No More Mr. Nice

by Renee Roszel

  He frowned, snatched up her robe and tossed it at her as he called out, “Who is it?”

  “Maxim, sir,” came the hushed reply.

  “What is it, Maxim?” Lucas asked. He struggled into his slacks as he motioned for Jess to get behind the door. When he’d thrown on his shirt, he pulled the door open. Jess cowered, not daring to breathe. “What could be so important at this time of night?” he asked, sounding more weary than angry.

  “Sir,” Maxim began, then paused, coughing as though embarrassed, and began again, “I’m sorry to disturb you, but there was a call on the house phone for Mrs. Glen, and…” He paused again. “She doesn’t seem to be in her room.”

  “Thank you, Maxim,” Lucas said. “I’ll handle it.”

  When the door was closed, Jess finished putting on her robe, whispering fearfully, “Do you think he suspected?”

  Lucas’s expression turned cynical. “I don’t know. Maybe he thinks I caught my shirt on the computer keyboard.”

  Jess scanned the dress shirt he’d tossed on. One lone button dangled from it. She cringed to think how he must have looked to his butler—with his torn shirt, its tail out, and his belt undone. She had to admit he didn’t look much like a man who had been quietly occupied working on a computer program! “Oh, Lord,” she moaned. “He knows. He must have heard us!”

  “Maxim doesn’t gossip,” Lucas assured her tersely as he headed to his desk. Pressing a button, he lifted the receiver. “This is Lucas Brand. May I help you?”

  In the waiting silence, Jess cinched her robe belt tightly and padded over to the desk. She watched Lucas’s expression change from angry to perplexed. “Yes, I understand. I’ll tell her.” He hung up.

  “What is it? Didn’t they want to talk to me?” she asked, worry coiling along her spine.

  He turned to face her, his expression troubled. “Get dressed,” he said, an unspoken question clouding his eyes. “That was the police. It seems they have your mother in custody.”

  THOUGH JESS HAD INSISTED that Lucas absolutely not take her, he refused to wake Jerry, and was emphatic about driving. His Ferrari was too small, so he grabbed up keys for a BMW sedan and practically shoved her inside while she protested vigorously. How humiliating for him to see her mother, Mamie Ritter, having one of her attacks of premature senility, claiming she was Mamie Eisenhower, first lady of the land. Now, huddled in the car with her mother who was going on and on about some imaginary dinner party, she watched Lucas’s profile as he headed away from the precinct station.

  “Straighten your shoulders, Jessica,” Mamie scolded. “How many times have I told you? And what sort of costume is that? Jeans? After all your father and I’ve said about such plebeian attire? Gracious sakes, the president’s daughter should remember her image.” She sighed theatrically. “Mr. Brand, do explain to Jessica about first impressions. A man of your stature in the community. Perhaps she would listen to you.”

  Jess chewed the inside of her cheek and stared out the windshield. Heaven only knew what Lucas was thinking. She shuddered, hugging herself in dismay. Now, not only had Lucas made love to her and dismissed her as cold-blooded, but he’d had to bail her mother out of jail! Porter had left her because of Mamie’s looniness. Being a greedily class-conscious man, he’d slammed out of the house one day, shouting he couldn’t have business associates over with Mamie liable to go loony tunes at any time.

  “Those silly policemen,” Mamie chattered on. “How dare they treat me with such ill regard.” Though she was sitting farthest away from Lucas, she reached across her daughter and patted his thigh. “You’re a prince to come to my rescue, dear. Do you recall our meeting when you bought my husband’s firm? Or did we meet?” She tapped her chin in thought. “Well, no matter. Jessica,” she reiterated, without pause, “what are you doing, sunk down there like a spineless rag doll.” She reached over and pushed her daughter’s bangs back. “And get that scraggly mess off your pretty face. What if a reporter snapped you that way? Would you want to look all slumped over and hairy like a beatnik on the front page of the Daily News?”

  “Mother, please,” Jess begged tiredly. “We’ll be home in a minute. You need to get some rest.”

  “Oh…” Mamie complained, suddenly sounding like a frightened child. “Don’t make me go back there, Jessica. It’s so—so lonely. I get scared.”

  Disconcerted, Jess ran both hands through her hair. Mamie had been doing pretty well for the past month. Apparently this separation had preyed on her mother’s nerves, making her regress. “It’ll only be five more days,” she promised faintly.

  Mamie burst into sobs, and covering her face, wailed, “You’re so mean to leave me. I’m your mother, and you just desert me this way!”

  Jess had to put a fist against her lips to keep them from trembling. Taking a deep breath, she worked at regaining her composure.

  Before she could speak, Lucas startled her by asking, “Isn’t there somewhere she can go?”

  Dejected and at a loss, Jess blurted unhappily, “You mean besides the White House?”

  For a few minutes, Mamie’s sniveling was the only sound in the tense quiet. Jess searched frantically for a solution to the problem with her mother. She didn’t want to have to put her in some sort of home. Mamie would hate that. But her mother was becoming a problem when she got off on these Madam President tangents. “Mother—what about your knitting, or needlepoint? I thought you were enjoying—”

  “Oh, you hate me. You’re an ungrateful girl, and you want to forget me—bury me before my time,” she bawled.

  Jess cast a glance toward Lucas to gauge his degree of disgust at her mother’s histrionics. His profile was rigid, and she could see a muscle working in his jaw. Her battered heart fell to her toes. First she’d practically bulldozed him into having sex with her, which accomplished nothing but to ensure his eternal contempt, and now he was being forced to witness her private hell—a tantrum from her befuddled, spoiled, and domineering mother. Jess really didn’t blame him for his hostility. To make matters worse, she’d acted like a shrew. With a sigh, she shook her head and looked down at her hands, fisted in her lap.

  “Mrs. Ritter,” Lucas said, in a deep, curt voice. “First, I regret that we never met.” Mamie looked over at him, still sniffling, as he went on, “Secondly, I’m sure you’re aware of who you are, and you pulled this stunt because you were lonely and wanted attention. Am I right?”

  Mamie screwed up her face at him. “That’s very impudent talk, young man.”

  Jess watched her mother haughtily fluffing her stylish silver hair. She didn’t know if she should rebuke Lucas for speaking harshly to her, or if he might not have a point.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” he went on. “You behave, and you may stay at my home for the next five days. With your daughter.”

  Jess gaped at him, openmouthed.

  “Why, Lucas, dear,” Mamie exclaimed, pulling a handkerchief from her bag and blowing her nose. “That’s a lovely invitation. I’d be charmed.” Flourishing the hankie, she turned to Jess and fairly preened. “You see, Jessica. I told you Mr. Brand wasn’t the terrible man you said he was. Just because Clancy left me for that teenage trollop after he sold Lucas the company, and because Porter left you when I came to live with you, doesn’t mean Lucas Brand was completely to blame.” She reached across Jessica to pat Lucas’s thigh again, assuring grandly, “I forgive you, dear, and I’m sure Jessica will, in time. I always knew deep down you were a gentleman. Breeding always tells!” She sighed, and clasped her hands to her breasts. “I’ve heard your house is simply exquisite. I can’t wait to see it for myself.”

  Jess blocked out the rest of her mother’s ramblings, and shrinking lower in her seat, she squeezed her eyes shut. Now Lucas knew everything there was to know about her—the irrational hatred she’d harbored for him for the past five years, and the sad truth about her mother’s deteriorating mind. But most distressing of all were the things he’d heard her say tonight—the erotic things
she’d cried out as he’d brought her to climax after exhilarating climax. Her stomach clenched at the white-hot memory, and she wished she were dead. Why must there be five days of this dratted retreat left—five horrible, humiliating, endless days? And now her mother would be there to make them even more humiliating and horrible—and endless!

  Jess settled Mamie in the room opposite hers, then caught Lucas in the hallway. Her emotions had run the gamut tonight. She was exhausted and upset, and she had the worst headache of her life. Her anger with herself for her stupid attraction to Lucas gnawed at her. And to add insult to injury, she was having to deal with the nagging shame over her mother’s condition.

  What she really wanted to do was to fall into his arms and have him hold her, tell her everything would be all right. She wanted him to be gentle and concerned. Her whole body quivered with the desire to have him kiss her soundly and tell her he cared, and that she would never have to feel like a lonely failure again. She wanted to hold him to her and tearfully thank him for being so sensitive about her mother. Unfortunately, their hot sex on the computer-room floor came back to haunt her, and she knew any rekindling of that earlier scene would be foolhardy.

  She wiped the corner of her eye with the back of her hand to hide a sudden welling of tears. “Look,” she hissed, urgently, “I—I appreciate what you did, but I don’t want your pity and neither does my mother.”

  The tensing of his jaw betrayed his sudden umbrage. After a taut silence, his lips twisted cynically. “Baby, I don’t think you know what the hell you want. You hate me, but you have sex with me?” His chuckle was bitter and angry. “I wonder if there’s a Hallmark card for that—maybe, ‘Hi there, I hate your guts but I’m horny, so drop trou—!’”

  Jess flinched at the ferocity of his words, though they had been spoken barely above a whisper. “Lucas, it’s true,” she tried weakly. “I did hate you, but since we’ve gotten to know each other, I—”

  His laughter sharp and brittle, he cut her off. “Know each other?” he echoed incredulously. “That’s quaint.” With a lightning-swift move, he swept a provocative finger between her legs, growling, “Yes, I’d say we’d gotten to ‘know’ each other, baby.” Turning abruptly away, he stalked off toward the stairs.

  Jess sagged against the wall, her body resonating with the hot, tingling sensations he’d so calculatingly set pounding in her core. She balled her fists, her nails biting painfully into the flesh of her palms, feeling thoroughly shamed.

  11

  The morning crept by with the speed of a turtle on its back. Representatives from the University of Oklahoma and Oklahoma State gave presentations about career opportunities. The kids were attentive, and best of all, Lucas was gone.

  Since Jess hadn’t had any sleep, most of her morning had been spent struggling to keep from falling off her chair in a heap. She imagined Lucas must be having the same problem at his office. Today was Careers and Crafts Day, so he’d been granted time off.

  She was managing to keep awake with lots of coffee, but the Goodalls and the Kornblums were giving her odd looks. She didn’t blame them. Every time they smiled at her, she yawned back.

  “Madam?” Maxim inquired, startling her from her fuzzy ramblings. She leaped a foot off the chair and gasped. All the kids twisted around to rubberneck. Howie Goodall stopped in the middle of his talk about the joys of leather craft, and stared in confusion.

  She bit her lip, mumbling, “Excuse me. Please—go on, Howie.” She hated having to face the butler, who knew what a sinful night she’d spent with the master of the house. Unable to look him in the eye, she whispered, “Yes? What is it?” half expecting a blackmail demand.

  “Mr. Lucas is on the phone.”

  Her heart hammered stupidly against her rib cage at the mere mention of his name, and she glanced at Maxim’s sober face. “He wants to talk to—to me?” she breathed faintly.

  “It seems your mother is at his office.”

  “Mother?” Jess felt a stab of apprehension “I thought she was sleeping….” As she rushed toward the kitchen, she called back, “Thank you, Maxim,” and meant it in more ways than one. The servant’s eyes had been gentle, almost pitying, in fact, and she was grateful. “What’s happened, Lucas?” she said breathlessly as she picked up the receive. “How did—”

  “Your mother’s fine,” he interrupted. “She was doing her Mamie Eisenhower impersonation, and the police were going to throw her in the drunk tank. To make a long story short, she convinced a patrolman to bring her here.”

  “There? Why, there?” Jess asked, confused.

  “I don’t know,” he said tiredly. “But I haven’t ruled out industrial sabotage.”

  “I’m coming right down.” She hung up and found Jerry tinkering in the garage. Twenty minutes later, she rushed into Lucas’s high-rise office where a group of men, their ties loosened and jackets discarded, were huddled in fierce discussion. Behind their circle of chairs loomed some spaceship-like computer equipment, much the same as that installed in the room at Lucas’s house where they so recently—

  The men glanced her way en masse, and an expectant hush fell over the room. She imagined they were waiting for her to explain why she had suddenly turned a bright shade of pink. Some movement caught her attention, and she noticed a plumpish woman wearing a classic blue suit, her short silver hair immaculate, her smile hostess-bright.

  “Mother…?” Jess breathed.

  The woman lifted her gaze from the cup she was filling. “Why, Jessica,” came the huffy response. “Can’t you see we’re in the middle of a meeting? Shame on you for interrupting. We haven’t much time to work out a problem with our horse-feedbag glove. Do we, dear?” She directed an extravagant smile at Lucas.

  Nodding perfunctorily, he strode to confront Jess by the door. “She might as well stay,” he said under his breath. “All she wants is to keep busy and feel important. I’ll bring her home with me.”

  Jess’s anxious glance swung from him to her mother, who was offering to make sandwiches. With a worried sigh, she looked back at Lucas. “I’m—I’m sorry—”

  “Quit apologizing for things that aren’t your fault,” he broke in sharply. “We’re busy. Just go.”

  “You look awful,” she said, without thinking. The skin beneath his eyes was deeply shadowed, his craggy features drawn in exhaustion. She had a foolish urge to hold him, to try to put the gleam back into his dark eyes—the gleam she’d seen for a brief moment last night when they were lying in each other’s arms. Squelching the memory, she scolded, “You need sleep.”

  His tired yet mesmerizing gaze searched her face. “You should have thought of that last night,” he admonished softly.

  With a hot, liquid rush of feeling, she veered away from that dangerous subject. “Lucas, is any amount of money worth ruining your health?”

  “Dammit, Jess. I’m not the only one to consider here,” he gritted. “There are stockholders—”

  “Oh, sure, and they’ll go bankrupt without this deal?”

  “No, but Takahashi’s contract would be our biggest this year. Our stock value would go up at least—”

  “I’m all aquiver,” she scoffed. “Think what a nice big tombstone you’ll be able to afford!”

  She watched his brow crease into a scowl, but before he could speak, Sol called, “Brand, come see what you think of this idea.”

  He nodded absently, growling under his breath, “Look, I know you can’t help being a bleeding heart. But I’m busy. Go bleed on somebody else.”

  “Okay. Act like a hard-nose,” she hissed. “But, you called me about my mother and kept her out of jail, busy or not.”

  He’d turned away, but stopped to flick her a puzzled glance. “Anybody would have done that. What’s your point?”

  “My point is, you try so hard to be a hardass,” she insisted. “But a real, hardass wouldn’t have cared enough to call, and certainly wouldn’t allow her to stay and-”

  “Lucas?” Mamie interrupted,
with a wave. “Do you want chicken salad on wheat or ham on rye? I’m doing both.”

  He held up a finger to indicate he’d be right there. “Stay the hell out of my head, Jess,” he warned, wheeling away to rejoin his meeting.

  On the trip back to the house in the limousine, Jess couldn’t banish the surge of affection for Lucas that had come over her in his office. Heaven only knew, she’d tried. Not only had he not been embarrassed by her mother, but he’d given her a “job.” Even as harried and exhausted as he was.

  Darn you, Lucas Brand, she complained inwardly. The last thing I want in this world is to harbor tender thoughts about you! Why aren’t you the cold-blooded jerk you pretend to be?

  BUT HARBOR TENDER thoughts she did, even though, for the next two days, Lucas kept his distance. She’d felt a completely illogical disappointment about that.

  Tonight was the hayride, and Lucas and Jess were chaperons on the second wagon. She knew the less time she spent with him the better it would be for her mental health in the long run. But she kept dwelling on the fact that he’d have to be near her for several hours, and her heart thrilled. Unfortunately, Mamie had decided to ride along, so Jess tried not to get her hopes too high.

  Surprisingly enough, after Mamie’s sojourn in Lucas’s office, she’d begun to behave better. She’d taken over as a sort of “warden of etiquette” at mealtimes. To the amusement of the volunteers, Mamie gave spirited lectures on table manners, utensil placement and the proper rendering of thank-you notes. Even though she became confused sometimes as to which meal was which, she was more an asset than a hindrance, and the kids seemed to find her a strange but interesting addition.

  Mamie dressed like a proper president’s wife, and continued to harangue Jess about her “vulgar” choice of clothing. But oddly enough, the kids appeared to feel better about themselves at the very idea that they, one day, might have to write a thank-you note to the governor for a “lovely time.” It was true that one former Oklahoma governor and a current United States congressman, were products of the Mr. Niceguy program. So, who really knew what might happen one day? If nothing else, it wouldn’t kill the teens to be able to write a proper thank-you note or identify a shrimp fork.