Adelaide Confused (10 page)

I feigned surprise, “Why?
It’s your best quality.”

He ignored the insult with
grace. “The women I see don’t get ready while I watch,
either.”

I smudged on some clear
mascara. “Why not?”

His annoyance was only
growing, but he answered calmly. “I suppose it makes them
uncomfortable to be seen when they’re not looking their
best.”

Stephen piped up. “I think
girls only get ready in front of men they’re not attracted
to.”

Reed Wallace was so
aggravated I thought he might explode. I smiled and turned around
as I glanced down at myself. “I guess I’m ready.”

“Not yet,” said Reed, pulling a small velvet
box from his pocket.

“
If that’s a piece of
jewelry,” I said, pointing at the box, “then you can shove it up
your ass. This isn’t a movie and I’m not really your
date.”

Reed was pissed, and that
was putting it mildly. It was more a contemptuous outrage. I was
supposed to fall at his feet in adoration. After all, I had no
money or social standing, insignificant in his eyes.

“
Have fun, Adelaide,”
Stephen said hesitantly.

I handed him the room key. “Thanks for
covering for me. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I left the room, not
waiting for Reed to follow. Unfortunately, I knew he would.

The driver waited, hulking
next to the sleek town car. I thought he seemed strange though he
didn’t give off any unfitting emotions. His large and square shaped
head was filled with exaggerated features. It was hard to miss the
bulging eyes, bulbous nose, thick lips, and I won’t even go on
about the gapped front teeth. He was like a caricature, though his
body was nothing to laugh at. Large and muscular, he towered over
me as he opened the back door. He was big enough to be a bodyguard,
and maybe he was. Maybe he was Reed’s.

The ride was uneventful.
Reed and I didn’t speak. His emotions had calmed and were shallow
enough to ignore, though his charm was a different matter. It was
like a sickness, a plague, hovering unseen, just waiting to infect
you when you least expected it.

The charm made me aware of
his breathing, slow and steady. It made me curious of his thoughts,
were they of me? It made me take notice of his sleeve and how it
brushed against my arm. It made me want to strangle Reed
Wallace.

The ride ended not a moment
too soon. The large circular drive was filled with cars, all shiny
and expensive. An attendant ran up and opened the door. I slid out,
ungracefully I’m sure, and started walking toward the entrance.
Reed caught up, his hand finding the small of my back as he led me
to dinner.

Sleeping Oaks looked a lot
like the White House, sprawling with pillars. The main doors were
overlarge and left open for the evening. Reed didn’t have to give
his name. He just swept me straight through.

The foyer had a vaulted
ceiling, complete with chandelier. I’d never actually been inside
of the country club, though I’d dropped Francesca off a number of
times. A set of double doors to our left led to a ballroom, and
Reed took me inside. Small round tables covered in creamy cloth and
candles filled the cavernous space. Women in gowns and men in suits
chatted in casual clumps, most middle-aged and white.

“What’s the name of your company?” I
asked.

“
I have more than one, but
you can refer to any of them as Wallace Enterprise.”

“Your employees aren’t a diverse bunch,” I
noted aloud.

“What do you mean by that?”

“It was just an observation,” I said
innocently.

“
You’re supposed to be my
latest... paramour. You might try to act as if you like me,” he
suggested. He rested his hand on the back of my neck, an intimate
and possessive gesture. The feel of it made my stomach strangely
queasy and I shivered in response.

He was triumphant and smug. His reaction
brought me back to reality, effective as a dunk in icy water. I
elbowed him in the side, not bothering to whisper, “Fuck off!”

He only moved closer, cocky
and conceited, he smiled down at me. “Why don’t you find our table,
it should be near the front. I’ve got some business to take care
of.” He moved away before I could respond, leaving me alone in a
room full of strangers.

Across the ballroom a small
platform and podium identified the front which Reed had indicated.
I made my way slowly, stepping between tables in a roundabout
fashion. This was the exact situation I usually avoided—stuffed
inside a room full of people. A few years ago I’d have been
hysterical by now. But I’d come a long way since then, pushing
myself, learning tolerance and control. But this wasn’t a simple
Sunday stroll through the center of town. This was a potential
nightmare.

Lucky for me most of the
guests were at ease. It wasn’t a new environment for them, these
functions were commonplace. And commonplace was good. I felt for
the unusual, emotions you wouldn’t expect at a dinner party. It
wasn’t easy. It was like playing hot and cold.

Classy jazz drifted through
the room, setting a quiet background tone. No one paid much
attention to me as I wandered, most didn’t even look away from
their conversations, totally engrossed. It suited me just
fine.

I was nearing the front,
but wasn’t ready to sit so I doubled back to the bar. I accepted
champagne, though I had no intention of drinking. It was not that I
didn’t want to drink. I was relatively young, so of course I did.
But being the perfect candidate for alcoholism had always made me
hesitate. Although in this particular situation holding a drink
made me fit in with the rest of them, so I carried it around like a
security blanket.

I was stepping between two
separate groups when a wave of emotions crashed over me, drowning
out everything else. Pure pleasure, ripe with passion and rippled
with a thrilling carefree, it was glee. It was bliss. It was
strong.

This was where the hot/cold
came in. I had to wander around trying to gauge if the emotions
were more potent or fading away, hoping to follow the feeling trail
to its source. This time wasn’t a challenge.

She stood surrounded by
admirers, attracting more than her fair share of attention. She
wore red, making me glad I hadn’t. The dress was cut low, her
cleavage high. She had long legs, tall heels, and perfect hair.
Honestly, she reminded me of Francesca, except I hated
her.

I didn’t join her group at
first, hanging back to eavesdrop. I learned her name was Danielle
Smathers, and she was engaged to a prominent figure at Wallace
Enterprise. One man joked that her intended had gone off to fetch a
drink, but had forgotten what he was doing halfway there. I took
this to mean her fiancé was old.

I was wrong, he wasn’t
old—he was ancient. A small and stooped man shuffled past,
shouldering through the small crowd of men. In each hand he held a
champagne flute, and slowly, almost painfully, he extended one to
Danielle.

Men who should have been
chatting up their wives scattered to the wind, staying only long
enough to greet the senior employee as if they hadn’t just been
shamelessly flirting with his fiancé. It happened so suddenly I
didn’t have a chance to flee along with them.

Danielle noticed me
immediately. She smiled sweetly, “Oh, hello, I don’t believe we’ve
met.” She radiated a euphoria that was irresistible. Offering her
hand, she said, “I’m Danielle Smathers.”

Unable to resist her
happiness, I found myself moving closer with a goofy smile
plastered across my face. Abruptly I gained control, cursing myself
and sedately saying, “I’m Adelaide Graves.”

She turned to her intended.
“Harold, would you mind terribly if we went off to chat. You know,
just us girls?”

He gave her a lecherous
look and I felt the stab of his lust. I grimaced, trying to control
that pesky gag reflex. He squeezed her arm, the wrinkled spots of
his hand sagging to and fro. “Not at all, dearie, you two girls go
have fun.”

She gave him a farewell
smile and hooked her arm through mine, leading me through the room.
“It’s not often I find someone my own age to talk with at these
events,” she confided cheerfully. It was true. We stood out from
the crowd. “Who are you here with?”

I considered taking
offence. I mean, I could work for the company, couldn’t I? But I
wasn’t really hurt by the assumption, not to mention I was buzzing
from her happy thoughts. So I said, “Reed Wallace.”

“
I’ve been trying to land
him for months! How did you manage?” Surprisingly, she wasn’t
jealous, just impressed.

I shrugged. “This is a
one-time thing. We aren’t, you know... together.”

Her breasts came
uncomfortably close to my nose as she leaned down to whisper, “If I
was you, I’d do everything and anything to get his ring on my
finger.” That wasn’t news to me. “Your best chance is to get a bun
in the oven.” Deliberately she looked to my stomach with a knowing
smile.

“Well, thanks for the advice.”

She didn’t stop there.
Danielle continued to give me unsolicited advice for another
quarter-hour. By the time dinner was being served I knew the best
breast doctor (Danielle had strongly suggested I get some work
done). I also knew the four men she would dump Harold for in a
heartbeat. She’d said all this and more in a jolly fashion. I
didn’t respect her, but I was finding it hard to hate her as I’d
originally intended.

I sunk into the chair
beside Reed, having finally separated myself. It hadn’t been easy,
Danielle’s emotions were addicting.

Reed was busy speaking to a
couple of peons when I arrived. He stopped talking to introduce me,
thankfully not as his girlfriend but simply Adelaide Graves. I
smiled like a robot and shook their hands, bored to tears. I didn’t
understand a word they said, but I didn’t really care either. Reed
wrapped his arm around the back of my chair, leaning close. I would
have shaken him off but we weren’t alone, so I pretended to like it
while reminding myself that I really didn’t.

When they left he asked,
“Did you feel anything interesting?”

“
Oh yeah,” I said. “I found
your female counterpart.” I glanced in her direction.

“
Danielle Smathers?” He
smiled. “I think not.”

“Why so?”

“
She’s an attractive woman,
but beyond that she’s nothing but fluff. I’m sure Danielle
classifies herself as a social climber, but no, she’s not even
that.”

“She’s charming.” It was true.

“How clever of her,” he said dryly.

“She’s also high as a kite,” I admitted.

He laughed. “She’d have to
be if she’s with Harold Determeyer.” He leaned closer, speaking
into my ear. “Most are under the impression that Harold has
retained his position at Wallace Enterprise because he’s passionate
about the work.” Reed shook his head faintly, I could feel it.
“He’s mismanaged his money, investments gone bad. Danielle is in
for a shock when he passes.”

“You mean he has no money?”

“
He still makes a pretty
penny, don’t get me wrong, but he has no substantial savings.
Ultimately, he works because he has to.”

“That’s not fair!”

Reed looked at me like we’d
never met before. “She’s after his money, there’s a term for that
you know...”

“
Yes, she’s a gold digger,
I know. But it’s not as if he doesn’t know what she’s after, and
vice versa. So if they’re both aware of the other’s motives, then
no one is being taken advantage of. It’s just a sordid arrangement,
but something they’ve both agreed to.”

“
This sounds like the
opinion of that friend of yours, Francesca.”

Realizing he was doodling
circles on the back of my neck, I swatted his hand away. “Speaking
of Francesca, she asked me to put in a good word. But obviously,
since I know what a schmuck you are, I won’t. Instead I’m telling
you to fix whatever mess you’ve made. She thinks she’s in love with
you and it’s making her... well, not herself. Fix it.”

His good humor fled in an
instant. I’d made him angry. “I’m as incapable of turning off the
charm as you are of tuning out emotions. It’s impossible to get rid
of the gift. If there was a way I’d know about it.”

I looked down at the ring
on my finger knowing he was wrong but unwilling to tell him so.
Instead I said, “Fix it some other way then.”

He ignored me. “So is that all that you’ve
been doing, leeching off Ms. Smather’s high?”

“Pretty much,” I said without remorse. “But
I’d prefer to be gone when she starts crashing.”

He was now mad
and
disappointed.
“I had hoped you would be more useful than that.”

I shrugged. “Everyone else
felt typical, well, other than Harold Determeyer. He’s an
exceptionally wrinkled, old letch.” He brooded in silence over my
response. Finally I asked, “If you’re not looking for perverted old
men and greedy young women, what
are
you looking for?”

“Guilt.”

“Embezzlement?” I guessed.

“
Something like that,” he
agreed.

I didn’t need to be an
empath to know that he was lying.