimate, yet so simple, it caught her off guard.

  “Hurry back.” The anticipation in his gaze made her heart skip.

  Someone else also tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, and Portia Conway stood there again. “Vaughn, one last thing,” she cooed.

  Cora held her breath.

  “Would you mind terribly being our auctioneer assistant? Just to hold up the certificates and prizes, and hand them out when they’re won? We’re a bit short-handed tonight.” Her grin was way too excited. “A handsome man like you is sure to raise the bidding.”

  He glanced around at all the stares, and met Cora’s gaze.

  If that woman only knew how much Vaughn charged to be eye-candy.

  “Are you all right with that?” he asked.

  Actually, that would fit in even better.

  Cora grinned, touched his forearm, and turned to Portia. “If you break him, you buy him.”

  The hostess chuckled, and she beamed.

  As Vaughn left her side, Cora threw him a wink.

  Time to go to work.

  Vaughn

  Approaching the little stage with the crowd staring and clapping made Vaughn’s mind flashback to his cruise ship days. It’d been his job to entertain, to pull people in the middle of a dance floor, and make introductions. He’d never been one to shy away from limelight, but not when this kind of a ploy was underfoot with his client.

  Cora had been adamant about playing off this business associate role, and he’d learned it was best to fly a bit under the radar at these events.

  The first major rule of being a Knight was discretion.

  Center-stage in front of a huge crowd of elitists pushed the boundary of discreet.

  “Give a hand to our handsome new assistant,” the auctioneer bellowed into the microphone, and the crowd applauded. “For this man’s valuable talents, we’ll add an additional ten percent to all opening bids.”

  Chuckles filtered through the sea of faces in front of Vaughn, to which he just kept smiling. If Cora wanted him to play along and be a performing monkey in a tux, he’d comply.

  “Ten percent?” Portia interrupted. “That man’s pecs alone are worth twenty.”

  The chuckles turned to laughter. So many smiles stared back at him on the women’s faces, some more suggestive than others. The men looked ambivalent. The ones in the back appeared out-right bored.

  The first few items were auctioned off for ridiculously high prices. Several of the women who won had their picture taken with the auctioneer, but Vaughn made sure to keep himself out of them. Another rule as a Knight, no pictures. Not even he could help that. Another item sold off, and he still didn’t see Cora in the crowd.

  The lights flickered, and the room went dark.

  Even the microphone stopped working.

  Murmurs from the crowd spread throughout the room.

  “Hang o
n, folks,” the auctioneer soothed. “It will probably come back on in just a moment.”

  But it didn’t.

  A good two or three minutes passed, and the room only seemed to grow darker.

  Cora.

  Vaughn stepped away from the auctioneer, and started looking for her. He’d recognize that dress anywhere, even in the dark. Or her shoes. Those could probably light up all of Dallas. “Caroline?” he called, careful to use her alias.

  No answer.

  The fire alarms shrilled through the grand house, the echoes piercing off the walls.

  “Guess it’s not a drill,” the auctioneer announced. “Everyone, calmly head to the exits, please.”

  As everyone made their way out, Vaughn continued to search for Cora.

  How long can a quick bathroom break take?

  “There you are,” Portia’s nervous voice called out, and she grabbed his arm. “Will you help this poor woman outside? I don’t see so well in the dark these days.”

  “Of course. I’m sure this is just a glitch.”

  Something shoved her from behind, and the hostess stumbled next to him. She howled, and yanked on his arm to stand up.

  “Are you all right?”

  The lights flickered back on, and Portia’s flushed face was covered in fear. “I’m being stampeded in my own home!”

  Everyone continued to move out the door, but no one seemed rushed. By now they reached the entry way. In the distance, the firetruck siren grew closer.

  That was fast.

  The older woman continued to rant about getting shoved, but Vaughn kept searching for Cora.

  Portia screamed, the cry echoing down the street as she clung to his arm.

  “My necklace! It’s gone!” She ran back inside, much more agile than her exit.

  The crowd’s murmurs escalated, mingling with the sirens closing in.

  He scanned the faces outside, and none of them were Cora’s.

  Vaughn opened doors as he passed back through, trying to find the powder room. To find Cora. Door after door led to more rooms, offices, closets, a wine cellar, but no bathroom. He found the kitchen, completely empty, despite counters full of food trays and dirty dishes.