Made To Love Her (7 page)

I
had
no idea agreeing to chauffeur Daisy around would be so much work. I’m in the bakery with six other women. Monroe is talking—she’s always the one talking.

“What the hell is this?” she says, looking down at a piece of paper in front of her.

The woman behind the counter looks at Monroe as if she’s trying to contain how annoyed she is by her. “It’s the cake.”

Monroe continuously stabs the page with her finger. “I know, but why do I see chocolate mousse and chocolate cake? Get rid of that shit.”

“No. Maggie agreed to it,” Maddie whines.

“Maggie abhors chocolate with her cake. It gives her a fucking rash. Therefore, she nor her guests will be forced to eat it on
her
wedding day.” She pushes the sheet back toward the woman behind the counter. “Make it all white with buttercream filling and frosting.”

Maddie slides the paper back toward her. “No. Keep the bottom tier chocolate.”

Monroe slides it by to the woman. “Nope. White.”

Maddie frowns as if she just sucked on a lemon. “You can’t come in here and change the order.”

“I did and I will.” Monroe nods firmly at the woman behind the counter.

“Sarah…” Maddie says pleadingly.

Monroe sneers. “Listen,
Sarah
…” She side-eyes Maddie. “The bride’s with me”—she points her thumb at Daisy—“and her. So if you want to deliver a cake to the Adams wedding, then you should really change that order to what I said. White cake. Buttercream frosting, and that’s it.”

Anne claps her hands. “Okay,” she says diplomatically.

Daisy puts a hand on Monroe’s shoulder and flashes her winning smile at Sarah. “What she said—no chocolate. So we’re getting the five-tier cake…”

I tune them out. Instead, I focus on Carter, who is standing beside Allie. I’m looking at her, but I can’t stop trying to figure out what happened to Vince. As far as I know, Vince isn’t a gambler or anything, so he wouldn’t have gotten involved with loan sharks. Maybe it was a business deal gone south. Maybe Jack knew more about Vince’s disappearance than he let on. They’re still business partners.

Something’s replaying over and over in my head. When Jack asked for Vince’s temporary phone, and I handed it to him, he made a point to grip it from the sides. Why was he being extra careful? Did he think the phone was evidence? Regardless, I probably won’t feel fully settled until I could look Vince in the eyes again and see that he’s okay. I feel as though I’m in the wrong place right now. Instead of driving Mrs. Lord around, along with Monroe, who’s probably certifiable, I should be with Jack, doing whatever it takes to find Vince.

“Thank you,” Monroe says and whips herself around to put her back to the woman behind the counter.

Although I wasn’t really paying them much attention, I heard enough to discern that Monroe got her way. Now they’re approving the cake design.

Carter turns just in time to catch me staring at her again. She smirks. By the look in her eyes, I can tell she’s not impressed by all the drama surrounding the wedding cake. I smile back at her, and Allie notices. Allie has always had a thing for me. However, she and I are like oil and water, or even better, a human body and sulfuric acid—she’s the sulfuric acid.

Allie whispers something to Carter, who rolls her eyes. Carter walks toward me, and I wonder what she wants to say to me.

Anne claps her hands. “Now that that’s settled, let’s head to the ranch.”

In one fell swoop, all the women turn to walk in my direction. I’m disappointed. Whatever conversation she wanted to have with me, I wanted to have it.

Like the newfound gentleman I discovered inside me, I open the door for the ladies.

Allie wraps her arm around Carter’s arm as they pass. “Glad that’s over with,” she says to Carter.

I feel butterflies in my stomach when Carter walks by. Maybe I shouldn’t try to stay away from her. I want her. I want her bad.

L
ike the drive
to the bakery, I carry Daisy and Monroe in my car, and Anne, Carter, and Allie ride with Maddie. I can imagine how they’re tearing Monroe down in that car. Of course Monroe deserves it—she’s been nothing short of a bitch.

“Can you believe them?” Monroe complains.

“Yeah,” Daisy says with a sigh. “It seems they’ve been giving Maggie hell.”

Monroe falls back against her seat. “Thank you. I didn’t think you got it.”

“Oh, I got it. But you just keep yelling and insulting them, and I’ll remain the voice of reason. It’s been working.”

Monroe lets out a loud laugh then hugs Daisy’s seat. Her face is right in the space between the driver and passenger seats. “Get the hell out of here—you mean to tell me that you’ve been playing them all along?”

Daisy turns to face her, smirking. “Like a fiddle.”

Monroe balls her fists and sings a happy note. “No wonder you were able to land Jack Lord. You’re fucking amazing.” She kisses Daisy on the cheek.

I glance at Daisy just in time to see her look at me with a squeamish look.

“Well, thank you, I guess,” Daisy says.

“Now can you put your seat belt on?” I say, watching Monroe through the rearview mirror.

“Oh, don’t get your boxers in a bunch.” She sits back in her seat. “Or briefs. Or do you go commando?”

I stifle a chuckle. Despite her being a bit crass, I find Monroe to be amusing.

“Anyway,” she says, “what going on between you and Vince’s cousin, Carter?”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“I see… Deny, deny, deny? Don’t pretend as if nothing is going on between the two of you, Tango. Neither one of you can keep your eyes off each other.”

“There’s nothing—”

“And let me tell you, that’s not easy to do when I’m in the room.” She pauses. “Or Daisy over there. Even PG, she’s the hottest piece in the room.”

Daisy grunts and rolls her eyes.

“And see, that makes it even worse because she downplays it, which makes her even hotter. But anyway, this is what I want to know, Tango.” Monroe pauses, watching my frown with an amused look on her face. “So when did you two fuck? Because I’m positive you fucked.”

“Monroe?” Daisy scolds.

I swallow nervously. The fact that I had sex with Carter is the last thing I want to get back to Vince. Whenever I need a sharp dose of reality, I recall the conversation between Maggie and Mavis, my former executive assistant. I’m easily able to stand in the same shoes I stood in on the morning I was banging a woman in my supply closet.

We actually get more done when he’s not here.

He’s such a game player.

I think he looks at your ass and pussy like he’s a starving hyena.

To him, women are pussies not people.

And finally,
I think his greatest ambition is to be trapped in a porno.

They said a lot more than that, but those are the things that haunt me like the ghost of Robert’s past. I’m quite sure Vince thinks the same of me, and Vince would probably cut off my balls if he thought I was donking his cousin.

“That’s okay, Daisy. I can answer,” I say.

In the rearview mirror, I make eye contact with Monroe. She’s smirking, proud of herself.

“Carter and I have never fucked,” I say in a convincing tone of voice.

She folds her arms. “I’m calling bullshit on that.”

I shrug. “Believe what you will.” I play out my indifference by looking straight ahead, unfazed.

“Okay then,” Monroe says after a long moment of silence. “I’ll buy it—I guess. If you’re lying, then you’re better at it than I am.”

I glance at her in the mirror, and she’s studying me with tapered eyes. She’s an inquisitive one, but I’ve been a master liar for a long time.

“Good,” Daisy says with a sigh of relief. “Glad that’s over with.”

“Me too,” I say with a chuckle.

“And for the record, Robert, Carter would be lucky to have you. You’re a good guy, and that’s a fact,” Daisy says as if she instinctually knows she should negate the script in my head.

“Hey!” Monroe says as the car swerves.

“Oh shit!” I steady the car.

“Don’t kill us,” Monroe says calmly.

“Sorry about that.”

“Just keep your eyes on the fucking tail end of Allie’s or Lexie’s or whatever the hell her name is rear bumper.”

“It’s Maddie,” I say.

“Oh… anyway, getting back to what Daisy just said—she’s right.”

“Right about what?”

“You’re a good guy, Tango. I’m just giving you hell because I’m bored.”

I smile. It’s good to receive two affirmations that I’m not seen as the oversexed asshole Maggie and Mavis made me out to be. And hell, I might be this close to believing it myself.
This close.

“Thanks,” I say to Monroe.

She gives me the thumbs-up.

I
check my wristwatch
. Jack’s been gone for one hour and thirteen minutes. What if the big, burly guy got the jump on him and now he needs help?

I shift in my seat as I panic. Jack instructed me to not open the door for anyone except him and told me to stay put. I twist my mouth nervously. I still think I should get out and search for Jack. One big problem is I have no idea where he went. We’re in a standard suburban neighborhood. It shouldn’t be that hard to distinguish which house belongs to a hardened criminal, but then again, I’m pretty sure just about everyone in this neighborhood has an angel face but a closet full of skeletons.

I would call him if I had my cell phone, but Jack made me leave it at the hotel. If I were a fingernail biter, I would be chomping on them right now. I grab the door handle. Do I, or don’t I?

I let go. “Get control of yourself,” I tell myself.

I close my eyes and take one deep breath, then another.

Knock, knock, knock.

I quickly open my eyes. I grab my heart in relief as I see Jack standing outside the door. I hit the unlock button. He gets inside and stuffs the shoulder bag back under the seat. I’m shocked by a small bloody gash under his right eye.

“What happened?”

He looks straight ahead. “Drive, Maggie, and don’t speed away from the curb.”

I’m stuck in awe as he opens the glove compartment and takes out a white packet.

Jack turns his hard glare on me. “I said drive, now.”

He’s never used that tone with me, but it works. I turn on the engine and drive off.

He rips open the packet. “Make a left at the next corner, go all the way down to the end of the street, and make a right.”

I nod spastically. “Okay, but Jack, did you get into a fight?”

He takes a square bandage out of the packet and puts it on the gash under his eye. “I know who hired him.”

“Geesh, but did you have to fight to find out?”

“Maggie,” he says, scolding me.

“What? I know you made me promise not to ask any questions, but this is ridiculous, Jack!” I make the car turns he asked me to make.

“Take us back to Teterboro. We’re going to Las Vegas.”

I frown, disenchanted. “Vegas? That’s a long way away.”

He peels the bandage off his abrasion and some sort of silicone sealant has closed the gash. “That’s where Peter Oslo is.”

I wrinkle my eyebrows as I think. That name rings a bell. “Wait. Isn’t he Vince’s old business partner?”

Jack stuffs the gauze in a compartment. It must be some sort of trash chute.

“Yes,” he says.

My heart beats frantically as I try to keep the steering wheel steady.

“Calm down, Mags. This is one reason why I instructed you not to ask questions. I need you to do one thing for me. Drive, and do it with preciseness—got it?”

I have more questions to ask about Peter Oslo, but Jack is right. I’m shaken now, and the more I know, the more unstable I become.

Jack must’ve won the tussle—he came back in one piece, along with new information. Peter Oslo hired that big, burly guy in the video.

“So you fought that Douglas Randall guy?”

Jack admonishes me with his eyes again.

“That shouldn’t be a top-secret answer. Either you did or didn’t.”

“Yes, I fought him.”

I grunt, intrigued. My brain tries to conjure images of Jack in a fistfight with such a meaty and muscular guy. Jack is not a small man, but he’s not a brute. Then I remember the bag he took from under the seat. Did he have weapons inside of it? I bet he at least has a gun.

“Did you shoot him?” I ask quickly. It’s a tactic I’ve used with clients. The brain’s first inclination is to tell the truth. So a quick question usually merits a quick answer.

“No,” he says. It worked.

Jack sniffs and shakes his head. “You’re too clever, Mags.”

I smirk as another comes to me, and before I ask it, I run down everything that I know about my cousin. I heard rumors that he used to be a gigolo in Las Vegas. I know a lot about human behavior, and Jack pleasuring women for money didn’t seem likely. And do men go from gigolos to multi-billionaires in less than ten years? I know he received a hefty inheritance, but Lord & Lord Steele was operating in the red when Jack took over the company after his parents’ death. There were even rumors swirling that Uncle Charles and Aunt Carlotta’s airplane was sabotaged so his partners could get the money Uncle Charles owed them. By the time Jack and Charlie got their piece of the pie, billions had turned into millions. But now Jack has more billions than his father had. And I can’t pinpoint exactly what he does for a living. Commercial real estate? Multimedia? Banking? Investments? He knows a lot of people and knows how to get impossible strings pulled—Pete Oslo being one of those strings. Oslo was going to make Vince marry his daughter or make it very difficult for Vince and Robert to ever have the majority ownership in the company they built from scratch. Maybe that’s why he kidnapped Vince. Payback. But that’s not what I want to ask Jack—at least not first.

I drive up Highway 1, staring straight ahead. I know this question is ridiculous, but not implausible.

“So, Jack?”

“Yes, Maggie.”

I don’t let his tetchy tone detour me. “Are you an agent?”

He looks at me as if that’s the most ridiculous thing in the world. And frankly, after that, I don’t need him to say anything else. I read behavior for a living, and I’ve read his.

Jack opens the cargo container between our seats and takes out the mini-computer he has been using. I’m pretty sharp myself, and I think it’s time for Jack to use my instincts instead of just having me here to chauffeur him around.

I glance at Jack. “Contacting Gray?”

His mouth tightens like he’s annoyed by my question. “Yes, I am.”

“You want him to tap into all of Peter Oslo’s lines of communication, right?”

Jack’s eyes remain on his device as he continues to type. About ten seconds later, I conclude that he’s not going to answer.

“Gray’s done that for Mo&Ma a number of times, so…”

“Maggie, no,” Jack finally says.

“No to what?”

“I’m not going to make you a more integral part of this.”

I figure this is not the time to impose my will. After all, I’m in a delicate situation. It still feels as if I’m caught between a Stanley Kubrick film and a nightmare. Jack is the only solid foundation I have to hold on to right now. He’s always had his way of getting shit done; I figure that’s exactly what he’s doing now. There’s no need for me to get in the way of progress—at least not at the moment.

“Okay,” I say.

Jack snorts as if he doesn’t believe me.

Regardless, I speed up, figuring the sooner we get to the airport, the sooner we’ll find Vince.

T
hree hours later
, we’re back on the airplane. Jack makes sure I eat again, even though I’m not hungry. But at least this time, he eats with me.

I ask Jack how Daisy has been doing with the pregnancy.

“She’s well. She’s eating enough. I thought she wouldn’t be able to get much rest, being that she’s running the bakery, but she’s really able to rely on her staff.”

“Good,” I say enthusiastically.

I’m extremely glad to hear Daisy is not miserable during this pregnancy. The first time around, she was always swollen, bloated, cramping, and exhausted—and yet she kept on pushing herself. However, I have another goal in mind. I’m hoping to make Jack relaxed enough to give me more information about what he plans to do when we arrive in Las Vegas.

“How often do you leave her alone when you fly off for business?”

He shifts in his seat. “Not often.”

“Do you take her with you?”

Jack glares at me as if he knows exactly what I’m doing.

I grunt in defeat. “Jack, I just want to know more about what’s going on here. I mean, you go and fight a guy, and now we know Vince’s ex-business partner hired him. I mean, what are we going to do when we arrive in Las Vegas?”

Jack sighs, clearly exasperated. “You know why I brought you?”

“To be your driver,” I say gruffly then immediately want to take it back.

“You’re too much of a doer to sit idly at home and wait,” he says, seemingly unaffected by my tone.

“Well that’s true.”

“I also knew you could handle all of this.”

“Yes. I can.”

“The way you exposed Yvette Maynard and the Reece Corporation for setting me up—that was impressive.” He shifts in his seat and rubs his chin. “When this is over and all is back to normal, I have a proposition for you.”

I take a quick glance at him. “Do you think all will return to normal?”

“I have to say, at the moment, I think so.”

The tension falls out of my shoulders as I sigh relieved. “Okay then, what’s the proposition?”

“How about we table this conversation for now?”

I turn to glance at him again and he winks at me. I can let it drop. It sounds as though he wants to discuss a career option and now is certainly not the time to make that kind of decision—even if I’m curious as hell to hear what Jack has to offer. First I just want to find Vince and then marry him. However, the good thing is that I have Jack exactly where I want him.

“I just want to know one thing,” I say.

He looks at me suspiciously. “What?”

“You must have a guess why Peter Oslo would kidnap Vince.”

Jack sighs again. I realize I have an advantage: he hates being sharp with me. I’m pretty sure it’s already tearing him up inside. And I hate making him too uncomfortable, so I tread lightly.

“Oslo is one of those guys who hates to lose.”

A rush of relief flows through me. Now I’m getting somewhere. I narrow an eye inquisitively. “So when he sold you his shares in A&Rt Media, it was because he lost?”

Jack cracks a smile, shaking his head.

I’m sure he sees me as a gnat that just won’t go away. I try to mask a victorious smile. “So what did you have on him?”

Jack tilts his head to assess me. He’s done that a number of times already. I keep the look of expectation in my eyes.

“I’ll be back.” He goes into his Bat Cave on the airplane, and I take another bite of the chicken potpie that I’ve already let get too cold.

In a flash, Jack returns with another computer tablet. He seems to have an endless supply of them. After pulling something up on the screen, he hands me the device. I clutch it, but he doesn’t let go.

I raise my eyebrows. “What?”

“This doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you everything you want to know.”

I nod like an eager puppy dog. I really want to see what’s on the screen.

Jack releases the device, but the screen is dark.

“There’s nothing on it,” I say.

“Press your thumb on the identification button at the bottom.”

I tilt my head toward Jack. “You have my fingerprints programed on this?”

Jack snickers. “The answer to that is no. I set it in a mode for you to view exactly what I want you to view.”

“But why does it need my thumbprint?”

“So the device knows you’re not me.”

I press my thumb to the button at the bottom of the screen. The screen turns on immediately, showing photos of a man who looks to be in his sixties engaging in sexual acts with very young prostitutes. The longer I study the images, the farther my jaw drops. “Is this Peter Oslo?”

“Yes.”

I shake my head. “So you blackmailed him with these photos?”

“You’ve heard of the CVCP?” he says.

“Yeah. The ultra-right-wing purist group who fund projects of interest.”

Jack nods. “Peter Oslo is on the board of directors.”

Suddenly, I’m struck by illumination. “But you had those photos before you used them to make him sell his interest in A&Rt Media. Why?”

Jack smirks as he studies me. “That’s a very good question you asked, Maggie. However, I will tell you that my interest in Peter Oslo has nothing to do with his hypocrisy.”

Suddenly, Jack’s seat buzzes. Before I can ask what’s going on, he races back to the Bat Cave. I’m on his heels. Once we’re in the small room full of electronic equipment, Jack works a number of dials.

“Gray?” Jack says as he glances at me.

He’s not only let me in the room, but he also let me listen to this call. I nod, thankful for the access he’s giving me.

“Somehow, Randall was able to get a message to Oslo. He knows you’re looking for him, so now Oslo’s on the run.”

Jack curses under his breath. An intense frown hijacks his face. He’s looking slightly to the left, which means he’s visualizing his memories. I wonder how he left this Randall guy. By the looks of the situation, he left the man alive but incapacitated.

“So where’s he going?” Jack asks.

“He’s going to New York, but before he boarded the flight, he had a conversation with Dale Finley,” Gray says.

“And what was said?”

“He was wondering why you’re on his tail.”

Jack grunts thoughtfully. “He would know why if he had anything to do with Vince’s disappearance.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Gray says.

“Me too,” I say.

Jack frowns at me as if he’s giving me that look as an afterthought.

He turns his scowl back to his contraption. “He’s flying into Teterboro?”

“Yes he is,” Gray says.

“That means he’s running scared. He has people to keep him safe in New York.”

“So what are you going to do?” I ask.

Jack gives me that look again—the one that says he’s trying to figure out how much disclosure to grant me.

“Who are his pilots?” Jack asks.

“Lionel Armstrong and Ben Taylor.”

Jack sits down in front of the console. “Maggie, could you please return to the cabin?”

I’m about to whine, but I think better of it. Back in my hotel in Denver, I agreed to not ask questions if he brought me with him. I’ve broken our agreement so many times, and he hasn’t put me on the first flight back to Denver, at least not yet. But if I keep pressing my luck, he probably will.

I go quietly back to the cabin. As soon as I take my seat, the flight attendant comes out to ask if I would like a snack or beverage. I take advantage of the fancy menu and order a vanilla latte.