A Black Tie Affair

by Sherrill Bodine

  Her face flushed. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. I think it’s a mistake.” Connor shot them both hard looks and walked out.

  Athena slid down into the heavy black stuffed leather chair in front of his desk.

  Drew came around toward her. “You look tired.”

  She laughed. “Just what a girl likes to hear. So much for Clayworth charm.”

  Amused, he leaned on the desk in front of her. “Can I get you anything?”

  “More time. It’s running out.”

  “I know.” It suddenly hit him like a blow to the chest. Because of the crisis with Athena and the dresses, he might not sail in the Fastnet. The thought drove him back behind the desk that had been his father’s and grandfather’s and the founder’s, John Clayworth. Years of tradition. A name to protect at all costs.

  “Sorry, but you do look tired. Rest. I’ll go see what Connor has dug up.”

  From the doorway he heard her deep sigh and stared back at her. Her hair spilled over the back of the chair where she rested her head on the soft leather.

  Instead of going straight into Connor’s office next door, he stopped in the butler’s pantry between the two rooms. A decade ago there had been a butler and a formal dining room, which now served as the boardroom. They all fended for themselves these days.

  Connor found him staring into the refrigerator.

  “We’ll have an answer in the next twenty minutes. What are you doing?”

  Drew pulled out a bottle of sparkling water and a bottle of Duval-Leroy champagne. “Deciding which I should take to Athena. She looks like she could use a drink.”

  “Don’t let her hurt you again.”

  His words hit Drew like an icy wave, cooling the hot excitement he’d felt since Athena walked into the room. Keeping his face unreadable, Drew turned to Connor, the brother he’d never had. The only person who knew how much Athena had hurt him when he was so raw with pain. “It was a long time ago.”

  Connor pushed his fingers through his unruly dark hair in the gesture that told everyone he felt embarrassed to be getting too personal, butting in where he shouldn’t. Drew wasn’t the only Clayworth to keep his emotions private. They each handled it in different ways.

  “I know you cared about her once.”

  Drew shrugged. “Don’t worry. I’m immune now.”

  “I hope so, because with her dad’s trouble, nothing good could come out of you getting involved again. If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

  For Connor, this exchange took real caring and commitment, and Drew didn’t make light of it. He didn’t want to talk about his feelings for Athena. Christ, he didn’t ever want to feel anything for her, but he did.

  He put the bottles down on the polished marble counter and clasped Connor’s shoulder. “I promise I’ll work this mess out with Athena to protect myself and Clayworth’s.”

  Athena heard Connor’s voice and Drew’s coming through the small door in the middle of the wall of bookcases. Thinking it might be news, she went to find out.

  They were standing in a long, narrow butler’s pantry, lined with cabinets of rare Circassian walnut and black marble.

  “Did you find Shelby Anderson?”

  They both looked up. Connor blushed to the roots of his dark hair, and Drew gave her his most insincere smile.

  “We should have it by now. I’ll be back.” Connor bolted from the room, leaving Athena to wonder what she’d interrupted.

  “Champagne or sparkling water?” Drew asked smoothly, holding up frosty bottles of both.

  “Nothing, thank you. Has something happened?” she asked, sensing a new tenseness in him. A few minutes ago he’d seemed easier, approachable. Lance had urged her to make wise choices. She had to pick the right moment to put her past with Drew out on the table and talk about it from the perspective of two mature adults, not the children they’d been. He’d been right to say she looked tired. Tired of unhappiness and confusion. More than time to have this out with him.

  “Drew, has something happened?” she asked again.

  “Nothing’s changed. Trouble is trouble.” His face unreadable, he placed the bottles back in the refrigerator.

  Connor came in and handed a sheet of paper to Drew. “There are three Shelby Andersons in Lincoln Park. One on Armitage. One on Fullerton, and one on Dickerson. But we have no proof that any of these are who you are looking for. Why would the thieves fence the gowns so quickly and so close to home?”

  Excitement burned away Athena’s fatigue. “For a lawyer, you know precious little about the criminal mind. The gowns are hot. They want to unload them before they get caught. Bertha Palmer is a legend in Chicago, and all the best collectors are here. Give me the addresses so we can go and find out right now.”

  Drew stared at her. “What are you suggesting? That we don’t call them first?”

  “And say what? Hi, did you recently purchase a hot Bertha Palmer gown? Oh, and by the way, it’s infected with a truth serum, so please beware.” She thrust her chin up, determined to make this happen now. “I’m suggesting we go to these addresses to help Shelby and retrieve the gown. If they aren’t the right Shelby Anderson, we’ll be like that couple on television who goes around giving unsuspecting people a million dollars. Except it will be a shopping spree at Clayworth’s given out by the CEO himself.”

  Connor shook his head. “As your lawyer, the less I know of this, the better. I’ll alert Lewis we might have a lead. Drew, watch yourself and call me if you need me. I’ll be ready.”

  For some odd reason, Connor threw her a narrow, hard look of anger before he turned on his heels and left them alone.

  Warmth coursed through her veins. A tiny gleam of delight gleamed in Drew’s eyes. “Connor’s right. This is crazy, but so is the whole situation. Let’s go, partner, and get this over with.”

  Yes, if she ever hoped to get over Drew she needed to confront him openly.

  And she would. As soon as they saved Shelby Anderson and Bertha’s gown.

  CHAPTER

  9

  Athena and Drew agreed to start on Fullerton and work their way deeper into Lincoln Park.

  The first Shelby Anderson’s ultramodern condo overlooked Lincoln Park Zoo, which seemed to delight her triplet four-year-old daughters who were giggling at the large windows. This Shelby had never heard of Bertha Palmer. Only the Palmer House Hotel, where they’d stayed for a week when the family moved to Chicago from Dubuque, Iowa.

  Athena believed her.

  The Shelby on Armitage turned out to be a guy who was drinking beer with his buddies while they watched the Cubs game on television. He insisted on knowing what he’d won at Clayworth’s, because his fiancée ran his card to the max every month. Without hesitation, Drew gave his private number and told him to call for his prize.

  As they walked toward Dickerson, Athena slid Drew a sheepish look. “Sorry. This was all my idea. What are you giving him?”

  “A zero balance on his Clayworth charge card.”

  A warm, fuzzy feeling tingling to her toes, she grinned. “That’s very generous, Drew.”

  He laughed. “No. It’s expedient.”

  The instant Athena looked up at the imposing Victorian mansion in the heart of Lincoln Park, she sensed they’d come to the right place at last.

  “This is it. Someone who lives in a house like this would love Bertha,” she told Drew and sprinted up the tall front steps. She pressed the brass doorbell just as Drew came up beside her.

  “Hi, y’all, who’s there?” came a light, feminine voice from the intercom system embedded in the thick, wide doorframe.

  “Shelby, it’s Drew Clayworth from John Clayworth and Company.”

  He couldn’t have sounded more warm and inviting. She actually felt a bit warm herself, but she put it down to excitement.

  “Sugar, I love your store. Come on in. The door’s open.”

  Drew met her eyes. “You’re right. I believe we have a live one. I’m c
alling Connor for backup.”

  Too anxious to wait, Athena pushed the door open.

  They entered a long, narrow wood-paneled foyer vibrating with the blare of a television or radio. It became louder and more distinct the deeper they walked down a hall lined with rare old botanical prints she’d seen months ago at Lance’s antique house.

  They stepped into a sunny kitchen and family room with a huge flatscreen television tuned to the Paula Deen show on the Food Network.

  A tall, incredibly thin woman, wearing Bertha’s yellow satin Worth gown, looked up at them. Athena’s stomach turned over at the sight of the skirt, bordered with puffings of two shades of yellow chiffon and velvet, dragging on the quarry tile floor.

  “Stay here,” Drew ordered in his old authoritarian voice, not his signature charming banter.

  It took all Athena’s willpower to let him take the lead and not rush to pick up the hem of the dress.

  The dress sleeves, designed to make Bertha’s arms appear like stems coming out of gold silk velvet flowers, slid off Shelby’s narrow shoulders as she twirled away from the stove and toward them. Her green eyes looked huge in her small face. “Paula says get your butter on!”

  Instinctively, Athena stepped forward to throw herself between the dress bodice, embroidered with silver cord, gold beads, sequins, and rhinestones, and the butter spitting out of the skillet.

  Drew stepped in front of her and refused to move. Even going so far as to hold her behind his back in an iron grip.

  “Let me go,” she grunted.

  “Behave for a change. Remember this isn’t about us,” he muttered, making so much sense she shut up.

  “Shelby, I’m Drew Clayworth. I’ve come to help you.”

  Shelby threw back her head and laughed with amazing gusto for someone who looked so fragile.

  “Honey pie, if you want to help, grab a stick of butter—we’re doin’ it southern style!”

  She twirled back to the stove and threw two more sticks of butter into the hot, sizzling frying pan. Drew reached out to take her arm, but Shelby swished toward the refrigerator before he could stop her.

  She pulled out what looked like a key lime pie and seemed to be looking past them to something beyond. “I cooked my Stevie’s favorite. Where is my Stevie?”

  Drew bore down on Shelby, Athena right behind him, stopping only long enough to turn off the flame under the sizzling skillet.

  “Shelby, let me help you.”

  “If you help, you can have a helpin’, honey pie. I’m from Georgia. We know how to be hospitable.” She danced toward the table and stumbled on the double lace ruffle of the underskirt.

  Athena stifled a gasp as Drew grabbed Shelby’s thin upper arm. “Let’s sit down first.” He helped her onto the bleached oak dining chair, never taking his eyes off her. “This pie looks delicious. We’ll put it back into the refrigerator for now. Steve will be here soon.”

  Shelby nodded. “My Stevie is the most gentle, tender, and sweet man ever.” She stuck three fingers into the pie and came out with a big glob of filling and whipped cream. “As sweet as this here pie,” she muttered, licking her fingers.

  Panting, a tall man, striped tie askew, raced into the kitchen.

  “Thank God she’s all right,” he gasped, staring at his wife sticking her fingers into the pie for the second time.

  Shelby appeared oblivious to everything except repeatedly plunging her fingers into the pie, lifting out bigger globs, and sticking all of them in her mouth at the same time.

  Drew stayed by her side and beckoned Steve closer. “You received a call from Clayworth’s and Dr. Lewis Stemmer?”

  Steve nodded, staring at his wife in obvious concern. “Yes. They told me an ambulance is on the way and the effects of the toxins should wear off by morning.”

  In the distance Athena heard the thin wail of a siren.

  Shelby’s head snapped up. A mustache of key lime lined her upper lip. “Hi, Stevie. You know how you’re always tellin’ me I should eat more. This afternoon I put on this pretty dress and I had a vision as clear as a bell ringin’ on Sunday morning. You’re right, and I haven’t been cookin’ enough, either. I’m a darn fine cook, and I love healthy good food. Silly of me to choose not to do somethin’ I love. I’m going to write a cookbook with my great-great-great grandma Shelby’s recipes.” She fanned herself with both hands. “I must have left the oven on. It’s mighty hot in here.”

  “Sugar, you’re going to the hospital, where it will be cooler,” Steve said softly.

  Drew helped her to her feet. “Shelby, I promise you’ll feel better there.”

  A little ache had started in Athena’s stomach the instant she saw how gently and kindly Drew helped Shelby. No charming handsome mask, but real emotion on his face. This man deserved to be obeyed, so she did what he’d asked and stayed out of harm’s way.

  Steve hovered on one side of Shelby, and Drew supported her on the other.

  As they moved toward the hall, Athena stepped back.

  Shelby looked her straight in the eyes. “Hi there. Do you like my dress?”

  Stunned, Athena blurted out the truth. “I love it. I’d like to have it.”

  “I knew another gal would appreciate how pretty it is.” She sent a coy, unfocused glance between the two men holding her up. “It’s like the one my great-great-great grandma Shelby wore to her cotillion in Atlanta. There’s a paintin’ of it in my aunt Scarlett’s house on Peachtree. It’s the reason I bought this dress from the dealer.” She giggled and leaned closer. “I think it might be hot, ’cause it sorta looks like a picture I saw of Bertha Palmer at the museum. Don’t tell Lance,” she whispered.

  Athena met Drew’s eyes, and a silken fiber of old yearnings pulled her to him. Athena smiled. “I promise I won’t tell, Shelby.”

  Athena followed them out onto the porch, then down the stairs, and stood beside the ambulance while the paramedics helped Shelby inside.

  Drew looked up at the paramedic coming back out. “Miss Smith is an expert on how to stabilize the toxin. Did Dr. Stemmer send the materials for her to contain the dress?”

  The paramedic nodded and thrust the package containing masks, gloves, and plastic at her.

  “Steve, we need to get that infected dress off of Shelby. Then you can ride to the hospital with her,” Drew ordered.

  Shaken by his tenderness with Shelby and more confused by him than ever, she took Drew’s hand to be helped into the ambulance. Her foot slipped off the low step, and he grabbed her to keep her from falling, holding her so tight she could feel his heart beating against her breasts.

  Blood rushed to her head, a sudden disorientation, and the sound of her pounding pulse drowned out everything else.

  I’m not immune at all.

  She pulled free, and he helped her up into the low, cramped ambulance.

  How stupid and juvenile to feel so hot and bothered, but she did, and she’d just have to deal with it. Or think about it tomorrow, like one of Shelby’s southern belles. Now she needed to help Shelby out of this dress.

  Her eyes closed, Shelby rested on the stretcher, one of her shoes hanging off her toes.

  Athena carefully removed both shoes and laid a blanket over her.

  Shelby giggled and wiggled while the paramedic checked her vitals and put in an IV line.

  “We need to get you out of this dress, Shelby. I’m sorry if these rubber gloves feel cold.” Athena slowly pulled the dress down Shelby’s thin body and out from beneath the blanket.

  “I’m glad I always followed my mama’s orders never to leave the house without my good underwear on in case I was in an accident. From now on I’m only making good choices like that one,” Shelby sighed.

  Athena tucked the blanket around her neck. “Sleep now. I promise you’ll feel better when you wake up.”

  We’ve all been the same way. Acting out our inner secret desires.

  She contained the dress in plastic, all the while feeling Drew watching her thro
ugh the open ambulance door. Had he felt anything when they touched for the first time when totally not under the influence? It had been so long.

  She’d been seventeen and truly believed the Fates sent her out to the Clayworth patio to comfort him because only she could help him.

  The love of my life, and I was the only one who could protect and love him the way he deserved.

  She closed her eyes, saw herself kneel before Drew, look up into his face, felt his arms sweep her up in an embrace that had taken her breath away.

  She sucked in a deep gulp of air and opened her eyes.

  Here they were, thrown together again by another embarrassing moment, and she couldn’t stop thinking about what might have been. She should be thinking about her sisters, and about her father at the small family compound in Palm Beach. She should be trying to understand what happened between the Clayworths and her father. She should be consumed by their search for the last two dresses.

  She was consumed by her need to fix the past so she could move forward and honor her mother’s memory with the scholarship fund.

  Clutching the dress to her chest, she allowed both Steve and Drew to help her out of the ambulance.

  Steve jumped inside to be with Shelby, and, sirens wailing, the ambulance roared off to the emergency room at Northwestern Hospital.

  For a second she thought Drew would follow and something terribly important would be out of her reach. Then he turned.

  He sighed and flexed his shoulders. “Later today when Shelby is feeling better, Connor will talk to her about the dress actually being Clayworth property. We’re getting closer. I promise we’ll find the last two stolen gowns.”

  No more mistakes. She knew what she needed to do. “When we do, will you keep your promise about allowing the museum to display them in our Founding Families Exhibit?”

  His intent expression, searching her face, shook her resolve. Was he thinking about the promise she hadn’t kept? “If I can,” he finally uttered.

  “Be at the museum at closing time tomorrow and I’ll show you why you should.”

  She saw him stiffen as he studied her out of narrowed eyes. “Why?”