Lost in Love (19 page)

Because it was easier to agree than argue, she said, “Thank you.” She opened the door and gestured him to go first.

The moment he stepped outside, flashes went off and people began to shout questions.

“Who is that?”

“It looks like Luca Fiorelli.”

“Luca, are you Imogen’s new love?”

“Who’s Luca Fiorelli?” another reporter asked.

Luca’s face became thunderous. He marched out to the edge of the walkway, where they all waited like rabid dogs. “What is this, that you don’t know who I am? I’m the greatest race car driver of this decade.”

“Just this decade?” Portia joked.

“Come. I will protect you,
cara
.” He took her arm and hurried her past the paparazzi to his Ferrari, parked across the street. He handed her in, closed her door, and went around to the driver side, exclaiming in rapid Italian the whole time.

She strapped herself in, waiting for him to calm down enough to speak English again.

The car roared to life. He revved it a few times more and, when she thought he was going to tear off onto the street, he faced her. “Can you believe them?”

She bit her lip to keep from smiling. “Anyone who doesn’t recognize you is obviously mad.”

“Not that they didn’t recognize. I care not about that.” He made an expansive gesture.

“Then what do you care about?”

“They ask if I’m seeing Gigi.” He glared at her.

She put her hands in the air. “I didn’t ask that. In any case, why would that bother you?”

“Gigi is an
infant
.” He spat the words as if it were distasteful. “I do not date infants. Only a woman can handle
this
.”

Portia knew which woman he wanted to handle him. To soothe him, she patted his shoulder. “You’re right to be insulted.”

“
Pazzo
, all of them.” He shook his head and tore away from the curb.

Portia gripped the door handle. At least Luca drove on the correct side of the street.

Chapter Twenty-five

The tiara wasn’t in the vault.

Jack stared at the spot where he’d set the tiara. It was empty—not even a file folder of confidential papers in its place.

“That can’t be,” he muttered, tossing the contracts he’d been about to put in the safe onto his desk. He knew he’d put the tiara right here. Maybe Quinn had moved it?

Only it wasn’t there, and no matter how many times he rearranged everything he couldn’t make it turn up.

Going to the desk, he pressed buttons on the phone, but he still couldn’t figure out the magic combination to buzz his assistant. To hell with it—he marched to the door and yanked it open. “Delia, can you come in here?”

“Right away, sir.” She stood and approached cautiously.

He rolled his eyes as he reentered the office. “I haven’t bit you yet, have I?”

“Not yet, sir.” She closed the door and waited at attention.

He pointed to the vault. “I put a tiara in there.”

She glanced at the safe. “I don’t see it.”

“That’s the problem. It’s not there anymore.”

She pursed her lips. “Surely you don’t think I took it?”

“Of course not.” This woman was so prickly. “I’m wondering if you’ve seen it. I need it.”

“I haven’t, sir, but I’m happy to find another tiara for you to wear,” she added.

“It’s not for me.”

She just stared at him.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m a
Texan
. I wear cowboy hats, not tiaras.”

“As you say, sir,” she replied not sounding convinced.

He narrowed his gaze at her. “You really haven’t been any help.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shaking his head, he pointed at the door. “Go.”

He swore she looked satisfied as she walked out. Before she closed the door behind her, he called out, “Get Quinn for me, will you?”

She murmured something indistinct, but a few minutes later his VP strode into his office. “Delia said you wanted to see me.”

He gestured to the vault. “There was a tiara in there.”

“Yes, there was.” Quinn unbuttoned his suit coat as he took a seat.

Jack waited, but when there was nothing else forthcoming, he said, “Well, what happened to it?”

Quinn stayed silent a moment. Then he picked up the phone and called Delia back in.

She reported to Quinn all polite and pleasant. “Yes, sir?”

Quinn smiled at her and calmly asked, “You wouldn’t know if anyone other than Jackson or me has had access to the safe, would you?”

“Mr. Waite senior,” she replied just as calmly.

“What?” Jack sat up. “Who gave permission for that old coot to have access?”

“He owns the company,” was her answer.

“Aw hell.” He lifted his hat and raked his hair before stuffing the hat back on his head. “And why the hell didn’t you mention that little fact before?”

She raised her brow. “You didn’t ask, sir.”

“Thank you, Delia,” Quinn said quickly. “That’ll be all.”

“That’s just great.” Jack picked up the phone and tried calling his dad’s phone, but the voicemail informed him that he was unavailable. He slammed the receiver down and muttered a curse.

Quinn cleared his throat. “If you calm down a moment, I’m sure there’s an explanation.”

“Yeah, that the old man is meddling.”

“He must still have it. If anything, he wouldn’t have time to do anything to it.”

His father had better still have it, because Jack hated to think that he’d let Portia down. This was just like what her father had done to her, giving away a home she’d been so keen to have.

His buzzer rang and the devil’s handmaiden’s voice filled the room. “Portia Summerhill is here to see you, sir.”

Quinn lifted his brow.

Jack pointed at him. “Not a word.”

“Why would I want to point out the folly of having sex with one of your hires?” Quinn asked dryly as he stood.

“You really wouldn’t, especially since you’re shagging Meredith, as they say here.”

Quinn’s eyes narrowed.

Jackson had seen that dangerous expression plenty of times over the year, in the boardroom or when closing a deal, but he’d never been on the receiving end before. He gawked at the man. “Hot damn. You’re in love with her.”

“Do you have a problem with that?” he asked in a low voice.

“Of course not. Have at her.” Though it looked like he already had.

Quinn nodded unhappily. “Was that all?”

Trouble in paradise? He wondered if he should ask, but he had trouble of his own. He waved Quinn away as he closed the door on the vault. “Let Portia in as you leave.”

Portia walked in a moment later, her face lit with happiness. She came up to him and, balancing her hand on his shoulder, reached up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

Just like his mom had kissed his dad.

His heart did something funny, but he sobered when he remembered that he didn’t have what she was here to collect.

“Thank you for taking the time to see me,” she murmured against his lips.

“I always have time for you.”

She smiled brightly at him, sliding her arms around his neck. “I have good news.”

“You’re naked under these clothes?” He tugged at her sweater.

She laughed. “You’re incorrigible. No. Meredith and I made good progress this week. It looks like my part in this project is at a close. I have a few details to do for Meredith still, but I should be able to wrap up tomorrow.”

He had a sickening feeling in his gut, knowing what was coming. He felt like slug; he knew he had to come clean. “That’s great, Portia. We should talk about the tiara.”

She hugged him tight. “
Thank you
. I know I haven’t finished the work yet, so it’s quite all right if you can’t release it to me yet.”

“I—”

“But we should celebrate,” she said enthusiastically. She tugged on his hand. “My sisters are meeting me at the Red Witch this afternoon. Come along.”

For a split second he had the foolish thought of turning her down, but when she looked at him happy and glowing like that he’d have followed her to the end of the world.

He spotted her sisters immediately when they walked into the Red Witch. The three blondes sat at a table in the back. One was in black with a colorful scarf, one looked like she needed a hug and twelve hours of sleep, and the other looked like a ballbuster. All of them had Portia’s coloring and aristocratic features.

Two other people crowded around the table with them: a brunette in huge sunglasses and a slick-looking pretty guy Jack wanted to punch for the roving way he looked over Portia.

“Luca,” Portia exclaimed, lighting up. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

The Eurotrash dude smiled silkily, like he was mentally undressing her and knew he’d find her hooker underwear underneath. “Summer called to say we are celebrating.”

Growling under his breath, Jack glared at the man. Who was he that her sisters called him to join them?

The guy caught Jack’s displeasure and grinned. Then he gave Portia a hug and kiss on her mouth, all the while smirking at him.

Portia blinked rapidly, obviously surprised. “What was that for?”

“To congratulate you.” Eurotrash dude flashed Jack another smirk.

Jack stepped forward, close behind Portia. He knew the guy was trying to rile him up, and it was working.

“Oh.” Portia took his arm. “Jackson, this is Luca, a friend of mine. Luca, Jackson.”

With deceptive casualness, Eurotrash took his hand. His smile was mild, but his grip was not. “A pleasure to meet a friend of Portia’s,” the man said, not sounding like he meant it.

“Likewise,” Jack replied with as much insincerity.

Portia frowned between them. “I feel like there’s a subtext to this conversation I’m not privy to.”

Luca smiled genuinely at her. “It is a matter for men.”

“What matter?” she persisted.

Jack put a hand on her back. “Nothing you need to worry about, sugar.”

“Sit down, Luca.” The ballbuster tugged him onto the stool next to her. To Jack, she said, “Pay no attention to him. Bothering people is his calling.”

Luca turned his bedroom eyes on the ballbuster. “I would make bothering you my life’s purpose,
mi amore
, if you but give me the word.”

The woman rolled her eyes and then held her hand out to Jack. “I’m Beatrice.”

Portia took his arm. “There’s also Viola, next to Bea, and Summer next to them. Rosalind isn’t here tonight?”

“She said she’d call you later,” Summer said. “She and Nick were doing something tonight.”

Beatrice snorted at that, and the other sisters smiled.

“I take it that’s an inside joke,” he said, looking at them. Then he pointed to each one. “Beatrice, Viola, Portia, and Rosalind are Shakespearean names.”

“He’s learned as well as cute,” the dark-haired woman said, sipping a martini.

“Who are you?”

They all looked at her. Portia said, “He won’t tell.”

The woman sighed dramatically. “I’m Imogen.”

“Imogen Summerhill, the actress?” he asked, staring at her unnaturally black hair. “Aren’t you usually blond?”

“Yes, but I’m incognito.”

“Not that your disguise is obvious at all,” Viola said, her sarcasm evident in the lift of her brow.

“If you tell anyone you’ve seen her, I’ll have your dangly bits coated in honey and buried in an ant colony,” Bea said mildly, saluting him with her wine glass.

He had the urge to cover his balls, but instead he sat down on a stool right next to Portia.

“Gigi is trying to avoid the paparazzi,” Portia explained, smiling in thanks as the redheaded bartender set drinks in front of them. She faced her sister. “How did you get out of the house without being noticed?”

“I went through the garden.” Imogen shrugged. “No one would recognize me in this disguise.”

“Because you look like an aging drag queen,” Viola said.

Imogen shook her head. “I definitely do not look aging.”

Summer was obviously a peacemaker, because she held up her glass and said, “A toast to Portia, who saw what she wanted and went after it.”

“To Portia!” they all cheered.

Except him. He lowered his head, feeling like a slug. He felt eyes on him and when he lifted his head he saw Imogen watching him like a hawk.

She got steely eyed. “Portia, switch seats with me.”

Great. He mentally sighed, knowing what was coming.

Imogen perched next to him, seemingly all casual, but she still had that look in her eye. “This museum job is important to my sister,” she said in a low, offhanded tone that wasn’t really offhanded at all.

He nodded. “I know.”

“Do you?” She stared at him the way his second grade teacher Mrs. Munson used to stare at him, like she knew he was up to no good and was waiting to catch him. “I’d hate it if anything or anyone got in the way of her success.”

“I only want her success and happiness, too,” he said, meaning every word.

Imogen tipped her head. “I actually believe that. But then why do I feel like there’s something wrong here?”

Because she was smart. He downed the whiskey the bartender brought him and stood up. “I hate to cut out, but I’m afraid I have to go.”

“Really?” Portia’s face fell.

He felt like a heel. He touched her arm. “I promised I’d meet my parents.”

Her mouth turned down. “I was hoping we could have a private celebration,” she said softly, playing with a button on his shirt.

He went zero-to-hard in one second flat. But as much as he wanted to, he had to fix things first. “Later. I promise, sugar.”

She nodded, her lips still downcast. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yes.” He kissed her briefly, aware that her family was watching. He nodded at them and said goodbye. Before he left the bar, he left money with the bartender to cover the drinks.

When he was outside, he pulled out his cell phone to call his dad. He was going to get to the bottom of this tiara thing.

But his dad didn’t answer, and when Jackson checked his messages there was one from his mom saying they were going to Paris.

Damn it. Frustrated, he put the phone away and caught a cab back to the office to search in the vault again, fruitless though he knew it’d be.