Gold Shimmer (15 page)

“I’m sorry, Father.” The fact Celeste uses the formal term to address her dad should’ve clued me in.
Did my voice just shake?
Ugh, clearing my throat, I clench my hands together on my lap. “Marco claims that since
you’re
his employer, he can talk to me any way he wants.”

When the Senator instantly frowns at my bodyguard and demands, “Is this true?” I take a steadying breath.

“That-that’s not what I said,” Marco stutters, jerking upright to a more formal position in the chair.

I’m so relieved that I seemed to have passed her father’s initial inspection that I answer as if
I
was the one Marco offended. “Did you
not
curse at me the moment I drove up?”

Marco’s face reddens. “That’s only because you took off without me.”

“Celeste,” Gregory warns, frowning at me. “That’s entirely unacceptable. You know you’re not to leave the house without your bodyguard.”

Right now
I’m
totally on Celeste’s side about canning this asshole. “What good does having a bodyguard do if he can’t even tell that someone is following me?”

“No one is following you!” Marco raises his voice, clearly agitated as he pulls on his tie to loosen it. “And if that were really true, why would you take off without me?”

“To prove how easily I can, which means
you’re
not doing your job,” I say, refusing to back down from his resentful gaze.

Marco starts to speak when Gregory cuts in, “Enough!” Pointing to Marco, he narrows his gaze. “Do your job, Marco. Now get the hell out!”

“But—” he cuts himself off at Gregory’s hard stare, then glares at me before leaving.

Once the door shuts behind him, I say, “Thank you for—”

“Silence. We need to talk,” the Senator barks.

Oh God…does he know I’m not Celeste?
I’m shaking on the inside so hard, I curl my hands into fists beside my thighs.

Gregory scowls. “I have a lot on my plate right now. I don’t have time to deal with petty stuff like this, Celeste. Stop playing games with Marco. You will wait for him to follow before you leave here. Not only is your safety at risk, but that of our family. I shouldn’t have to remind you that the Carver business is in
your
name.”

It is? What the hell?
Celeste didn’t mention it. I’m just so relieved he’s calling me Celeste that I don’t immediately respond. But that does makes sense that the Carver business would be in Celeste’s name now. According to the info Celeste gave me on her family, her mother has lupus. She’s too ill to take on much responsibility. They must’ve made the change of leadership of the family business to Celeste when her father accepted the Senate appointment. In his new role, he would need to avoid a conflict of interest with the private business sector.

“There is no one stalking you. No one is watching you. I refuse to have this discussion again, Celeste. Is that understood?” The finality in her father’s tone draws me out of my thoughts.

Shocked by his seeming indifference for his daughter’s wishes, I tilt my chin higher. If there’s even a chance that Celeste is right and her bodyguard is a total idiot—the asshole part has already been established—then she needs to be protected by someone she trusts to have her back.

I reach for my earlier anger to get me through this. “Since I’m the head of Carver Enterprises, that means that technically I’m Marco’s employer.”

When the Senator’s expression hardens, I hold up my hand. “Calder Blake is coming to the event today. You know his qualifications.”

“I can’t find anything on him since he left the military nine months ago, Celeste.” Gregory pulls out a folder from a drawer, opening it on his desk. “Honestly, his Blake family connection has more appeal to me than his qualifications as a personal guard.”

I mask my annoyance at how easily he brushes his daughter’s concerns off. “Consider it a double win, then. When you meet him today, please listen to what he has to say. I think you’ll be impressed by him.”

The Senator snorts and stands to his wiry six-foot height, buttoning his suit jacket. “We shall see. For now let’s table the subject. I need to leave for a meeting in five minutes.”

After being summarily dismissed, I head upstairs. I text Celeste as I walk down the hall, heading for her room.

Me: Your bodyguard is an ass.

I type “And so is your father” but then delete it.

Celeste: Yes, he is.

Me: Would’ve been nice to know YOU’RE Carver Enterprises now.

Celeste: Don’t let the title fool you.

I start to ask what she means by that, but I gasp as I nearly run into a pretty girl in her early twenties with delicate features, light brown hair and big green eyes.

“Sheesh, Celeste, I thought you’d given up social media.”

Has she? Interesting.
I quickly tuck the phone in my purse. “Hey, Lizzy. Are you looking forward to the cocktail?”

Celeste’s younger sister blinks at me. “Beth! You know how much I hate Lizzy.” She corrects me, rolling her eyes. “And is that a trick question? You know I’d rather be flayed alive.”

Celeste knows Beth hates the name Lizzy. She uses it constantly to annoy her sister. Snickering, I continue on toward Celeste’s room, calling back to her. “The torture begins in three hours. The bar’s open at five. Don’t be late.”

“Don’t worry. I know how to put on a show.”

When I glance back, she’s already gone from the hall. Ah, that’s right…her room was the door I passed a second ago.

Celeste’s bedroom is at the end of the hall. I knew it was massive based on the house layout she went over with me, but seeing the plush sofa seating area next to a marble fireplace against the far wall, a desk/library combo space on one side of the room, a massive king-sized sleigh bed on the other, and a full sized bathroom off the far left corner of the huge space really drills her family’s wealth home. My entire apartment could fit in her bedroom. Correction—suite.

Leaning against the door, I take several deep breaths, glad to be away from scrutinizing eyes.

So far, so good.

Unbelievable!
I mentally fuss as I watch the pearl earring I tried to put in my ear bounce against the bed before disappearing into the cream-colored carpet. Getting down on my hands and knees in the fitted velvet dress is a feat in itself, but after a minute of running my hand across the carpet under the bed and in front of the nightstand, I’m about to give up when I decide to run my fingers just under the nightstand itself.

“Gotcha,” I mutter in triumph. As I start to straighten with the earring in my hand, I glance up and see a quarter-inch wide red ribbon poking out the underside of the nightstand. Once I put the earring in, I quickly pull the drawer open and furrow my brow. Other than a couple of books, some nail polish and some pens, there’s nothing in the drawer with a ribbon on it.

I slide the drawer closed and peer under the nightstand once more, this time pushing on the underside. I’m surprised when the wood gives, then tilts with the weight of something sliding right before a gold-paged book falls onto the floor. I stare at the black book, it’s red ribbon bookmark standing out against the light carpet.

“Are you kidding me?” I whisper, lifting the book and staring at the gold lock holding the diary closed. As unbelievable as it seems for someone who used to share a large part of her personal life on social media, what better place to keep secrets than off-line where no one can get to them? So long as no one knows it exists, I think as I push on the button to see if the lock will release. When it doesn’t budge, I sigh.
Maybe this is a reminder you’re not supposed to snoop.

Then she shouldn’t have given me full access to her room, I rationalize as I move to her desk and sift through the drawer. Once I find a paperclip, I unbend it and try my best to unlock the diary without scratching the gold lock.

After a few tries, I toss the paperclip in the trash and set the book down on the desk. Leaning on my hands, I stare at it, itching to know what someone like Celeste would write about.
Who stole her fashion idea? Her latest boyfriend? Who she screwed over in payback?

As I lean forward, the necklace swings back and forth, blocking my view of the lock. The second I wrap my fingers around it to stop its movement, my gaze zeroes on the key. It looks about the right size.
What if…

I quickly remove the necklace and slide the key into the lock, then let out a low triumphant laugh when the latch pops open.

Once I hook the necklace back around my neck, a twinge of guilt hits me as I open the book. When I see she has dated her entries that go all the way back to 1998, my conscience won’t let me read it, but I can’t help flipping to the day she played that prank on me. Yeah, I know the date. I’ll never forget it. What was running through her head that day?
Did she plan it? Did she feel any remorse?
Did I even rate a mention?

September 23, 2006

Does she realize that I helped her?

I stare at the page, then flip to a couple entries before and after this one. In each of the other entries, she wrote long poetry type passages. Flipping back to the one entry on the twenty-third, I stare at the sentence. I know it’s not about me, because there’s no way what she did could ever be considered generous or helpful. Words like
spiteful
and
cruel
come to mind. Who was she talking about?

A knock at the door makes me jump. “Come on, Celeste. Dad’s waiting on us,” Beth calls through the heavy wood.

“Go on down. I’ll just be a minute,” I say as I quickly snap the lock closed and move to put the diary back where I found it.

I’m halfway down the hall, when my clutch purse vibrates in my hand. Pulling Celeste’s phone out, I read her message.

Celeste: Calder is supposed to arrive right around six. You’ll need to greet him at the entrance, since he doesn’t know anyone.

She must’ve really kept their dating on the down-low if no one in her family has met Calder yet.

Me: What time do you think you’ll make it back tonight? I’m willing to meet you somewhere, so long as you tell me how to shake Marco.

Celeste: Not sure yet. I’ll let you know.

Damn, I hate the uncertainty of not knowing exactly when this charade will end.

I cross the huge entryway and enter the big room with a vaulted ceiling and glass doors across the entire curved wall on the other side of the room. I pause in the doorway when I catch sight of a thin, elegantly dressed dark-haired woman sitting in a chair and holding court with the few guests who have arrived early. The last thing I want to do is go near Nadine Carver.

If anyone can spot an imposter, it’s the mother.