Hostile Takeover

Page 4

“Ben!”
He’d laughed at her embarrassed outrage, but then he’d sobered, fingers tightening on the phone. If he was there, he would have hugged her. It bugged him to know she was hurting. “Learn how to have fun, Ella-Marcella.” Marcella was her full name, and he’d made up the pet name for her because it annoyed her. “I know you’ll ace the studies. You’re too responsible to do otherwise. But Jesus, cut loose and be a kid. See how it feels. You may like it so much you’ll decide never to grow up.”
“Like you?”
“Cute. I have a life, so I’m getting off the phone now.”
“You just have a date with some woman with big boobs and no brains.”
“If they have the big boobs, the brain’s not really necessary.”
“Sexist pig.”
“Smartass.” But before he hung up, he added, “Go. Have. Fun. Don’t worry. If you end up in jail, I’ll bail you out. And don’t do the Budweiser thing around boys. Only girls.”
So maybe he felt a little responsible about the actual need for bail. One night, late, she and six other kids decided to jump in the beat-up Toyota she’d bought with her own money. All packed in with snacks and pillows, they’d driven overnight to Mammoth Cave in Kentucky. They were near their destination, close to dawn, when her passengers decided to moon a passing motorist just for the hell of it. Unfortunately, it was an unmarked police car, and one of her passengers was carrying a bag of weed, something Marcie hadn’t known until it dropped out of the kid’s pocket when he stumbled out of the car.
Ben got the call in a morning meeting, Alice breaking in with the pointed look that said You need to take this. He’d talked to a tearful, apologetic Marcie, but what he most remembered was her pulling it together, enough that he heard her audible swallow on the phone, the sudden attack of dignity as she stated, as solemnly as a defense attorney nailing the key point, “You said if I got into trouble, you’d bail me out. Right?”
Telling Matt he had something personal to handle, he took the private jet to Kentucky. He worked it out, getting them released without anything going on their records. Fortunately, the sheriff was a decent sort who could tell Marcie was a straight-arrow kid and no one had any other priors. Marcie didn’t make Ben cover for her for long; she told him she would tell Lucas and Cass about it, and she did, a couple weeks later. Her main concern was making it go away before Cass had to worry about it, because her older sister had spent so much of her life protecting them. Marcie couldn’t bear to give her another moment of worry on her behalf.
On the drive back to the school, where he took the wheel of her Toyota, and the other kids followed in a chauffeured van, she’d freaked out to the nth degree, resolving never again to leave the campus grounds until graduation. He’d been able to convince her she shouldn’t stop being adventurous and going after things she wanted just because she got set back on her heels now and then. Life was about the experience, not just the nose to the grindstone.
Why did he have a feeling he was about to pay dearly for that advice?
* * * * *
“What happened to that guy?” Ben poured Marcie a second glass of her preferred after-dinner white zinfandel as she finished chuckling over the recap of her Kentucky mishap. He’d chosen one of his favorite casual cafés, with a table outdoors so she could enjoy the New Orleans’ nightlife.
“Allan milked the whole anti-establishment pothead image as a freshman, but he was too smart to stick with it for long. He was a chemistry genius, so he’s working for one of the major pharmaceutical companies now. He’ll probably discover the cure for cancer. Thank God he cut those gross dreadlocks. He was actually a decent-looking guy without them, a real Michael Bolton makeover.”
“Do you want dessert?”
“Have you ever known me not to want dessert? I’d have started with it, but I’m convincing you I’m a grown-up. Then I’ll be the oldest one at the table, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, keep it up, wiseass.” He passed her the dessert menu so she could consider her choices for later. As he watched her eyes flicker over the selection, her teeth worried her bottom lip in an altogether distracting manner.
He’d kept their conversation to her school years, the work education co-ops in Europe and New York, because it helped him remember who she was, who she was supposed to be to him. A little smile played around her lips now and then, a knowing look as if she was wise to the ploy, but he found himself absorbed by her experiences with corporate offices in Paris, Milan and Stuttgart, the differences in legal practices, as well as the sights she’d indulged. She’d always been detail oriented, and she recalled everything with ease, answering his questions and frankly impressing the hell out of him.
“You were smart, integrating the co-ops into your studies. I knew you were impatient about it putting your graduation a year later than your classmates.”
“Yeah, and you all didn’t have to go to one of those mind-numbing graduation ceremonies. They mailed me my diploma. But I admit, when you said it would give my resume that extra polish, it did.” She gave him an eye roll and a smirk. “I’ve already been invited back to two of the European firms and the New York one wanted to hire me then and there.”
He licked his finger, touched her with the sizzling noise of hot stuff, and she laughed. “Yeah, yeah, go ahead and be smug. It gave me valuable work experience as a corporate investigator, which is the field I intend to pursue. Steve Pickard’s already given me a couple projects to do while I’m home. I can’t wait.”
“Just so they don’t interfere with the vital tasks of collating, copying and organizing paper clips for me.”
“I’m going to tell Alice and Janet you mocked what they do. They’ll load your stapler with C-4 and wait for the boom.”
“They don’t need any help creatively planning my demise.”
“I’ll bet.” She grinned at him, then gave him a mock scowl. “You didn’t warn me what the absolute best experience in Europe would be.”
“All-night orgies with rugby teams?”
“No, but that was a close second. Oh my God, the food. If you ate everything you wanted you’d exceed the weight limit for the plane trip back. I thought of you so often, because you’re such an amazing cook. You really need to go to Italy sometime and do one of their week intensives on Italian cooking. You’d love it. Do you still bring something for the monthly family dinner at our house?”
“Still.”
She sighed, sat back. “Whatever you brought was always our favorite. Well, not Nate’s, but that was because he had a serious hot dog and macaroni fetish going then, but those orgasmic desserts, or the bread… I don’t think I’ve ever tasted bread as good as what you bake, not even in Paris. If you ever decide not to be a lawyer, I think you should open a bakery.” Her gaze went back to the menu, then up. “Will you choose for me, like you did dinner? I trust your instincts.”
She’d implied it was his culinary expertise, but if he was the suspicious sort, and of course he was, she’d maneuvered him into taking control of the meal, deciding what she would and wouldn’t eat. The way a full-time Master might.
The candlelight on the table flickered, catching her eyes, the gleam of her freshened lipstick. Glinted off that pendant. Reaching out, he touched the disk. His fingers were large, couldn’t help whispering over her throat, just a brief touch, but he saw her register it, her fingers tightening on the stem of her wineglass. His own skin tingled with heat. “That’s a pretty piece.”
“You gave it to me. The forget-me-nots?” At his puzzled expression, she prodded his memory further. “My senior prom, the night my date stood me up?”
“Oh yeah. I remember. What happened to that clueless loser?”
“I have no idea, but I’ve often hoped it involved several flights of stairs and a year in traction. I was mortified that Cass told you about it. The other guys were okay, but it embarrassed me that you knew.”
He decided not to touch the why of that, because it was too uncomfortably obvious. Marcie was continuing anyway, relieving him of the need to do so. “I was crying on the back-porch swing. You came out with a corsage of fresh forget-me-nots and roses, and a handkerchief. You told me any guy worth my time would always come to me with flowers and a handkerchief. One to make me smile, and the other to dry my tears, because a smart guy knows women need to cry as much as they need to laugh. It was good advice on judging which guys were worth my time.”
She touched the disk. “So I pressed three of the forget-me-nots, and a friend who likes making jewelry designed the collar and pendant.”
He paused in lifting his whiskey. Before he could respond to that startling statement, the waiter was there, asking for their order. “We need a few more minutes,” he said brusquely. When the waiter nodded, retreated, Ben leaned forward. “Marcie—”
“You sat on the swing with me, kept me distracted.” She was lost in the memory, tracing the edge of the wineglass. “Everyone else decorated the front yard with lights, turned on music. Any of the neighbors who wanted to relive their prom day were invited. There was food, dancing. It became a party. You and I danced. Do you remember?”
They were near Frenchmen Street, which meant there was always music in the air. He’d chosen a restaurant across the street from a hole-in-the-wall club renowned for local-band favorites. As a result they’d enjoyed the music while eating, but it hadn’t been so loud they couldn’t talk. Now she tilted her head, drawing his attention to the bluesy jazz piece playing. Giving him an infectious smile, she rose from the chair, tugged on his hand. “Let’s dance now. Just one song. I can’t believe I’m back in New Orleans. I’ve missed it so much here.”
He closed his fingers on hers, holding her in place. “Marcie.”
She leaned against his grip, trusting him not to let go as she swayed back and forth. “Are you worried about what people will think, us dancing on the sidewalk? Have you forgotten how to cut loose and have fun, Ben?”