Butterfly (15 page)

“A couple of mil.”

“A couple of million,” Booth repeated. “There’s no way I can hide that much money.”

“You can begin with small amounts under ten thousand. That way the bank won’t report it to the Internal Revenue. Or you could use your client’s accounts. Just earmark the monies, so you don’t comingle the funds.”

“You could do the same. Open several accounts and make deposits.”

Carter lowered his head. “No, I can’t. I neglected to tell you that I’m renting an office in a larger law firm off Madison Avenue. Some months I don’t bill enough hours to cover the rent, so that’s why—”

“You consort with criminals,” Booth said, finishing his statement. He leaned forward. “Why didn’t you come to me sooner? Let me know that you’re Seth’s kid? Instead you turn to blackmail. You’re no better than the scum you represent.” He waved his hand. “Get the hell outta here and let me sleep on this shit. Meanwhile, I want you to call that bitch who birthed you and tell her if she comes into the office tomorrow I’ll have her arrested for illegal wiretapping.”

Pale eyebrows lifted a fraction. “She’s gone, Booth.”

His eyebrows nearly met in a frown. “What do you mean?”

“When I told Joan I was meeting you tonight she knew it would be her last day at BGM. And don’t bother looking for her because she’s on her way to a country in South America. When she signed over the deed to her condo to me she wouldn’t tell me where she was going.”

A light knock on the door garnered Booth’s attention. His housekeeper’s gaze shifted to Carter. “Yes, Alice?”

“Miss Houston is on her way up.”

“Thank you, Alice. Please see Mr. Browning to the door.”

Realizing he’d been unceremoniously dismissed, Carter took the tape recorder, stood up and walked out of the home office of a man with whom he hadn’t known he’d shared a bloodline until six months ago. It’d taken him that long to work up enough nerve to approach Booth Gordon. He wasn’t certain whether his cousin would go along with his scheme, but he had to take the risk. The other alternative was if Booth went to the police, then he would lose his license to practice law. For Carter, that was not an option.

With wide eyes, he watched an incredibly beautiful woman coming closer and closer, walking into his cousin’s condo as he walked out. He saw Booth grasp her hand and press a kiss
to her fingers before the door closed. Carter wasn’t certain how long he stood just staring into space; when the elevator door opened again and a middle-aged couple emerged he was galvanized into action. Moving quickly, he caught the door before the car moved again. He rode to the lobby and walked out of the luxury high-rise; standing on the sidewalk breathing in the hot, humid city air, he felt a sudden surge of bravado.

Joan Powers had told him that if he left the condo alive, then he could consider himself blessed and her scheme a success. She claimed Booth Wilkes Gordon operated on the principle of power, money and ego. Carter smiled. It appeared as if the old girl was right.

B
ooth knew that meeting with Seneca Houston was the magic cure to dispel the rage he’d experienced when he’d sat entertaining the preposterous scheme outlined by Carter Browning. There was no way he was going to take the word of a stranger that they were related until he’d had Carter investigated.

Although it was his voice on the tape, Booth knew enough lawyers to get the tapes thrown out as inadmissible. And there was still the question of taping private conversations. If Joan Powers hadn’t left the States, he would have made certain to find her and make her pay for her betrayal.

His eyes swept over Seneca, finding her changed, more beautiful. Her hair was lighter, and the pale gray silk chiffon ruffle sundress was virginal and seductive. Tonight she wore a pair of black leather flats instead of the stilettos she favored. He could look her in the eye instead of having to tilt his head.

“You look beautiful,” he crooned, curbing the urge to brush his mouth over hers. She smelled as delicious as she looked.
Red and gold wisps had escaped the loose knot at the top of her head.

Seneca smiled, her rose-colored lips parting. “Thank you, Booth. I like your hair.” He hadn’t just shortened the back but had shorn his salt-and-pepper hair to where it lay against his scalp like feathers on a raven. Dressed entirely in black linen, he radiated masculinity
and
power.

Booth smiled, the warmth in the expression reaching his brilliant eyes. “Thank you. It took some getting used to, but I must say I like it. And I thank you for being so candid.” Tucking her hand in the curve of his elbow, he led her into the living room. He seated her on a chair, taking one facing her. His gaze went to her long bare legs when she crossed them at the knee.

Leaning over, he picked up a water goblet filled with sparkling water and a sliver of lime, handing it to Seneca, then picked up a glass of his favorite rosé. He raised his glass in a toast. “To Butterfly.”

Seneca flashed a demure smile. “Butterfly,” she said softly, inclining her head.

Booth took a long swallow of his wine, holding it in his mouth before letting the premium vintage slide down the back of his throat. “I saw the photos of you and Kingston, and to say I was blown away is an understatement.”

“Mitchell is an incredible photographer,” Seneca said.

“No, baby. He has to have something to work with.”

Seneca felt a shiver of annoyance when Booth called her baby; she wasn’t his baby or anything close to it. What she’d found strange was that she didn’t resent Phillip using the endearment. Perhaps it was because they were closer in age than she and Booth, who was twice her age and old enough to be her father.

“You’re right,” she agreed. Posing with Phillip was akin to their making love again.

Booth pointed to the small, gaily wrapped box on the table. “That’s a little something from me to you. Take it,” he urged, when Seneca stared at it without moving.

She picked up the package, carefully peeling away the black velvet bow and glossy black-and-yellow foil. She couldn’t stop the rush of air coming from her mouth when she saw what Booth had given her. Suspended on a gold chain, with stations of diamonds, was a large pear-shaped blue topaz with delicate butterflies and flower petals encrusted with emeralds, diamonds and rubies. There were even diamonds on the bail.

“What…why are you giving me this?”

“You earned it, Seneca.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, I earned it?”

“You’re going to be in a commercial with Phillip Kingston that will air for the first time during the Super Bowl. A production company has arranged for you to come to L.A. this weekend for rehearsals. You’ll fly first-class into LAX, where a driver will be at your disposal for as long as you remain there. I’ve also arranged for you to stay at L’Ermitage in Beverly Hills. It’s a five-star hotel designed to combine elegance with privacy. I’m certain you’ll enjoy your stay there.”

Seneca’s eyelids fluttered wildly. Booth had shocked her with the gift of the pendant, and now he’d planned for her to fly to California. “I can’t go.”

“Why not?” Booth didn’t bother to hide his exasperation.

“I promised my family I would get together with them for the holiday weekend.”

Looping one leg over the opposite knee, the agent peered at his client through narrowed eyes. “It’s time you grew up, Seneca. I’m not going to lose forty-thousand dollars
because you want to go home to see mummy and daddy,” he sneered.

Her smooth brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ll be paid two-hundred thousand dollars for a ten-second ad. Do you know how many twenty-year-old girls would jump at an opportunity like the one presented to you? Millions,” he said, answering his own question. He placed both feet on the carpeted floor. “You’re going to L.A., Seneca, and you’re going to perform like you’ve never performed, or I’ll sue you for everything you have or ever hope to have.”

The enormity of what Booth was offering was mind-boggling. A company was willing to pay her almost a quarter of a million dollars to be in a commercial with Phillip Kingston for a mere ten seconds. That computed into her earning twenty-thousand dollars per second. She knew her parents would be disappointed not to have her join them, but she had to think of her career
and
her future.

“Okay, Booth, I’ll go.”

“Don’t make it sound as if you’re doing me a favor, Seneca. This is your career, and do not forget there are thousands of young women who would love to be where you are now. You’re going to be in Rhys Calhoun’s Miami show, and I’m currently talking to a designer who may find a spot for you in his show this coming fall.”

“Where is it?”

A beat passed. “Paris.”

Pinpoints of heat pricked Seneca’s face and armpits. She couldn’t believe Booth had said Paris. It was the world’s fashion capital, even though Milan was actively vying for the title.

Every girl who’d dreamed of a modeling career set her sights on walking down a Parisian runway, and she was no exception. Booth was right. She had to grow—and quickly.
A mysterious smile touched her lips. “I took your advice and renewed my passport.”

Leaning over, Booth rested a hand on her knee. “Good girl.” He winked at her. “I had my housekeeper prepare salmon. If you’d prefer something—”

“The salmon is fine,” Seneca said softly. Her dark eyes met and fused with a green-blue pair that reminded her of the Caribbean Sea. “Thank you again, Booth, for the gift and for helping me get the ad with Phillip.”

Booth removed his hand when what he’d wanted to do was slide it up her thigh to her crotch. “You like Kingston, don’t you?” A becoming blush gave him his answer before Seneca spoke.

“Yes, I do. I like him a lot.”

“And he likes you, Seneca. That was obvious from your expressions in the photographs. I’m not usually into match-making, but I’ve invited Kingston to spend the weekend with me when I go out to my rental property in Southampton. I’d like for you to join us.”

“What weekend are you talking about?”

“The third weekend in July. A good friend is celebrating his birthday on the fifteenth, and he would have my head if I didn’t show up.”

“My birthday is also on the fifteenth.”

“Okay. That means you’ll be celebrating a milestone birth day. If that’s the case, then I’m going to invite Mitchell, Luis Navarro and Rhys to join us to celebrate you becoming legal. Is there anyone else you’d like to invite?”

Seneca groaned inwardly for the second time within minutes. First she was going to miss seeing her family for the Fourth of July weekend, and now Booth had arranged for her celebrate her twenty-first birthday with him instead of her
family. She knew she had to call her mother to let her know she wouldn’t be able to come to Ithaca as planned.

“I’ll ask my roommate if she’d like to come with her boyfriend.”

Booth counted on his fingers. “Do you mind rooming with Kingston? The house has six bedrooms and I’m not certain whether Mitchell and Luis will bring someone with them. I know for certain Rhys doesn’t go anywhere without a woman.”

“No, I don’t mind.” One thing Seneca had decided to be adult about was her relationship with Phillip. She didn’t plan to take out an ad to tell the world they were sleeping together, but she didn’t intend to hide it either.

Clasping his hands together in a prayerful gesture, Booth nodded. “Good.” He rose to his feet, extended his hand and helped Seneca to her feet. “I think it’s time we ate.”

Seneca felt the comforting warmth of Booth’s hand, feeling completely at ease with her agent. He’d promised to make her a supermodel, and with him negotiating a deal to have her appear in a commercial with Phillip Kingston, she’d taken her first step in the journey.

Seneca held the receiver away from her ear when Dahlia’s voice rose to ear-shattering decibels. “How can hanging out with a bunch of fake-ass plastic people be more important than your family, Seneca?”

“Why do you make it sound as if I’m hanging out?” she asked her mother. “I’ll be working.”

“Sure!” Dahlia spat out. “Taking off your clothes and spreading your legs for every pervert to gawk at.”

Red-hot rage swept over Seneca. “For your information, I won’t be taking off my clothes.”

“But isn’t that what slutty models do? Take off their clothes?”

“No, Mother, they don’t.”

“Don’t call me Mother!”

“And don’t try to
fuck
with my head.” The expletive slipped out. “Just because your life didn’t turn out the way you wanted, don’t try to rain on my parade. I thought mothers wanted more for their daughters than they had for themselves, but it looks as if my
mother
wants me to be as miserable as she is. All of my life I’ve put up with your toxic negativity, but it stops today—now. If you can’t give me your blessing, then so be it. But I’m not going to let you stop me from realizing my dreams. Goodbye.”

Seneca’s hand was shaking uncontrollably when she hung up the phone. She’d known her mother would be disappointed that she wouldn’t join the family for what was always viewed as an unofficial family reunion, but she’d hoped at least she would be happy that her daughter would appear in a commercial with a high-profile athlete. It would give her something to brag about—but no, not Dahlia Houston. If the attention wasn’t on Dahlia, then she pouted and acted out like a child who couldn’t get her way.

Booth had told Seneca to grow up, but it was Dahlia who needed to grow up. At forty-two she was much too old to engage in temper tantrums. The phone rang, startling her and she picked it up before it rang a second time. “Hello.”

“Seneca, this is your father.”

Closing her eyes, she exhaled an audible sigh. “Yes, Daddy.”

“What’s with you cursing your mother?”

“I didn’t mean to curse at her, but she’s impossible, Daddy. I called to tell her that I can’t come up this weekend because
I have to shoot a commercial in L.A. and she called me a slut. What my mother and your wife forgets is that I’m a grown-ass woman. I can’t get any more grown, just older. I’ll respect her as a grown woman, but only if she’s willing to reciprocate.”

“I don’t want to get into this middle of this, but—”

“Then don’t, Daddy. Mom spews her venom, but when someone gives it back to her she runs to you to fight her battles. You’re her husband, not her father. You shouldn’t be defending her.”

There came a long pause before Oscar said, “Where is all of this hostility coming from, Seneca?”

“Someone told me to grow up when I thought about turning down a six-figure deal because I didn’t want to miss seeing my family for our annual Fourth of July gathering, and I took his advice. I told him that I was going to L.A. because there would be many more Fourths of July for me and my family to get together. If Mom can’t understand that, then I don’t know what to say. And by the way, I won’t see you for my birthday, because I have other plans for that weekend, too.”

“Are you doing this to punish your mother?”

“No, I’m not, Daddy. I love my mother and I wouldn’t deliberately hurt her, but she has to stop trying to control everyone’s life. She’s upset because I dropped out of school, upset because I’ve chosen to model, and she’s angry because I won’t let her control my life.”

“That’s who she is, Seneca,” Oscar argued softly.

“She wouldn’t have to be who she is if you didn’t put up with her theatrics. She’s probably gloating right now because you’re talking to me and hoping you’ll get me to change my mind. But it’s not going to happen, Daddy. Being an adult is all about being responsible. I’ve committed to going to L.A. and to Southampton for my birthday. I’m not certain when
I’ll be able to come up, but I promise I’ll see you before the end of the summer.”

“What about the Labor Day weekend?”

“My agent has booked me for a show in Paris in early September. As soon as I get all the details, I’ll let you know.”

“You’re really serious about this modeling, aren’t you?”

Seneca smiled for the first time since she’d dialed her parents’ number. “Very serious, Daddy. I can’t explain it, but I’m someone else when the camera and lights are on me. It’s like having an out-of-body experience. People don’t see Seneca Houston, but Butterfly.”

Oscar chuckled softly. “So, my baby has become a butterfly.”

Tears filled her eyes. “Yes, she has.”

“I just wish your grandmother could see you now. She would be so proud.”

The tears filling Seneca’s eyes spilled over. “I know that.”

“I’m going to let you go, because I know you have to get ready for your flight. Don’t let your mother stress you, baby. Once she sees the commercial she’ll change her mind.”

Seneca wanted to tell her father she didn’t care if Dahlia did or didn’t approve of her modeling career, because even if any one of her children was fortunate enough to become President of the United States, she would still find fault and complain. Some people were placed on the earth to be chronic complainers, and Dahlia Houston was counted among them.

“I hope she will. I’m going to ring off now because I have to meet with a designer to select what I’m going to take with me. Love you, Daddy.”