Part 16 (1/2)
”You've got to be kidding.”
”No.” Now Samantha wished she could have another gla.s.s of wine. Or two. She hoped the waiter stayed scarce; she was using up all her willpower not backing down from Hunter's anger. ”You're welcome to apply for other jobs you feel are more suited to you.” Were there still financial positions for people who'd frittered as much money as Hunter had? ”But didn't you learn anything from Dad?”
”I learned that working for a paycheck is only for chumps. When did our father ever do that?”
”Oh, Hunter,” she said. ”He was a gambler and a thief who stole from his partners and died trying to escape a mess he couldn't talk his way out of.” And he'd taken their mother with him. ”I think there's a lot more honor in working for a living than there is in stealing. Or letting someone else support your pipe dreams.”
”That's easy for you to say.”
Samantha bit back the angry words she wanted to hurl at him. What was the point? Neither her brother or sister had any idea of the guilt she felt for marrying Jonathan for so many selfish reasons. Or bothered to wonder what she might have done with her life if she hadn't spent so much of it taking care of them. ”You really never give me the benefit of the doubt, do you? You're so occupied with yourself you have no idea what goes on in my life.”
He didn't answer. But he did make eye contact with the waiter, holding up his empty gla.s.s so there could be no question what he wanted. He didn't ask Samantha if she'd like another drink.
”I expect you to make an appointment with Edward Parker,” she said. ”If you don't, I will personally cut off your credit cards and close your bank accounts and let Jonathan know that you won't be needing the apartment anymore.”
”You wouldn't.”
”I would,” she said. ”And I will.”
”Is there anything else?” It was a dare. Once again she refused to back off.
”Yes. We're going to be celebrating Meredith's new job at the Atlanta Preservation Board. You're not the only one who's expected to pull their own weight. I'm making a reservation at Four Seasons for Friday night and I want you to join us.”
”Well, apparently your wish is now my command,” he said in the nasty tone that he'd perfected at her expense over the years. ”I'll check my calendar.”
Once she would have dissembled. Apologized for making him feel that way. Told him that wasn't how it was at all. Offered to change the date if there was a conflict. But he'd crossed the final line in his dealings with Jonathan. And Samantha was deathly afraid that if she let Hunter continue down his current path, he'd end up disgraced and dead like their father.
”Good. I'll text you the time as soon as I've made the reservation. It would be great if you'd already spoken to Edward Parker by then so that you can share your good news, too.”
The waiter was headed their way with Hunter's drink, but it was clear to both of them that the meal was over. She paid the check and left him nursing the whiskey and soda. Along with his anger at her.
THAT FRIDAY MORNING BROOKE APPROACHED THE lobby head down, eyes on her feet, moving at a relatively fast pace so as not to see-or have to acknowledge-Sarah Grant should they end up in the lobby at the same time.
”Mrs. Mackenzie?”
She stopped and turned at the sound of Edward Parker's voice. He crossed the lobby. As always she felt slightly unkempt in front of the smartly pressed concierge. ”Hi,” she said. ”How are you?”
”Fine, thank you. And you?”
”Good.” Okay, it was a lie; a somewhat pathetic attempt at the ”smile and the whole world smiles with you” philosophy that had led some s.a.d.i.s.t to invent the smiley face, but a small part of her hoped it would work. ”Did you want to talk to me about something?” She couldn't help darting a look around the lobby. She didn't want to be caught unawares by Barbie and/or Ken.
”Yes, actually,” the concierge said. ”I've had a request for your services.”
”My . . . services?”
”Yes. Bruce Dalton called. I know I mentioned how happy he was with the birthday party for his daughter.”
This time the smile planted itself on her lips of its own accord. She was almost embarra.s.sed by how good it felt to receive a compliment. The check the concierge had left in her lobby mailbox had also been wonderful. It was the first money she'd earned since their move to Atlanta.
”He'd like to hire you to take his daughter clothes shopping. It seems he doesn't feel, er, equal to the task.” Edward smiled. ”Is that something you might be willing to take on?”
”Really? He asked specifically for me?”
”Yes,” Edward Parker said. ”You and your girls apparently made quite an impression on both of them.”
”That would be . . . great,” Brooke said.
”Good. All you need to do is call Mr. Dalton to set up a mutually convenient time and then keep track of your hours and mileage. I'll handle the billing once Mr. Dalton deems her wardrobe complete.”
”Okay.” Brooke blushed again but was already sorting through the girls' schedule. Maybe she could take Marissa shopping next Tuesday or Thursday when the girls stayed after school for music. Or maybe it would be better on Wednesday when Zachary was supposed to pick them up for dinner and to spend the night. Without thinking she went up on her toes and threw her arms around the concierge. ”Thank you,” she heard herself gush. ”Thank you so much.”
Edward Parker smiled cautiously and gave her a hug in return. ”I'm very happy to have someone so competent and enthusiastic covering the 'mother sphere' for Private Butler.” He gave her a friendly pat on the back and she almost whimpered at how nice it felt to have someone who thought well of her touch her.
Someone cleared his throat behind her and she jumped in surprise.
”Am I interrupting something?” The voice was smooth and southern. Somehow the speaker managed to insert a great deal of condescension into the polite inquiry.
Edward Parker stiffened and dropped his arms, but his face gave no indication of surprise or irritation.
Brooke turned and saw Samantha Davis's brother studying the two of them. In the daylight, unlike in the darkened hall outside the clubroom, Brooke could see just how attractive he was. She could also see the anger in his green eyes and the nasty smirk on his lips.
”Well, thank you again,” Brooke said to Edward. She bobbed her head at Hunter Jackson, but Edward could see how uncomfortable the young man had made her.
Edward felt his mouth tighten in disapproval at Jackson's trampling of what had been a lovely, and innocent, celebratory moment. ”My pleasure,” he said to Brooke. ”I'll look forward to hearing how the outing goes.”
He gave himself a moment before turning his attention to Samantha Davis's brother. Both of them watched Brooke Mackenzie skitter away.
”It must be like shooting fish in a barrel for you here,” Jackson drawled. ”All these mousy, grateful women creaming over that accent of yours.”
The expression on Jackson's face was expectant as he waited for Edward's reaction to the vulgarity. When Edward said nothing the green eyes narrowed. ”Or maybe that's not what floats your boat?”
Edward simply stared back, which afforded him the satisfaction of seeing Hunter Jackson s.h.i.+ft uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
”I didn't invite you here to discuss my s.e.xual preferences or activities,” Edward said finally. ”And for your information Private Butler staff never service the clients in that way.” He could feel Hunter resisting the urge to look away. ”Never.”
”But you didn't really invite me did you?” Jackson said. ”You owe my sister a favor and you want to impress my brother-in-law. You had to take a meeting with me.” Jackson looked far too smug by half.
”Is that what you think we're doing?” Edward asked. ”Taking a meeting? Because I rather thought I was interviewing you for a possible position within my firm.”
Hunter Jackson broke eye contact first, but he masked his retreat with a look of utter contempt. So far Edward had seen little of the charming salesman Samantha seemed to think dwelt somewhere inside her brother. ”It seems we're wasting each other's time then, doesn't it?” Edward said, glad to put an end to it. He turned to go.
There was a long beat of silence before Jackson reached out, his hand stopping just short of Edward's sleeve. ”No. Wait.” He dropped the sneer. ”I'm supposed to be making a good impression on you and I've already crashed and burned.” He offered a self-deprecating smile. One that actually reached his eyes. ”I'm sorry. Maybe we could start over?”
The change in demeanor was swift, hinting at a host of Hunter Jacksons buried beneath the prep-school, too-wealthy-for-his-own-good facade.