Saint James, Elle - Unbridled and Untangled [The Double Rider Men's Club 8] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (18 page)

Their largest business associates and longest-running customers were fading one by one off of the company books. Either the long-running head of the family company died and sent the company’s remaining members into a frenzy of bad decisions culminating in eventual Chapter 11 bankruptcy, or worse, Chapter 7 liquidation proceedings. Or they also went by the wayside of antiquated technology and into the black hole of competition that had newer, faster, and more innovative ways to do business.

Meanwhile, Bradford had been like a bee up her skirt, stinging her repeatedly when she least expected it regarding her time at the DRMC. There wasn’t an hour in any given day that she didn’t think of both Dalton and Wade. Having Bradford asking her about it all the damn time didn’t help her sullen attitude. She would always regret rushing away from the brunch earlier than she’d planned in light of her cousin’s foolish antics to discover her secret.

She shouldn’t have allowed fear to guide her actions the day she left them.

Out of her sad reverie, Olivia took a sideways glance at her cousin as they headed for the designated reception area up ahead. It was also referred to as the drawing room. Olivia just wanted to get this night over with, go home, and scrub away the artifice of wealth and glamour required in this world.

Every minute of this party was at least scheduled meticulously down to the detail. They’d pay their respects to the hostess—who also happened to be the birthday girl—in the drawing room as more champagne was served. They’d adjourn to the large family room to watch her open the multitude of gifts brought for tonight’s party. As a part of the crowd of onlookers, Olivia would make the appropriate
ooh
and
ah
noises over the extravagant gifts presented. Bradford would spend his time downing one glass of champagne after another from passing waiters serving the crowd.

Directly after the last gift was opened, they’d move en masse yet again to the formal dining room. The hostess and birthday girl would make a few remarks, make a silent wish, blow out a few candles, wield a diamond studded knife and cut up an over-the-top expensive and ornately decorated designer cake.

Precisely cut pieces of cake would then be distributed onto the most expensive porcelain china money could buy along with the
good
silverware. More champagne would flow at a table next to the cake. She’d have to watch Bradford like a hawk. But only if she didn’t end up pouring him into a taxi during the gift-opening portion of the evening before a single crumb of cake was ever served.

Because chaperoning a party with Bradford as her charge
wasn’t
her first time at
this
particular rodeo.

Olivia took comfort in the fact that the rich folks in their social circles did not balk at keeping to a very tight schedule. And truthfully, it was a bit soothing to know exactly what would happen each and every second of the entire night. The only wild card she could see was walking next to her.

And yet she fervently wished it was time to go home instead of time to start the evening. She took a quick sip of champagne as they walked down a long hallway following several other guests that had arrived just ahead of them. The alcohol soothed her a bit and calmed her nerves.

Bradford then opened his mouth and took away any comfort she’d managed to salvage for herself for the coming evening. “And another thing, what is with all the recent flower deliveries of late? Tell me, who is DW?”

Olivia’s hands fisted. She almost snapped the champagne flute in half as her fingers tightened around the stem. He’d pushed her last button. He’d stomped on her last nerve. He’d pushed her right over the edge of fury. She couldn’t stop the venomous tone as she whispered hotly, “I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again for the hundredth effing time, Bradford. It’s none of your damn business who is sending me flowers.”

The first bouquet had arrived with a vague message like, “Have an amazing day!” on the card, the initials DW, and a private text message from Clay letting her know he hadn’t given up her information, but had sent the flowers courtesy of the DRMC event.

The subsequent flower deliveries all had a card that said, “Missing you,” and were again signed with the initials DW. As with the first order, Clay had sent a second private text message that had made her smile. It said, “FYI. Further flower deliveries are from
you know who
and sent through me personally. Your location will remain safe.”

Each and every day a bouquet was sent. She’d come to look forward to the steady deliveries of flowers. She figured they’d give up after a few days when she didn’t acknowledge them. A couple of days ago, she’d gotten the nerve to call them, but she hadn’t even finished dialing the number before Bradford had barged into her office without knocking. She took it as a sign she shouldn’t have even tried to make contact. So she enjoyed the fragrance of fresh flowers swirling in her office and contemplated a life of loneliness as she battled her way into the family business trying to do things
her
way.

Now her idiot cousin was taking
that
little bit of joy away, too, with his incessant questions about it. “Well, I’m just saying that old DW must be pretty loaded if he can afford to send a bouquet every single day. Grandfather would probably love it if you got married to some rich guy in our circle. Is that where you were? Getting down and dirty with some rich guy named DW so he’ll come in and run the company with you?”

She wasn’t getting married. But she’d had enough.

So she snapped.

Olivia stopped and grabbed his arm. She pushed her face close to his. “Go ahead, Bradford, ask me where I was a hundred more times and I promise I’ll tell you the exact same thing. None of your fucking business. Or perhaps I’ll take a different tack and simply strangle you if you insist on repeating the same question over and over again.” She resisted the sincere urge to poke him with each word she spoke.

“You’re so touchy, Olivia. For God’s sake, I was just curious.”

“Really? Didn’t curiosity smother the cat? Because I’m so close I can taste it. I am warning you, Bradford. Don’t test me.”

Bradford just smiled, pulled his arm from her grasp, and started walking again. Olivia wanted to release a deafening, primal scream, but instead she took a deep breath, calmed herself, and did a fast walk to catch up with Bradford.

Her grandfather had already arrived earlier, but she’d been saddled with Bradford as his nanny for this event. Then again perhaps sponsor would be a more apt title.

“This is such a bore,” Bradford said, and guzzled the rest of his second champagne glass.

“We’re barely in the front door, Bradford. How can you already be bored?” The urge to put her hands around his throat returned.

He opened his mouth to respond, but Olivia quickly said, “Don’t answer that. Let’s just go wish the hostess a happy birthday.”
Before you start slurring your words and embarrass me.

“Fine. Lead the way.”

The group they’d followed disappeared through a set of ornate double doors ahead. Outside the entryway to the drawing room was another server holding a large tray with more flutes of champagne, as if the chore of walking fifty steps needed an alcoholic reward at the end. Bradford probably thought so.

“Don’t even think about getting a third drink,” Olivia said through gritted teeth as they got within earshot of the servant.

“You aren’t my mother,” he said with a sneer, and selected another glass.

Olivia took a sip of her own drink for strength and followed him into the room. “No. I’m your nanny for the evening. ”

At first glance, Olivia surmised that there were already over a hundred people in the room. After they said hello to the birthday girl, maybe she could push Bradford into a corner with two fresh glasses of champagne and collect his soon-to-be-in-a-stupor ass at the end of the evening. It was probably way too much to ask that he’d cooperate in
that
plan.

Olivia searched the room for her grandfather, but didn’t see him at first glance. She crossed the expensive plush carpets headed to the birthday girl, Margaret. Although, the rumor was she’d turned eighty this week, making her hardly a girl anymore.

Margaret caught her eye and a wide smile encompassed her sweet, wizened face as Olivia approached.

Bradford was hot on her heels. He said, in a not-low-enough tone, “The old girl looks pretty good for ninety, don’t you think? Or is she eighty?”

Olivia plastered a grin on her mouth and kept moving forward, hoping no one heard what he’d said.

“Olivia,” Margaret said in a welcoming tone. “It’s wonderful to see you, dear. Come and kiss my cheek.”

A subtle gardenia fragrance greeted her as Olivia bent closer to buss the old woman’s face. She also caught a sudden glance of the tall, dark, tuxedo-clad man to Margaret’s right side. The man’s back was to her at first, but as she straightened, he turned around, and she got a shocking full-front view of him.

Dalton. Rourke.
Oh. God.

“Olivia, I’d like for you to meet my grandson. Dalton, this is the granddaughter of my oldest and dearest friend, Arthur Stanton. You met him earlier.”

“Yes. I remember.” Dalton’s puzzled-sounding tone and even more curious expression gave way to a swift frown as he coldly extended his hand toward her. “Pleased to meet you, Olivia.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Questions flooded her mind and seemingly took away her motor skills. Why was he here? How did he find her? Where was Wade? Why was he frowning? Was he angry? She didn’t extend her hand. She couldn’t seem to speak or get her body to cooperate in any proper way.

Directly behind her, Bradford quickly sidled up and inserted himself between the three of them and the continuing awkward silence. Margaret’s bewildered look was interrupted only by Bradford’s gauche behavior.

First he stared at her shocked face and turned then to look at Dalton and the icy, rigid mask of
his
surly expression. Dalton dropped his hand to his side since she’d failed to grasp it.

A light came into his eyes. “Hey, do you two know each other? Is this DW with all the flower deliveries?” Bradford asked with a slight slur in his voice.

Kill me now
echoed over and over in Olivia’s mind.

Chapter Twelve

Dalton hated being here among the rich and snotty, but it was his grandmother’s eightieth birthday party. The auspicious event had been planned for months, and he couldn’t miss it without good reason. A strong dislike of this elite, supercilious group wasn’t a valid enough excuse to bail.

He’d already met more than a hundred people at tonight’s gala party, and still more streamed into the room every minute. There were a few people in his grandmother’s inner circle that knew he worked in some capacity as a government law enforcement agent, but not too many.

Wade had opted
not
to come to the event tonight, and Dalton couldn’t blame him. The last such occurrence garnered lots of questions about his profession as ranch owner. The snots here looked down their noses at anyone that actually
worked
for a living. They especially sniffed in regal haughtiness at anyone who worked with their hands or had calluses.

The fact that Dalton held a job with the government was simply
not
mentioned at a party like this. Ever. After his elitist grandfather had passed away a few years ago, Dalton’s grandmother had quietly, and without his permission, added his name to several charity boards that she also held positions on. That way he could be legally introduced as a philanthropist in her social circles. It was an acceptable occupation for this group instead of a G-man, which most certainly was not suitable employment in their snooty minds.

He hated it. He especially hated that he was required to do it for people he didn’t care one whit about, but he loved his grandmother. This was her life. She’d always lived this way, and after eighty years in the same fashion, she was unlikely to change.

Dalton turned away from his grandmother for only a minute with the need to search for exits. He sought a clear path out of the crowd that had formed around her. Occupying his time figuring out the best way to secret his grandmother out of the room in case terrorists suddenly invaded kept him from punching out those ultrasnobs who annoyed him the most.