The Bourbon Kings
Page 80
Every time she blinked, she saw him laying back in her sheets, his naked chest on display, his very naked lower body hidden underneath.
She had never felt so rested after having had little to no sleep all night long.
Passing by the main entrance to Easterly, she had to shake her head. You never knew where you were going to end up, did you.
So much for the whole “friends” only thing.
Coming around to the staff road, she promptly had to hit her brakes and join a long line of delivery trucks and cars. She was relieved to see so many of the former in light of the problem they’d had with the rental company, but nervous about how Lane and his family would pay for all the additional help considering the latter.
When she finally got to the parking lot, she had to squeeze the Yaris into a spot in the back. There were about a hundred waiters and waitresses coming to staff the party, and their vehicles all had to go somewhere. In another hour? The lower road was going to be lined with pickup trucks and motorcycles and twelve kinds of sedans.
Getting out, she hooked up with the parade of people trooping to the house on the back path. Nobody was saying anything, and that was fine with her. In her head, she was working her punch list and prioritizing the things she wanted to do before the floodgates opened and over six hundred of the most important people in town for the races came through Easterly’s front door.
Number one on her list?
Greta.
She had to somehow fix things with Greta because they were going to have to work as a team in order to survive the next four hours.
As she saw the conservatory looming on the far side of the garden, she braced herself. Her partner had to be in there already, was no doubt picking over all of the bouquets, making sure that not a single wilted petal or leaf marred the perfect presentations before they were taken out to the tables.
She’d probably been here since 6:45.
Just as Lizzie should have been.
And would have been, except for that whole Lane-in-her-bed thing.
“I’m a grown woman,” she told herself. “I say who, I say when, I say …”
Great. She was quoting Pretty Woman.
The problem was, if her business partner asked her why she was late, things were going to go from really bad to totally worse. She was a horrible liar, and all the tomato red that was going to hit her face before she could stutter out a non-answer was going to give her away like a billboard.
I SPENT ALL NIGHT BONING LANE BALDWINE.
Or whatever German phrase came close to that.
Squaring her shoulders, Lizzie hiked her bag up a little higher on her shoulder and marched over to the double doors.
As she opened them and stepped into the fragrant, thick air of the conservatory, she decided to lead with—
“You’re a grown woman,” Greta blurted as she looked up from a bouquet. “And I’m sorry. I had no right to … you’re a grown woman and you’re entitled to make your own decisions. I’m really sorry.”
Lizzie released her breath on a oner. “I’m sorry, too.”
Greta pushed her tortoiseshell glasses higher on her nose. “What for? You didn’t do anything wrong. I just—look, I’m ten years older than you. So it’s not just that I have more wrinkles on my face or more wear and tear on my body. I feel like I have to take care of you. You haven’t asked me to, and you probably don’t need it, but that’s how it is—”
“Greta, really. You don’t have to apologize. We’re both under a lot of stress—”
“And besides, I heard he served her with divorce papers yesterday.”
“Word travels fast.” She put her bag down. “How did you find out?”
“One of the maids saw her throw the papers at the deputy.” Greta shook her head. “So classy.”
“I told him not to do it because of me.”
“Well, whatever his reasoning, he followed through on it.” Greta resumed working her way down the tables. “Just promise me something. Watch out for him. This family, they’ve got a history of treating people as disposable, and that never goes well for the toy of the moment.”
Lizzie put her hands on her hips and stared down at her work boots. Which she’d put on in front of Lane—giving him a show that he’d been very vocal about enjoying.
Ouch, she thought. Her chest really hurt at the very salient reminder that with them resuming their physical relationship, things had changed totally … and not at all.
“I just don’t want to see you hurt like that again.” Greta cleared the emotion out of her voice. “Now, let’s get to work—”
“He’s not like his family. He isn’t.”
Greta paused and stared out at the garden. After a moment, she shook her head. “Lizzie, it’s in his blood. He’s not going to be able to help it.”
When Lane got back to Easterly, he parked his Porsche off to the side, in the shadows of the paved lane that led around back to the garages.
“I’m home now,” he said into his phone. “You want me to come up and re-explain the plan?”
His sister took a while to answer him, and he could just picture Gin shaking her head as she pushed her hair over her shoulder.
“No, I think you’ve covered everything,” she intoned.
He repositioned his U of C baseball cap on his head and stared up at the sky so high above. He’d put the top down as he’d left Lizzie’s, and the roar of the wind as he’d sped home had given him the illusion of freedom he’d been looking for.
She had never felt so rested after having had little to no sleep all night long.
Passing by the main entrance to Easterly, she had to shake her head. You never knew where you were going to end up, did you.
So much for the whole “friends” only thing.
Coming around to the staff road, she promptly had to hit her brakes and join a long line of delivery trucks and cars. She was relieved to see so many of the former in light of the problem they’d had with the rental company, but nervous about how Lane and his family would pay for all the additional help considering the latter.
When she finally got to the parking lot, she had to squeeze the Yaris into a spot in the back. There were about a hundred waiters and waitresses coming to staff the party, and their vehicles all had to go somewhere. In another hour? The lower road was going to be lined with pickup trucks and motorcycles and twelve kinds of sedans.
Getting out, she hooked up with the parade of people trooping to the house on the back path. Nobody was saying anything, and that was fine with her. In her head, she was working her punch list and prioritizing the things she wanted to do before the floodgates opened and over six hundred of the most important people in town for the races came through Easterly’s front door.
Number one on her list?
Greta.
She had to somehow fix things with Greta because they were going to have to work as a team in order to survive the next four hours.
As she saw the conservatory looming on the far side of the garden, she braced herself. Her partner had to be in there already, was no doubt picking over all of the bouquets, making sure that not a single wilted petal or leaf marred the perfect presentations before they were taken out to the tables.
She’d probably been here since 6:45.
Just as Lizzie should have been.
And would have been, except for that whole Lane-in-her-bed thing.
“I’m a grown woman,” she told herself. “I say who, I say when, I say …”
Great. She was quoting Pretty Woman.
The problem was, if her business partner asked her why she was late, things were going to go from really bad to totally worse. She was a horrible liar, and all the tomato red that was going to hit her face before she could stutter out a non-answer was going to give her away like a billboard.
I SPENT ALL NIGHT BONING LANE BALDWINE.
Or whatever German phrase came close to that.
Squaring her shoulders, Lizzie hiked her bag up a little higher on her shoulder and marched over to the double doors.
As she opened them and stepped into the fragrant, thick air of the conservatory, she decided to lead with—
“You’re a grown woman,” Greta blurted as she looked up from a bouquet. “And I’m sorry. I had no right to … you’re a grown woman and you’re entitled to make your own decisions. I’m really sorry.”
Lizzie released her breath on a oner. “I’m sorry, too.”
Greta pushed her tortoiseshell glasses higher on her nose. “What for? You didn’t do anything wrong. I just—look, I’m ten years older than you. So it’s not just that I have more wrinkles on my face or more wear and tear on my body. I feel like I have to take care of you. You haven’t asked me to, and you probably don’t need it, but that’s how it is—”
“Greta, really. You don’t have to apologize. We’re both under a lot of stress—”
“And besides, I heard he served her with divorce papers yesterday.”
“Word travels fast.” She put her bag down. “How did you find out?”
“One of the maids saw her throw the papers at the deputy.” Greta shook her head. “So classy.”
“I told him not to do it because of me.”
“Well, whatever his reasoning, he followed through on it.” Greta resumed working her way down the tables. “Just promise me something. Watch out for him. This family, they’ve got a history of treating people as disposable, and that never goes well for the toy of the moment.”
Lizzie put her hands on her hips and stared down at her work boots. Which she’d put on in front of Lane—giving him a show that he’d been very vocal about enjoying.
Ouch, she thought. Her chest really hurt at the very salient reminder that with them resuming their physical relationship, things had changed totally … and not at all.
“I just don’t want to see you hurt like that again.” Greta cleared the emotion out of her voice. “Now, let’s get to work—”
“He’s not like his family. He isn’t.”
Greta paused and stared out at the garden. After a moment, she shook her head. “Lizzie, it’s in his blood. He’s not going to be able to help it.”
When Lane got back to Easterly, he parked his Porsche off to the side, in the shadows of the paved lane that led around back to the garages.
“I’m home now,” he said into his phone. “You want me to come up and re-explain the plan?”
His sister took a while to answer him, and he could just picture Gin shaking her head as she pushed her hair over her shoulder.
“No, I think you’ve covered everything,” she intoned.
He repositioned his U of C baseball cap on his head and stared up at the sky so high above. He’d put the top down as he’d left Lizzie’s, and the roar of the wind as he’d sped home had given him the illusion of freedom he’d been looking for.
