Heartstrings and Diamond Rings (32 page)

“I think you’re right.”

“And so am I.” He kissed her hair and pulled her closer. “What do you think, Alison? Do we have a family in the making?”

In light of everything that had happened that day, just the word “family” was enough to make tears come to her eyes.

“Stop it,” she said. “You’re going to make me cry, and I look like hell with runny mascara.”

“Would it help if I told you I love you, runny mascara and all?”

Alison smiled. This day just got better and better.

Heather came up behind them. “Hey, are you guys coming to the bar? Tony’s already there. The first drink’s on us.”

“I never turn down free drinks,” Alison said. “But one’s my limit.”

“Hey, Heather,” Brandon said. “I’ll give you twenty bucks to tell me the state fair story.”

Alison looked at Heather, raising a warning eyebrow.

“Sorry,” Heather said. “What happens at the state fair stays at the state fair.” She gave Alison a hug and whispered, “I’m just so glad things worked out.”

“Yeah,” Alison whispered back. “Me, too.”

Heather left the house, only to poke her head back in the door. “Hey, you guys have a package on the porch. UPS delivery.”

Brandon stepped out onto the porch and brought a big, flat box inside.

“Wonder what it is?” Brandon said.

Alison glanced at the return address and smiled. “Let’s find out.”

They took the box to the living room and sat down on the sofa. Brandon opened it. And when he saw what was inside, a smile of contentment spread across his face.

It was a yard sign. Heartstrings. Tying Two Hearts Together Forever.

Alison thought about how she’d felt when all this began, back during that time when she’d been so eager to help him. She couldn’t have imagined what would happen between then and now to give this sign ten times more meaning than it could ever have had before.

“I ordered it weeks ago,” she said. “It was supposed to be here long before now. Do you like it?”

“I love it,” he said, holding it up. “It looks as if my grandmother’s business is mine now, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it does. Shall we put it up?”

They took the sign out to the front yard. Brandon pulled up the Matchmaking by Rochelle sign and set it aside. He pushed the stakes of the new sign into the ground, and they backed away to look at it.

“It’s perfect,” he said.

They admired it a little while longer, and then he walked back over and picked up the old sign. He held it a moment, his expression growing solemn. A look of remorse filled his eyes.

“As I got older, I knew I needed to go back to see my grandmother. To make amends. To show her I wasn’t the kid she remembered. And I think I would have eventually. But then one day passed, and another, and another. And then…” He swallowed hard. “And then she was gone.”

Alison put her hand around his waist and lay her head against his shoulder, standing with him in the late afternoon sunlight as he continued to stare at the sign.

“You said my grandmother would be proud of me for taking over her business,” Brandon said. “Do you still think so?”

“Yes. I do.”

He was silent for several more seconds, a hint of sorrow crossing his face. “I never told her I loved her.”

“Did you?” Alison said.

“I barely knew what love was back then.”

“Do you now?”

He turned and looked down at her. “Yeah,” he said, his lips edging into a gentle smile. “I think I do.”

“I have an idea,” Alison said.

“What?”

“Let’s put the old sign in the backyard. For just the two of us to see.”

They walked around to the backyard, where Brandon planted the sign near the patio in the shade of the old magnolia tree. Then they sat down on the glider together. As Alison curled up in Brandon’s arms and he rocked them gently back and forth, she decided relationships weren’t about modest expectations, and that soul mate thing wasn’t a crock after all. Brandon had told her once to forget ordinary, that she should be looking for somebody extraordinary.

And she’d finally found him.

B
ernadette Hogan wished that when this night was over, she could tell Jeremy Bridges to go to hell. She was about ten times more emotionally stable than the average person, but if she had to spend one more evening watching him pick up vacuous blond women for fun and recreation, she was going to go insane. Yeah, he attended all these charity events as the philanthropic CEO of Sybersense Systems, but in the end it wasn’t about generosity. It was about putting one more notch in his hand-carved Louis XIV bedpost.

But it wasn’t Bernie’s job to plan a principal’s itinerary. Her job was to protect him wherever he decided to go. And, of course, there was the small matter of the outrageous amount of money he paid her to put up with this nonsense, money she was going to need desperately in the coming years. So she kept that resignation letter only in her head, staring at it longingly with her mind’s eye every time he aggravated her to the breaking point.

Tonight would be one of those times.

Carlos pulled the limo into the driveway of the San Moritz Hotel behind a string of unusually small and sedate vehicles. Tonight, it seemed, the filthy rich of Dallas society had left their Mercedeses and Beemers and gas-guzzling Hummers in their five-car garages, opting instead for their hybrids and electric cars.

Bernie sighed. “So which environmental cause are we championing this evening?”

Jeremy’s brows drew together thoughtfully. “Hmm. Good question.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out an invitation. “Ah. Global warming. Emphasis on diminishing polar bear habitats.”

“And here you are in your limo. Last I checked, it gets about nine miles to the gallon. People are staring.”

“People are hypocrites.”

“True, but it’s all about appearances.”

“It’s all about comfort,” Jeremy said. “I didn’t make all this money to cram myself into a car the size of a shoebox.”

“You don’t seem to mind cramming yourself inside your Ferrari.”

“The Ferrari doesn’t count. It’s the only vehicle on earth that makes it worth giving up my wet bar and HDTV.”

With that, he drained his Glenlivet and set the empty glass down with a contented sigh. There wasn’t much that Jeremy denied himself in the way of creature comforts. He drank the best Scotch, lived in a gazillion-dollar house, traveled the world, and dated women who were knockout gorgeous with brains the size of golf balls.
Nice to look at,
Jeremy had told Bernie more than once,
without all that pesky intelligence to get in the way of a good time.

Bernie sighed. With that one statement, he singlehandedly set feminism back fifty years.

There had been a time when total professionalism had dictated the way she dealt with Bridges.
Yes, sir. No, sir. Very good, sir.
But the longer she worked for him, the more she spoke her mind. Her attitude didn’t mean she didn’t take her job seriously. It just meant she had an outlet for the irritation she felt around him just about every minute of every day. Fortunately, because Jeremy was a bored rich guy who refused to play by the rules, a smartass bodyguard seemed to suit him just fine. Good thing, because if she had to hold her tongue around him, she’d probably end up killing him herself.

“Are you planning on tying that tie?” she asked him.

Jeremy looked down at the tie dangling around his neck. “The invitation said I had to wear a black tie. It didn’t say how I had to wear it.”

“Did it also say you had to wear athletic shoes?”

“No,” he said with a smile. “That’s my fashion statement.”

Truth be told, Jeremy could show up in what he usually wore in his spare time—crappy cargo shorts, a Rangers’ T-shirt, and flip-flops—and they’d still let him in. If he wrote a big enough check, he could show up stark naked. But it wasn’t like him to be in their faces about it. He always dressed well enough that they would admit him without question, but just shabby enough that they wished they didn’t have to. Now that he was thirty-seven years old, Bernie thought maybe he ought to knock off the eccentricities and play it straight, but hell would probably freeze over first.

Over the years, the press had tried to dig up any dirt that might explain his quirkiness, but except for the basics, his background remained something of a mystery. He had grown up in Houston with his father. Mother unknown. Graduated from Texas Southwestern University. Short stint as a software engineer before starting his own company, which eventually became Sybersense. Except for more current professional and civic activities, that was about it.

Bernie looked at the rich folks strolling into the hotel and sighed. “Must we do this?”

“Now, Bernie. This is a very special occasion. After all, how many times in this city does somebody have a benefit for such an outstanding cause and invite all the rich, pretty people?”

“About once a week.”

“Exactly! Not nearly often enough. It’s time for us to party.”

“Us?”

“Okay. So it’s time for me to party and you to watch for bad guys. Everyone should stick with what they do best.”

Bernie glared at him. “It’s a credible threat this time, you know.”

“That also happens about once a week.”

He was right. When a man had Jeremy’s money and influence, somebody was always out to get him. She was reasonably certain the recent death threat had something to do with Sybersense’s new medical management software that was due to launch early next year. Word on the street was that it was so revolutionary that it would forever change the way the medical industry conducted its business and bring untold riches right to Bridges’s doorstep. But in order to accomplish that, he’d executed hostile takeovers of two of his hottest rivals, which allowed him, among other things, to cherry-pick the best and brightest programmers and other employees who could help him develop and market his new product. Then he kicked the rest to the curb. Unfortunately, that had removed a lot of formerly wealthy, high-powered executives from the gravy train at their respective companies and given them a reason to want to see Sybersense fail or Jeremy dead. Or both.

But in Bernie’s experience, the threat could also be coming from somebody who drove a taxi or washed windows who decided he didn’t like rich guys, which was why she had to stay vigilant.

Bernie felt pretty certain this event would be the harmless experience it seemed to be on the surface, but there was no way for her
or
Jeremy to know that for sure. All Bernie knew was that every time she tried to figure out why he behaved the way he did, she realized how pointless that was and merely concentrated on keeping his body and soul together.

“Don’t you ever get bored doing this?” she asked him.

“What? Going to charity events?”

“No. Going to charity events, picking up Paris Hilton wannabes, and having your way with them.”

“Oh. Well, when you put it like that…” His mouth turned up in a cocky smile. “Nope. Doesn’t bore me at all.”

“Good
God
, I hope you practice safe sex.”

“Of course. You never know when some dread disease will rear its ugly head. Your concern is heartwarming.”

“Concern, my ass. I just want you to do the world a favor and keep your genetic material to yourself.”

“Not to worry,” he said, patting his pants pocket. “I’m nothing if not prepared.”

She shook her head. The man singlehandedly kept the latex industry afloat.

“Why go to all the trouble of attending these events?” she asked. “Why not just stay home and order out?”

“Order out?”

“Haul out your little black book and take your pick. Send Carlos to pick her up.”

“But if I did that, I wouldn’t have the opportunity to… what is it we’re doing again?”

“Saving the polar bears.”

“Oh, yeah. We have to think of the wildlife.”

“Come on, Bridges. The only species you’re interested in preserving is the Perpetual Bachelor. Unfortunately, the world’s never going to run out of those.”

“Now that’s where you’re wrong, Bernie. Polar bears are at the forefront of my consciousness nearly every minute of every day.”

“And I’ll believe that the moment polar bears grow blond hair and big breasts.”

“If you object so much to this event, stay in the limo. I restocked the DVD collection.
Terminator, Alien, Die Hard—
all your old favorites.”

“I’m paid to stick close to you.”

“Not too close. You have a tendency to cramp my style.”

“I have a tendency to keep you alive.”

“Do you have to be so dramatic?”

Bernie narrowed her eyes. “Are you forgetting the London incident?”

“That was an accident.”

“That was an out-of-control car that may not really have been out of control.”

“We’ll never know for sure, will we?”

“Fine. Die. See if I care.”

“Of course you care. Would you be able to abuse another client the way you abuse me?”

“
Abuse
you?”

Jeremy leaned forward and tapped the Plexiglas window. “Carlos?”

The window came down. “Yes, sir?”

“Would you categorize Bernie’s attitude toward me as abusive?”

“Oh, yes, sir. Absolutely.”

“Thank you, Carlos.”

As the window went back up, Jeremy turned to Bernie. “Now, there’s a man who knows who signs his paychecks.”

Bernie glared at Carlos. “Ass kisser.”

“Tell me something, Bernie,” Jeremy said.

“Yeah?”

“Exactly where do you hide your weapon when you’re wearing a skirt?”

She met his gaze evenly. “That’s none of your business.”

Jeremy’s gaze slid away from her eyes, slithered down to her breasts, fell to her thighs, then lazily made its way back up again. “So you’re leaving it to my imagination?”

For a moment she felt the oddest twinge of awareness, as if she was one of those glowy, showy, magazine-perfect women he was so fond of. Just the sound of his voice made her heart beat a little faster. And those gorgeous green eyes. Good God, it was no wonder women fell in his wake.

It wasn’t as if she didn’t know he was pushing her buttons. Jeremy thrived on knocking people off guard, and he wasn’t above using every weapon in his arsenal to do it, including sex. But that didn’t mean she was immune to him as a man, and when he looked at her with that unrelenting stare, she couldn’t help the hot, sexy thoughts that entered her mind.

In a few minutes, though, he’d be zeroing in on some dazzling daddy’s girl or elegant divorcee, at which time he’d suddenly go Bernie-blind. In the end, she was just one more employee at his beck and call, like his housekeeper or his pool boy. And that was fine by her.

“Knock it off, Bridges. All you need to know is that I’m armed, I’m dangerous, and whether it’s good for the world or not, I’ll get you home in one piece.”

“Actually, I doubt you’d even need a weapon,” Bridges said. “Didn’t I hear that you once killed a man with a Popsicle stick?”

“A Popsicle stick?” She made a scoffing noise. “That’s ridiculous.”

“So the rumor isn’t true?”

“Of course not.” She paused. “It was a Q-Tip.”

Jeremy just smiled, then turned his attention to a glittering Barbie doll standing near the front door of the hotel beside a planter full of periwinkles. Her mile-long legs protruded from beneath the hem of a sheath of silvery fabric that clung to her body like Glad Wrap, and her headful of stunning blond hair glinted in the evening light.

The car ahead of them drove away, and Carlos pulled to the curb directly in front of the hotel. A uniformed man opened the door of the limo and gave Jeremy a deferential smile. “Good evening, sir.” Then he turned to Bernie, and his smile faltered. She could read it in his eyes as clearly as if he’d shouted it:
What’s a woman like you doing with a man like him?

He cleared his throat. “Uh… good evening, miss.”

Miss?
Bernie cringed. Nobody had referred to her as “Miss” since… well,
ever.
And it was none of his damned business what she was doing with Jeremy, anyway.

The man dutifully held out his hand to her, as if she needed help getting out of a car. She ignored him and climbed out, quickly scanning the area for anything out of place. She and Jeremy headed for the front door of the hotel, and she got a good look at the blond for the first time.

Even though the woman wore enough mascara to sink a freighter, Bernie thought she recognized her. Two days ago, outside the gates of Jeremy’s house, a woman had been standing at the curb, watching as they pulled through the gates. Bernie also remembered a woman loitering outside a restaurant yesterday where Bridges had met his chief financial officer for lunch. Bernie couldn’t say with absolute certainty that it was the same woman, but her instincts rarely failed her. Two sightings was a coincidence. Three was a pattern. And even though the woman was dressed to the nines, she didn’t mesh with the sophisticated crowd here tonight. Bar hopping in the West Village seemed more appropriate. Her makeup was too extreme, her dress too flashy, her heels too high. When somebody didn’t fit the profile of the occasion, it was always a reason for a heads-up.

As they passed her on their way into the hotel, the woman turned slowly and gave Bridges a suggestive smile. Not surprisingly, he matched her smile with one of his own. But Bernie sensed something about the woman’s demeanor that went beyond the usual high-society mating ritual she’d witnessed a hundred times before.

Then the woman shifted her gaze to Bernie.

Her smile vanished, replaced with an oddly irritated expression that made a chill snake between Bernie’s shoulders. In spite of the fact that Bernie had arrived with Jeremy, there was no way on earth this woman considered her a romantic rival. Something else was going on, which meant Bernie needed to keep a close eye on her for the remainder of the evening.

As Jeremy stepped into the ballroom, the same feeling of déjà vu passed over him that he always felt on nights like this. Interchangeable hotels. Interchangeable causes. Interchangeable, ingratiating people who wanted his money.

Mile-long buffet—
check
. Silent auction—
check.
Bar in every corner stocked to the hilt—
check.
Young, sexy society women looking for husbands—
check.
Just once he’d like to see something different at one of these events. Maybe a margarita machine or a beer bong. A rock band instead of the symphony strings. Karaoke. A wet T-shirt contest.