A Weekend of Misbehaving (12 page)

“Joan Smythe knows I work for you,” she blurted.

In a quick move, he pulled out and sat upright. “What?”

Chewing on her lower lip, she sat up, too. Thankfully, she crossed her arms over her breasts so he didn’t have to be distracted. “She found out.”

“How?”

She rubbed her temples. “Probably my bad. She asked for my last name yesterday when we were talking fashion. And today when she accused me of working for you, I was so shocked that she saw it in my face. I’m sorry.”

A different kind of heat flooded his bloodstream. He let out a sigh. Shit. “It’s not your fault,” he said, and squeezed her shoulder. “She would have gone the distance to find out. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“You didn’t take your cell with you when you went to play chess with Paul. And when you walked in, I was going to tell you, but then you were all horny like a man who was just released from prison. I lost my train of thought…” She smiled. “Hey, I’m only human.”

If he hadn’t been so upset, he would have smiled, too. “Smythe had the opportunity to tell me about it. Yet he didn’t make any comments. Now I know why he wanted to play chess so badly. To get me away from you.”

She gnawed her bottom lip. “So Joan could corner me?”

“I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

“Why didn’t he mention anything to you?”

An invisible lightbulb shone above him. “Because he wants to bring it up at the party. In front of Viola.” Yes, it was obvious. Smythe wanted to take him out of the game, to tarnish his reputation, and to get rid of him. Maybe the man was still mad at him for outbidding him in the past.

She covered her mouth. “Crap.”

“Let’s get ready. And find Viola before he does.”

Her eyebrows shot to her hairline. “Lorenzo…you’re going to tell her?”

He ran his hand down his hair and nodded. “That’s the only way. I’ll tell her I lied about the engagement because I didn’t want the incident at the pool to give her the wrong idea of me.”

“Right,” she said in a low voice. Without as much eagerness as he, she recomposed and adjusted her dress, smoothing her hands over the fabric. Did he say something wrong? Alice reapplied her cherry-colored lipstick, eyes focused on the task, watching the result in the mirror. Her usual facial expression, soft and warm like she was about to smile at any time, was gone.

Maybe she’s just worried.
Worried he would back out from their deal, despite the outcome. “I will still give you your money, Alice. No matter what,” he heard himself saying.

She tossed him a glance over her shoulder. “Of course. Thanks.”

Maybe he was imagining things. Shaking his head, he decided he didn’t have time to worry about it. He dashed to the walk-in closet, retrieved the tuxedo, and put it on as fast as he could. When he finished slipping on his fine leather shoes, she stood at the door, somehow even more alluring than before.

A small smile played at her mouth. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

Truth was, he wasn’t ready. How could he be? There was a big chance Viola would simply write him off after discovering he lied to her. And that Alice was the nanny he banged. Oh great. What if Viola got even madder at him, and not only refused to sell to him but gave his story to Paul? He bet the bastard would like that—and the possibility of exposure would become more real than ever.

Omission had been a part of his existence for too long. It was time to come clean, at least to one person.

B
y the time they reached the gardens decorated in much different fashion than the French-inspired Marie Antoinette party, his heart was thumping like crazy. No sign of Viola yet. He’d spotted dozens of locals who had come, all of them dressed mostly in red. Even some men had on scarlet-colored jackets and ties. A few of them had gone all out, and in the mix, he spotted Paul Smythe. The dark red shiny suit was as ridiculous as the man wearing it.

“I don’t see her,” Alice pointed out. “Do you?”

Viola always enjoyed a grand entrance, and he doubted this time would be different.

“Maybe she’s still inside the house,” he said and turned around. Alice followed him, her stride almost as fast as his. But other than a number of waitresses and staff members sauntering to and from the kitchen, he didn’t see her. Going up her room to plea for a chance to talk was far too desperate, even for him.

They checked in the library, since she had used the room for one-on-ones with guests over the weekend. Maybe he could catch her and pull her to the side. A lump thickened in his throat, and he tried to swallow a couple of times to push it down.

“Looking for someone?” Paul’s voice sounded behind him.

Shaking his head, stung by annoyance rather than apprehension, he assessed his opponent. The man he would enjoy crushing.

“Sending your wife to harass Alice was a low blow, Smythe. Even for you.”

“Yeah. Besides, where did you find this get-up? Did you raid the set from an Austin Powers movie?” Alice asked, hands perched at her waist.

Unfazed, Paul walked inside the library with a stupid grin on his face. “This is vintage Versace. Although I’m sure the concept would be lost on someone as modest as yourself. A nanny?”

Lorenzo curled his fists. “Leave her out of this, Smythe.”

“I was thinking, Lorenzo. For some reason I haven’t figured out, you want those bloody paintings more than you wish to save your reputation.”

If he only knew…

“Which brings me to the point. Why can’t you have both? If you pay me what the paintings are worth—will be worth when I get my hands on them—I won’t tell Viola about your dirty little secret with the sexy nanny.” Paul pointed at Alice.

Lorenzo narrowed his eyes. “You will withdraw from the race?”

Paul grinned. “If you make me a good offer, yes.”

Damn it. He hated being vulnerable. Kristin had threatened to expose him so many times, whenever he threw the word divorce at her. Even Alice had blackmailed him into giving her money, though he had no idea at the time why she needed it so badly. And now, he had the chance to write a check or make a wire transfer, and with a click of a button, Paul Smythe would be out of his life. Or would he?

He had a choice to make. Would he stick with his plan to tell Viola before Paul and risk that she’d still give Paul the paintings—and possibly expose his secret? Or would he surrender to Paul’s plan? Wouldn’t that be easier? Cleaner? Although, he had no guarantee Paul wouldn’t run his impetuous mouth just for the heck of it.

Besides, if he confirmed to Paul just how much he needed this, there was a chance Paul would dig until he connected the dots. “I’m not buying your silence, Smythe.”

“Well, that’s too bad. I’m sure Viola would love to know.”

“What would I love to know exactly?” Viola asked behind them.

Chapter Ten

N
o amount of daytime soap opera reruns could ever have prepared Alice for this. She squared her shoulders as Viola marched into the room, looking regal in a red gown adorned with golden beads.

“Viola. We were just talking about you. I discovered something I think you won’t be the least pleased about,” Paul started, his melodious voice smooth as satin. “Yet I can’t seem to hold it in.”

“Alice works for me as my nanny. Paul found out and was blackmailing me so you wouldn’t know,” Lorenzo said, his voice steady, but the stare he darted at Paul was deadly.

Tension crackled in the library.

A part of Alice encouraged him to tell the truth. Even though the truth was also painful. He had been clear in the bedroom, hadn’t he? Their relationship was temporary. Her stomach clenched. Well, no one could accuse the man of sugar-coating, that was for sure.

They all zoomed in on Viola, anticipating her reaction. The Italian woman narrowed her eyes as if trying to decide something in her head. Alice heard the sound of her own intake of breath. She knew Lorenzo would still pay her but worried for him. After he had told her what getting the paintings back meant… She shuffled from foot to foot.

“You lied to me,” Viola said to Lorenzo.

“Yes. I didn’t want the pool incident to overshadow the main thing. What’s important. I’m the best person to buy the paintings from you.”

“And you, Paul, blackmailed him.” Viola faced the British man.

Paul blushed, and for a moment his cheeks matched the color of his suit. “It wasn’t proper blackmailing. I was trying to get him to tell you the truth. I don’t think you should be doing business with someone who lies about something as basic as a relationship status. What else is he hiding? He already hinted to me he wasn’t forthcoming about his plans for the paintings.”

“And you, Alice? Anything to say?” Viola said to her.

Oh, shit. A wave of embarrassment washed over her. “I’m sorry. I went along with Lorenzo’s story.”
Because a part of me wished it was true
. But she couldn’t say it out loud, especially in front of Lorenzo. How humiliating would it be to admit to your soon-to-be-former-boss you’ve had an unrequited crush on him for months? And he never gave her a passing glance, even though she had been right under his nose. “What I did was wrong. If I could explain it to you in private—”

With a mocking laugh, Paul stepped forward, hands in his pockets. “Why not in front of all of us, Alice? Since we’re coming clean.”

“Some things are personal,” Alice answered, proud at the nonchalance in her voice. She kept her attention on Viola, whose blank expression gave nothing away.

Ugh. Viola probably hated her now, and how could she blame her? How could she expect anything else?

Viola tapped her heels on the polished floor. Paul opened his mouth to speak, but Viola lifted her hand, gesturing for him to be quiet. “My party will not be turned into a testosterone contest. Tomorrow morning I will talk to all of you, separately, and will announce my decision by lunchtime. If you want a shot at the paintings, I strongly advise you not to bring up what happened here or this subject during the party.” That was not a request.

With a sigh, Viola strode out of the room.

Paul followed right after.

“Should we go see what he’s doing?” Alice tilted her head in the direction of the door. “Maybe he’s going to try to talk to her anyway.”

He thrust his fingers in his hair. “Which will only set him back. Leaving him loose may be the best strategy at this point. Our strategy is to talk to her tomorrow, when she’s clear headed.”

Maybe he was right. “What should we do?”

He linked his arm to hers. “We enjoy the party.”

“A
lice! Where did you find this dress?” Cassandra, who wanted to buy a couple vintage pieces from Viola’s extensive jewelry collection, asked. “It’s divine!”

Alice let go of Lorenzo’s arm. God. Was she supposed to say she didn’t find one in her size? “It’s a collaboration. Dolce & Gabbana & Sommers.”

Cassandra threw her head back and let out a laugh. “Nice work, darling. You watch out for this one, Lorenzo.” Cassandra, who obviously had had one too many drinks, nudged his elbow.

“That’s what I’ve been doing,” he answered, but he contemplated Alice in such a way it pierced right through her skin and squeezed the air from her lungs.

Oh God. What the hell was she doing? All of this mess would end in less than twenty-four hours. There was so much she wanted to do, to say—

And she’d never get the chance. Not if she knew what was good for her.

She tried to trap Joshua into a relationship he wasn’t ready for. And he had never been married and had no kids. Changing Lorenzo’s stubborn ways would be a task not even a team of Freud-trained shrinks could master. Nope. The man was a sexy stick-in-the-filthy-mud.

Besides, did she really want the false hope of him being genuinely interested in her? Beyond the sexual attraction and her nanny skills? What good would that do?

“Alice,” he called, his rich voice yanking her from her thoughts. She realized Cassandra had moved on to talking to someone else.

“Yes?” She blinked. The salon exuded a completely different atmosphere than the previous night. Several shades of red colored the accents in the area, from the lush table linens to the heavy drapes and the candles. She breathed in the scent of spiced apple and sighed. “This is beautiful.” Like Valentine’s Day on acid.

Lorenzo rested his hand on the small of her back, his warmth seeping through the fabric. “You know, Cassandra wasn’t the only woman to compliment your dress tonight. You did a great job.”

She shrugged. “Thanks.”

A waitress came their way with a golden tray filled with flutes containing a sparkly red liquid. While Lorenzo shook his head, she accepted one of them. No matter what he had said about working things out the next day, her nerves were still on high alert.

“Have you ever considered studying fashion, or trying for an internship or something?”

She lifted the drink to her lips and marveled at the fancy booze coating her throat. A spiked cherry lemonade. Tangy and fruity, with a dry finish. “I had to quit college to help out at home.”

He stretched to his full height, taking his hands off her. “Is this how the rest of your life will play out? You always putting your family first?”

“Why does it matter to you? You’ll be packing up to leave.”

“You should do the same. Alice, New York is the mother of fashion. I’m not a stylist, but I know a lot of influential people with contacts.”

“How can you encourage me to move to New York City to be your nanny and try a completely different career at the same time?” Something didn’t add up. Why did he act like she mattered so much to him at times—like her life and her future also mattered—then remind her with capital letters that she was just the nanny?

“It may take a while for you to get acquainted with the industry. You can study and hone your craft while Cara is in school. By the time you land yourself a job in the city, we’ll be better settled. And Cara will be at school, with friends, more adapted. It will be easier for her to say good-bye to you.”

How thoughtful.
He would move her all the way to New York City to get Cara settled, and then say good-bye. How about for her? How hard would it be for her? “You tell me my family runs my life, but aren’t you trying to do just the same?”

“This is different. A win-win.”

Her purse buzzed. She retrieved her cell and found eight missed calls from Mom, and two from Georgia. She listened to the voicemail, a strange sensation in her gut spreading acid in her stomach. Something wasn’t right. Her mother wouldn’t call and pay expensive international fees unless there was real immediate danger.

Buck. What if he had gone to the house? No. He wouldn’t, would he?
Wake up, Alice. The man is a criminal. Morals aren’t part of his vocabulary.

“Alice. Hi. Rachel tried to kill herself, and she’s been taken to the hospital. I’m sorry to disturb you, but I just had to vent with someone. To say it out loud,” her mother started, her voice urgent and congested as if she’d been crying. “Poor Brenda…”

Alice gripped the cell in her hand. She wished she could squeeze it so tight, it would disintegrate within her fingertips, and with it, all of her problems.
Her problems.
What a selfish thing to think. She willed the thought away. “I have to…I have to go back to Austin. My sister has tried to kill herself, and my mother can’t handle everything. Sorry.”

Lorenzo drew back in silence for the quickest moment, as if he tried to absolve what she had just said. “I’m coming with you,” he said without a blink.

“No. You don’t have to. You can stay. Hell, you
have
to stay. You need your opportunity to talk to Viola tomorrow.”

“Screw Viola. Your sister is in the hospital. I’m arranging the flight. Let’s go back to the house and grab our belongings. I’ll leave a note for Viola and have the butler give it to her. Follow me.”

Follow him? Within the next thirty minutes, Alice did just that. They grabbed their belongings; he called the airline and made reservations. He handwrote a note to Viola explaining what happened and gave it to Rogerio. She quivered as she changed from the lavish red dress into a pair of slacks and black top. He also slipped into casual clothes: a pair of dark denim pants and a green shirt.

Alice had called her mother and assured her she was on the way. Rachel had overdosed on prescription pills, and they were pumping her stomach. The doctors were hopeful she would be okay.

“I called a friend of mine who is married to one of the best doctors in Austin. He’ll review her chart and pay her a visit in the morning,” Lorenzo said before they buckled in for the flight.

She blinked. “Thanks. Really.”

What else could she say? She was used to him bossing her around about anything related to Cara, and even about the charade of this trip. That was normal. But for him to take charge when it came to her family affairs? Strange. Unusual. And, a wishful part of her whispered, nice.

Although she shouldn’t let that kind of useless optimism sweep her off her feet. Now with Rachel’s suicide attempt, her family needed her more than ever. There was no way she could go to New York with him. And that hurt more than a little.

D
uring the entire flight and after Gordon picked them up from the airport and drove them to the hospital, Lorenzo second-guessed his decision. Why was he getting involved? It would have been much more practical to have stayed in Capri. By now slimy Paul Smythe would have invented whatever version of the story he chose to, and Viola could view Lorenzo leaving the property as him not wanting the paintings badly enough, or throwing in the towel. If he had stayed, he would have been able to explain his side of the story to Viola. Not anymore.

He itched to have his say. Yet he paced along the clean floors, with the scent of antiseptic clinging to the air. Alice kept at his side, striding toward the waiting room. A part of him that made no sense hadn’t allowed him to let her return to Austin without him. It didn’t matter why or how his leaving Viola’s would impact him.

Maybe he simply wanted to help because he wasn’t able to help Kristin. The image of finding Kristin’s body on the other side of the bed, so lifeless and pale, flashed through his mind.

He would have done more for Kristen if he had known. He hadn’t. She had struggled for years with addiction, and in the end, her kidneys just couldn’t handle it anymore.

“There they are,” Alice whispered, picking up her pace and heading to the area that consisted of a few chairs, couches, a TV, and an overflowing magazine rack. A petite woman with red hair rose from her seat. Alice’s mother. There was also a child who wore glasses and had her brown hair braided to the side.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Her mother rushed to give Alice a hug, and he didn’t miss the dark circles under her eyes. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Mom, don’t sweat it. How is she?”

“She’s good now. Resting. They’ll keep watching her, but they think the stomach pumping was successful.” Her mother turned to him. Her eyebrows shot up, and she fluffed her short hair. “Mr. Baldi? I thought you had business in Italy?”

“I just wanted to come and make sure everything was okay. I’ll have Rachel transferred to a suite, and a doctor I trust will see her in the morning to make sure she’s being well taken care of.”

Her mother blinked. “I—I don’t know what to say. Thank you. By the way, I’m Judy.” She stretched out her hand.

“Nice to meet you. Call me Lorenzo.” He gave her a quick, firm handshake and eyed the little girl. “Hi, Brenda.”

He had seen her a few times when Alice had brought her over to play with Cara. The two kids seemed to get along well, even though Brenda was younger than his daughter.

“Hi, Mr. Baldi.”

He ruffled the top of her head and flashed her the friendliest smile he could come up with. Poor girl. He saw confusion and sadness in her eyes. He knew what she was going through. She went back to playing with something on her tablet.

“Is she okay?” Alice whispered to her mom.

“She cried for a bit. Hospitals aren’t exactly fun for children. But her best friend’s mom offered to take her for a sleepover and will bring her to school tomorrow.”

“Good. She could use some distraction,” Alice said.

So could you.
Alice had barely eaten anything during the flight, and she had been economical with her words, too. Even though he had been next to her the entire time, it was almost as if reality had hit them both in the face. They were back in the United States. They were back to their lives. No more fooling around.

Was this the type of life that she had to look forward to? Always dropping everything for her family and never achieving anything of her own? He cleared his throat. Sure, he was probably a selfish bastard for wanting her around to make his life easier, too. But at least in his plan, she would get something out of going to New York with him. Something for herself.