Rich Bitch: Everything's Going to the Dogs (8 page)

She took time to arrange cups and fiddle with cream and sugar, putting off the moment she’d pretend there was no coffee, when she caught a look that passed between Jonathon and Esme and decided to
 wait a minute.

Her patience was soon rewarded.

“Sophie,” Esme said, rising from her chair. “Can I speak to you privately about something?”

The woman had been condescending to downright rude, and now she wanted to speak in private? Vince was right. These two weren’t all that bright. Thank goodness. “But of course.”

“Excuse us,” Esme said, and walked to Vince’s bedroom. Sophie didn’t dare look at Vince as she followed in his cousin’s wake. Once they got into the bedroom, Esme shut the door and said, “Um, look. I’m sorry if I was a little hostile earlier. It’s just that I care about Vince. He’s been hurt by women before.”

If Vince had been hurt by women, he carried no scars, and he certainly hadn’t told Sophie about it. “Oh, that’s sad,” she said.

Esme sank down onto his bed, crossed her long, elegant legs, and gazed at Sophie. “I don’t want to see him hurt again.”

“Are you asking me what are my intentions?” she asked, trying very hard not to laugh.

“Well. Um. Yes. Yes, that’s exactly it. I am.”

“Okay, well, I can tell you—”

“Wait!” the other woman stuck a hand in the air as though she were about to summon a head waiter. “I don’t want to do this behind Vince’s back. I think we should be completely open.” And without giving Sophie a chance to say a thing, she called out, “Vince, honey, Sophie and I would like to see you in the bedroom.”

The soft male rumble of voices ceased from outside the door, and Vince said, “Okay,” as though it were perfectly normal for women to tag team him in his bedroom. Hmm.

He arrived in a moment and shut the door behind him. He shot Sophie a brief glance so full of meaning she had to turn her head.

“Now, Vince, I asked you to come in because Sophie is about to tell me what her intentions are toward you.”

His devilish eyes glittered with amusement, and something more. Something that made Sophie’s heart forget to beat.

“Well, good,” he said, climbing onto the bed beside where Esme perched and crawling up to the headboard. He stacked a couple of pillows behind him and settled back, long legs crossed at the ankle. “As a matter of fact, Esme. I’d like to know her intentions, too.”

Torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to strangle him for putting her into this absurd position, she decided if he wanted to play silly, daring games, she could play, too.

“My intentions are perfectly honorable,” she said.

He rubbed his jaw with one hand. “Define honorable. Would we be talking marriage here?”

Her nostrils flared slightly, and she stared across Esme at her lover, who was settled comfortably as though he planned to stay there awhile. “But of course. I want my six children to be legitimate.”

She had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes widen for a second, but it was Esme who squeaked, “Six kids?”

“I like children. I’m very good with them,” she explained, then smiled a smile so warm it would melt chocolate. “You don’t mind, do you, darling?”

“Well, honey, I was kind of thinking two kids myself.”

“Bah. Two
petits enfants
? It’s not enough.”

“Now, Esme,” he said, turning to the woman who was sitting on the bed with a stupefied expression on her face. “I’m going to ask you to help us here. Kind of like a mediator. This is the work I usually do, but obviously, since I’m an involved party, I can’t do the mediating. I think I see a middle ground here. Sophie wants six kids, I was thinking of two. A good negotiator will find a compromise that both parties can live with.”

Esme stood and stared from Vince to Sophie and back again. “Are you suggesting you split the difference and have four kids?”

“Damn, you’re good,” Vince said, approval in his tone. “You’d make a terrific negotiator if you ever decide you’d like to work.”

“I can’t believe you’d consider four kids. Do you have any idea how much mess and noise they create?”

He smiled at Sophie, and she felt the warm caress of his tilted lips almost as though he were kissing her. “I’m looking forward to them.”

Somehow this whole thing was feeling less jokey and absurd than when she’d thrown down the six-fingered gauntlet a moment ago. Instead of making him faint with panic, she felt a little that way herself. She’d intended to back him into a corner, so why did she feel intersecting walls nudging her spine?

Her eyes narrowed. She wasn’t nearly done. “Naturally, they will all be educated in France. My children must grow up French.”

“We’ll spend summers in France, so they’ll be comfortable in both cultures.”

“But, but,” she spluttered, appalled at how utterly appealing this ridiculous scenario felt, “you can’t even speak the language.”

“I’ll learn,” he said. “You’ll teach me. You and Mimi.”

“Mimi,” she gasped. For those crazy minutes she’d allowed herself to imagine a future with Vince and
 her and children, she’d forgotten they were acting out this charade because of Mimi.

The sound of the dog’s name seemed to act on Esme, too. She said, “I want you two to stay right here and talk to each other for a few minutes. We’ll wait.” She smiled like a shark scenting blood. “Jonathon and I will be right outside. I can’t wait to tell him the good news that you’re finally settling down, Vince.” And she hustled out of the room, shutting the door with a click behind her.

“Do you think we’ve given them enough time?” Sophie asked, her eyes fixed nervously on Vince, who was off the bed and advancing on her.

“Let’s give them a little more.” And he pulled her hard against him and kissed her.

She kissed him back. Well, what else was she going to do when his big body surrounded her, pulled her in, and held her close?

“I am completely crazy about you,” he informed her in a husky tone, staring down into her face as though he wanted to imprint this moment forever.

She tried to chuckle, but it came out more like a heartfelt sigh. “Me and my six children.”

He kissed her again. Quick and sweet. “Four. And I meant every word. Let’s go.”

Since she was currently speechless, she let him pull her by the hand and escort her back into the other room.

Jonathon was holding Esme’s leather coat while she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

He smiled the identical shark-looking-forward-to-feeding-time smile as his sister. “So, I guess you’re engaged now. Congratulations. We’re going to give you two some privacy. We’ll call you.”

Mimi was sitting in the kitchen, her little pink tongue licking crumbs off the floor, but tore herself away 
to trot to the door with everyone else. After they’d bid the cousins farewell, and handshakes and kisses had been exchanged, they shut the door and turned to each other.

“Do you think they bought it?” he whispered.

Still unable to speak, she nodded.

“Let’s see.”

He walked to where the cousin-cam was sitting discreetly on a shelf where he’d set it up earlier.

He rewound the tape and watched it in the viewing screen. Sophie came close, and by putting their heads side by side they could both watch. He fast-forwarded until a mini Esme and a mini Sophie left the room. Then he slowed the film to normal and watched as a tiny version of himself left. He put an arm around Sophie, feeling her tension as well as his own.

“Yes!” he cried softly as he watched on film as Jonathon glanced around, then went straight to the cookie tin.

Mimi came running when she saw the bone-shaped treats, and they watched her eat one and then take a second one from Jonathon.

“That was a great idea of yours to rub those cookies with foie gras,” he conceded, watching the finicky Mimi polish off the second cookie.

“Yes. Even the fresh batch from the gourmet dog treat place didn’t thrill her.”

She leaned her head on Vince’s shoulder when he’d stopped the film and put the recorder down.

“I didn’t like them, but I can’t believe those two would try to harm such a sweet dog.”

He snorted. “Those two would sell their mother and father’s organs if the price was high enough.”

“Is this film enough to stop them?”

“It’s pretty good. The rats have taken the cheese, but they haven’t fully sprung the trap yet.”

“What now?”

“I’m going to bring Sir Galahad home, and when I get back, you’d better be naked.”

At noon the next day, Vince called his cousin Jonathon. “Hey, thanks for offering to dog sit, but we’ve changed our minds. We’re not going away after all.”

“Why not?” Jonathon asked, the fake concern not remotely masking his glee.

“We decided with the wedding and all that we’ve got too much to do to take a vacation.”

“I understand. If you change your mind …”

“Oh, we won’t.”

“No problem. Hey, after yesterday, Esme was saying how much she misses seeing Mimi. How about 
we come and take her for a walk?”

“Take Mimi for a walk?” Vince tried to inject the right mixture of panic and bravado into his tone. “Thanks. But we already took her for a long one. She’s pretty burned out. Maybe some other time.”

“Did they believe you?” Sophie asked when he ended the call.

“Oh, no.” He chuckled. “They think Mimi’s breathed her last.”

At six o’clock the police arrived. With the male officer were Esme and Jonathon and the family lawyer. Vince blinked at the entourage. Before he finished asking what was going on, Jonathon said, “We want to see Mimi.”

“She’s not here.”

Esme burst into noisy tears and said, “You killed her, I know you did.”

Vince scratched his head and said, “Maybe you’d all better come inside.”

Esme marched in and called, “Mimi? Mimi?” in a heartrending voice that would have got Meryl Streep nominated for another Oscar, and proceeded to throw open both the bedroom doors. “Where is she? I know you killed her. You never liked her. We’re going to press charges, order an autopsy.”

“And don’t forget the part where you overthrow Great Aunt Marjorie’s will,” Vince said pleasantly.

Jonathon sent him a glance of intense dislike. “Go ahead and joke about it, but you can’t produce the
 dog, can you?”

“Would someone please explain what is going on?” the lawyer asked sharply.

“Mimi’s dead.” Esme sobbed louder. “Vince killed her.”

“What makes you accuse him of this crime?” the lawyer asked, pinching the knife pleats of his dress trousers and raising the pant leg slightly before sitting down in Vince’s favorite chair.

As though he’d told them to, Jonathon and Esme also sat, on the couch facing him. Vince pulled a pine kitchen chair over and completed the family group.

The cop positioned himself between them and the door but remained standing.

“We came yesterday to visit Mimi. I had a premonition,” Esme explained, raising tear-filled periwinkle eyes to the lawyer and tossing the long curtain of black hair over her shoulder. She shook her head as though she couldn’t bear to go on.

“Mimi didn’t look well,” Jonathon said, patting his sister on the knee and picking up where she’d presumably left off. “She seemed sick. Vince insisted she was fine, but he looked guilty. We offered to take Mimi for a few days.”

“That’s not true,” Vince exclaimed, because he thought the cousins would expect something from him, and he didn’t want them suspicious quite yet.

Once again Esme got herself under control enough to raise a shaking finger and point it at Vince. “And this morning he called to cancel Mimi’s visit. He wouldn’t even let us come and take her for a walk.
 She’s dead, I know it. Vince murdered Mimi.”

Vince picked up his phone and punched out a number. “You can come home now,” he said when Sophie answered. Since she was only at the neighbors’ it didn’t take her more than a minute to show up with
 both dogs in tow.

The Doberman’s stump tail began to wag when he saw Vince, as though he’d been stuck with French women far too long.

Mimi took one look at all the people gathered and began to bark excitedly.

As Sir Galahad came toward Vince he suddenly stopped and stiffened, going from big sucky lap dog to ferocious guard dog in a second. His neck fur stood on end, and his lips pulled back in a snarl. In the tiny pauses between Mimi’s hysterical yapping, the ominous sound of his growl could be heard.
 Sir Galahad wasn’t looking at Vince anymore; he was looking at Jonathon.

“Oh, what a clever doggie you are,” Sophie said. “You remember this one, hein? He’s the one who tried to kidnap Mimi my first day on the job, and you were so brave, you came and saved us.”

Jonathon was inching closer to Esme, who was herself scuttling as far from the growling Doberman as
 she could get. “What is that beast doing in here? Get him out!”

Unimpressed by any of the antics, the lawyer only had eyes for the clearly healthy poodle who, competing for attention with the Doberman, was doing her best to grab the limelight by twirling on her hind legs in the center of the assembled group, accompanying herself with high-pitched barks.

“Mimi appears quite healthy to me,” said the lawyer in a tone loud enough to be heard above the racket.

“But that can’t be Mimi!” Esme cried, trying to hide behind Jonathon at the same time he was trying to hide behind her.

Plan B was being screwed up as thoroughly as Plan A had been yesterday, but, Vince suspected, with similarly successful results. Deciding he liked watching Jonathon and Esme suffer for their crimes, he didn’t call off Sir Galahad.

Besides, Sophie’s temper was simmering, and she looked like a combination sex goddess and avenging angel standing there, so he decided to let her take this scene wherever it led her and settled back to enjoy himself.

“Of course it’s Mimi,” Sophie cried. “No thanks to you. Yes, that’s right, Sir Galahad. Hold them there. Good dog.”

And she ran into the princess bedroom only to return with a torn piece of badly tooth-marked denim.
 Oh, damn it, she was good, his Sophie. Holding the piece of denim aloft, she said to Jonathon, “Do you recognize this?”

She glanced from the lawyer to the cop, who seemed to be enjoying the drama as much as Vince himself was.

Jonathon yelled, “Get this dog off me. Somebody do something.”

“He recognizes your scent,” Sophie said, in a tone that could only be called smug. “If I gave him this piece of your jeans—they are yours, aren’t they? You were wearing them when you assaulted us—and told him to attack, I wonder what he’d do?” She cast a glance at Vince from under her lashes, and he nearly laughed aloud. God, he loved this woman.

“Don’t you dare. I’ll sue you if that bastard bites me.”

“Or me,” Esme put in.

“What do you think, Vince?” Sophie asked.

“I think Sir Galahad could do some serious damage to Jonathon if that hunk of blue jeans has his scent 
on it.”

Slowly, she lowered the torn fabric. The Doberman was pacing in front of the couch, still growling low in his throat, hackles up in warning. He made it clear to all that he was only waiting for the word and he’d sink the very sharp teeth he’d bared into Jonathon.

The temptation to let the dog at his murderous cousin was almost irresistible.

Sweat dampened Jonathon’s pale brow as Sophie brought the cloth closer to the big dog. “I know he will attack if I tell him to, but, Vince, do we know for sure he can be called off?”

“Never tried it,” Vince answered truthfully.

Sir Galahad had caught the scent of the denim, and his growls became louder. Frankly, Vince wasn’t sure how well trained he was anyway. They were playing with fire here. Just as he was about to call a halt, Jonathon shouted, “All right. It was me. Now get that fucking dog out of here.”

“Here, Sir Galahad.” Vince called him, and after giving one very menacing, don’t-think-this-is-over growl, the Doberman stalked to Vince’s side and sat, still tense and alert. “Good boy.”

“I really think someone had best explain what this is all about,” said the lawyer once again.

“I’m going to tell you a little story,” Vince said. “And then we’ll watch a movie. What you’ll understand
 by the end of it is that my precious cousins here have been trying to murder Mimi to get their hands on Aunt Marjorie’s fourteen million bucks.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Esme snapped, her tears forgotten.

But, by the time he and Sophie had told their story, and everyone present had watched the video recording of Esme getting the two of them out of the room while Jonathon fed Mimi the cookies he’d believed were poisoned, his claims didn’t seem ridiculous. After he’d provided copies of the toxicology report on the original cookies from the original tin, and the lab reports on the Doberman, the cousins had pretty much shut up and glared sullenly at the floor.

He gave copies of everything to the lawyer, who said, “Jonathon and Esme, if it were in my power to revoke the money your great-aunt left you, I’d do it. Sadly it isn’t, but I can promise that no matter what happens to Mimi, you two will never get another cent from your aunt’s estate.” Then he rose, patted Mimi perfunctorily on the head, shook Vince’s hand, nodded to Sophie and the police officer, then left.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

“Ma’am,” said the cop. “Do you want to press charges against these two? They shot at you.”

She looked at Jonathon and Esme, at Mimi and Sir Galahad, and finally at Vince. “No,” she said softly.
”I don’t.”

“I’m opening a case file on this anyway,” his buddy, Ed the cop, said, staring down at the cousins. “I find out you two are so much as jaywalking and your asses are mine. Got it?”

Miserable nods.

“You’d better go before they change their minds.”

Without another word, and only a backward glance at the Doberman, they scuttled out the door. Sir Galahad, denied his pound of flesh, gave a bark/snarl combo that sped them on their way.

“Thanks for doing this, Ed,” Vince said, shaking his old friend’s hand.

“Anytime, Bulldog. After you warned me they’d probably go to the cops, I made sure their call got routed to me.” He chuckled suddenly. “I don’t think they’ll be bothering you again.”

After he left, Vince found Sophie on the floor, hugging both dogs to her. What the hell, he thought as he joined them there.

“You know,” he said as the Doberman knocked into one of the tables, and Mimi leaped out of the way catching her paw in a lamp cord, “we’re going to have to get a bigger place.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Vince grinned at her, this woman he’d been waiting for all his life. “Two of us, two dogs, and four kids
 on the way.” He looked around his two-bedroom apartment. “We’re going to need a bigger place.”

“Oh, but, Vince,” she said, her voice catching and her eyes shining. “I didn’t mean— ”

“I did.” He kissed her. Then Mimi kissed her. Then Sir Galahad slobbered all over them both. And they were laughing, and hugging, and he knew that nothing was ever going to be the same again.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too.” She laughed and threw herself at him. “And you’ll really learn French?”

“I have a feeling that’s going to be the easy part. Come on,” he said, hauling her to her feet.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To bed.”

At the door to his room he stopped and turned to confront two canines eager to continue the game they’d started on the floor. “And you two are not invited.”

With a tiny yap of disappointment, his fourteen million dollar poodle minced off to leap onto Vince’s favorite chair. The Doberman made a grumbling sound and followed Mimi, bypassing the chair to take the couch.

“Are we really going to have four children?” Sophie asked once they were alone.

He slipped his hand under her sweater and palmed her breasts the way she liked. “Honey,” he said, “everything’s negotiable.”

The End