True Bliss (9 page)

"You're tired and overwrought."

"Overwrought, my ass. I don't get overwrought. Pissed, maybe, when you suddenly start behaving like someone I never knew, but not overwrought. Can we sit down, maybe. The long, cold drink does sound good."

"Oh, sure. Which paper did you say called?"

"OutofL.A., I think."

He squinted. "L.A., huh?" A distant laugh floated on the early evening air. At least it wasn't getting too cold out there. "Amazing how these guys follow you around."

"This wasn't a guy. Do you have a diet Coke?"

"Of course. What did she want to know?"

"Who?"

"The reporter. The one from L.A."

Zoya glanced toward the living room.

Sebastian managed to walk her another step toward the front door.

Carrying a squeaky, orange spider in his mouth, Beater lumbered from the direction of the kitchens. He deposited the spider at Sebastian's feet, sat down, and panted.

Sebastian looked at the spider. So did Zoya. He laughed. "This mutt thinks he's a little puppy. Loves to play." He bent to retrieve the spider and threw it back in the direction from which Beater had come. "Fetch, boy!"

Beater sank to the floor and closed his eyes.

A shriek sounded, and a splash. Thank God. They'd decided to take a swim. "Will you look at that?" Sebastian said, indicating the dog. "Never does what I tell him."

"Maybe it's an authority problem. But I am looking."

Sebastian glanced at her, then at Beater—and his own feet. One brown boat shoe. One bare foot. He chuckled selfconsciously. "I was just starting to get changed when you arrived."

"Figured as much." Her attention went to the hand that still held her elbow. And his other shoe. The sole had left dusty tracks on her white silk sleeve.

"Hell!" Sebastian jerked his hand away and dropped the shoe. "Hell, I'm sorry. I don't know what's with me. Distracted or something, I guess. Look at that." He shoved his foot into the shoe and slapped at Zoya's sleeve. "You'd better get right home and soak that in some water before it stains."

"You don't soak silk in water."

"Oh. Brush it, then."

"What is the matter with you, Sebastian Plato?" She glared at him. "Forget my dress. Forget the damn dog and his damn rubber spider. I came here because we've got trouble. Huge trouble, boss. And I think you know what I'm talking about."

He was afraid he might.

"Why didn't you come clean with me?" She flicked at the dust on her sleeve. "If I'd known what we were really looking at here I'd have brought Phil in. You should have brought Phil in. We hire a troubleshooter to deal with things like this."

"I didn't think—"

"Hell! If I'd known, I'd have dug my heels in and refused to let you come here at all."

Sebastian shoved his hands in his pockets. A dull pain niggled behind his eyes. "It isn't up to you to tell me where I go, and when. I'd like to be on my own, Zoya. Do you mind?"

"I know you'd like to be on your own. That much is obvious. Although I'm not sure exactly why. And I've got a lot riding on what happens here, too. I've got money in this one."

Her tone irked him. "Your idea, not mine. You wanted a piece of the action. I gave it to you because you convinced me you deserved the opportunity. End of story."

Zoya wiggled the heavy gold chain at her neck and said, "Is it true you were engaged to this Bliss Winters?"

Oh, shit.

"Is it?"

"We were kids." And his weeks with her were the best part of his entire life.

"Kids who intended to take off for Reno and get married?"

For Bliss's sake he had to take the heat out of this. "Someone's getting carried away."

"Someone sure is. Look, I'm exhausted. Can we sit down?"

"Sure. Who did you say this reporter is?"

"I didn't. But I think she's on the right track. Your kid thing with the professor is messing us up. It could mess us up big time if any of the mud she's slinging sticks to Vision. It was bad enough when that poor girl died—"

"Wasn't it just today you told me to respond to the O'Leary woman? Didn't you say something about sin and death being the kind of buzzwords that are good publicity?"

Zoya snorted. "Not if you're the one directly connected to the sin and death."

"I'm not, for God's sake. What are you—"

"At least the sin."

"I live like a monk." This was over the top. "I work. I work. And I work."

"You don't have to live like a monk," she said quietly. "We've discussed that."

He avoided her beautiful eyes and wished he didn't know what she was talking about. Zoya had made it clear that she'd like to be more than a business colleague. Sebastian couldn't feel what she wanted him to feel.

"Okay," she continued briskly. "We've got a problem and we've got to deal with it. Whatever happened between you and Bliss Winters happened a very long time ago. Evidently the

woman's a big brain and prominent in society here. She's not going to want this childhood trash dug up. You'll have to go and see her."

Yeah, he might have to do that—again.

"Yes, that's it. Get in touch with her and arrange a meeting."

He'd behaved like an idiot, like a nasty, spiteful punk kid. He'd come on to her. Then he'd threatened her.

But she'd threatened him right back.

"Give her a call," Zoya said, her high, smooth brow drawn into rare creases of concentration. "Tell her you'd like to get together. For old times sake."

"Original."

"Don't be snide. It doesn't look good on you, and you aren't good at it."

"Right." Things were too quiet outside. "I'll get right on it. As soon as you leave."

"Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"I told you I had a headache."

Beater started to snore gently.

Zoya gave the dog a disgusted look. "Call the professor while I'm here. I want to know what she says."

"I can't do that." He massaged his temples. "I mean, I'm not ready. I've got to think for a bit."

"There's no need to think. Just do it. I'll tell you what to say."

Women. Right now they were the pain behind his eyes.

"Whatever you do, don't ruffle her feathers. She's smart, so the first thing she'll think is that you're trying to manipulate her."

Zoya had that right, the concept. The tense was wrong. Bliss already thought he was trying to manipulate her.

"Are you hearing me, Sebby?"

"Yes, I'm hearing you."

"Good. These academicians are elitist, remember. And they think they know everything."

"That's because they do know everything."

She snorted again. "About something or other. The point is

you've got to flatter her. Tell her how impressed you are with her accomplishments."

"And she isn't going to see through this?"

"No! They fall for the groveling reverence every time."

"How many academicians have you known intimately?"

Zoya thought for a moment. "My father had a friend who worked at Duke."

"What was his subject?"

She cleared her throat. "Basketball. He was a coach."

Sebastian was too uptight to grin. "Leave this to me, okay? I agree we've got a problem and I'll deal with it."

"Play to her ego."

"I'll do that."

"Be respectful." She didn't appear to notice the return of his hand to her elbow, or the slight pressure he applied there. "Admiring. Tell her she's the only professor you know."

"She is." And he'd already blown the admiring respect thing.

"Offer to do something for her favorite cause."

"I'll think about it."

"We could work all this out together." She tried to turn toward the living room. Sebastian turned her back. "I want to help you, Sebby. And I want to help me. I'm worried. I should have listened to Maryan. She said coming here was a bad idea."

"And I decided coming here was a good idea." He still did, but he hated the way he'd handled Bliss so far.

She was wonderful.

He'd remembered her eyes just as they really were. Bluer than any he'd ever seen.

"Endow a chair."

"What?"

Zoya flapped her free arm. "Endow a chair. I've heard how you do that. Five hundred grand or so and they put your name on a chair or something. You could say you want to do it for her. Put her name on the chair. In big letters."

"I don't think that's exactly how it works. And I think we're

getting ahead of ourselves here. Sweetheart, I'm going to have to beg you to let me go and lie down."

She rounded on him and peered into his face. "You poor darling. You are sick, aren't you? Lie down at once and I'll get you a cold drink."

A cold drink obsession, that's what she had. "I'll be fine."

"I insist."

"You could have a good idea about the chair thing."

"You think so? You could offer a scholarship or two as well." Beater rolled onto his considerable back and continued snoring with all four long legs crooked in the air. Zoya shook her head and added, "A teen center might counteract this gossip about us and the dead girl. Why don't you ask Professor Winters to help you set up a teen center?"

Professor Winters? His Bliss had become a professor. Unbelievable.

"For underprivileged kids."

He concentrated on Zoya. He didn't always like her.

She smiled brilliantly. "I know you're thinking I'm a calculating bitch, but I really do believe it would do you good to get involved with some civic work."

Splashes and laughter resumed.

Sebastian closed his eyes.

"Where are Maryan and the slime?"

The slime was Zoya's term of endearment for Ron. "They went out," he said. It wasn't a complete lie.

"I worry about you," Zoya said. "You look tired."

"I'll be okay. A good night's sleep will set me up. I think I'll go right to bed now."

"Okay, okay. I can take a hint."

Finally. He smiled wanly and put a hand at her waist. "Thanks, sweetheart. I'd like to be a good host, but I've got too much on my mind. I need to unwind—on my own."

"But you will think about my suggestions?"

"I will."

"And you won't charge in there without discussing it with me?"

He winced.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing." He wished he hadn't already "charged in there." "It's just the headache." Not that he'd have missed that kiss. From what he'd felt, Bliss wouldn't have missed it either. He intended to bank on that.

A high-pitched but definitely male whoop split the air. Coming this way. Sebastian hurried Zoya to the door. "Drive carefully."

"Sebastian?"

"Would it be okay if I called you later?" he asked. "After I've had a chance to do some thinking?"

"Of course, but—"

"Thanks."

"Where did you say Mary an and Ron had gone."

"Oh"—he cast about for something brilliant but came up empty—"They're out enjoying the sights I guess."

Zoya grew still and stiff. "Yes. The sights."

He swung around to see what she was looking at.

Maryan and Ron stood on the priceless Aubusson rug in the living room, dripping. Staring at Sebastian and Zoya, and dripping. And giggling.

They were both naked, except for the red lace bow that decorated Ron's tube steak.

Six

Sebastian turned off the air-conditioning and rolled down his window. The air felt good. When he concentrated really hard on his destination, the memory of the scene at the house didn't shine quite so vividly before him.

"He won the ribbon!" Maryan had squealed, patting that ribbon, and falling against Ron. "First fucking prize!"

Zoya had laughed. She'd still been laughing when she left.

No amount of concentration would completely wipe that little picture out. He'd already been to Hole Point, found that Bliss was out, and been given a great deal of help on where to find her by the leggy blond, Fabiola.

He still couldn't shake the image of his sister and that red bow.

Bliss had gone to some guy's gallery show at a store in Bellevue Square Mall. Sebastian drove past the mall on his way to the office each day, but he'd never been inside. Following Fabiola's directions, he made a turn from Bellevue Way onto a drive leading to a multistory car park. By the time he'd parked, and walked through an upper floor of Nordstrom's, he wasn't so sure he'd made the right decision in trying to talk to Bliss again so soon after the first fiasco.

A guy at the grand piano in the department store played "Sunflower" and Sebastian breathed a little deeper, a little easier while he let the music flow over him. He passed women in velvet hair bands, silk scarves and sensible flat shoes drinking lattes at little wrought-iron tables. All so smart, so sure of themselves.

The burbs.

He jogged down an escalator and strode between potted palms and shoppers. These people paid as much for their baby strollers as he'd been paid for the sale of his beloved first Ford truck.

The thought stopped him.

As much as he'd paid for Bliss's rings. Shit, how had he made such a mess of his life? Some people would laugh at him for even thinking his life was a mess, but it was. Oh, he had money, lots of money—more money than any man needed. But he didn't have the one thing he'd wanted more than anything; Bliss Winters as his wife.

A girl wearing black lipstick, and with rings in everything, including the tongue she held between her teeth, stared at him. With her arms crossed over a middle left bare between a short, breast-hugging top, and the waist of ragged jeans, she made a slow circle around Sebastian. Shades of New York City. He should feel right at home in the company of a looney.

He smiled politely and set off again, briskly.

Then he saw Bliss. Wearing an ankle-length black dress that flapped, and with her hair loose, she entered an art gallery.

Sebastian eyed a bench in the middle of the mall, but with a perfect view of the shop door. Coward. No, he wasn't a coward, he was being thoughtful. He'd wait patiently until she came out rather than interrupt her visit with her friend.

Her friend.

"Lennox is a painter," Fabiola had said. "Or some people think he is." Sebastian didn't think Fabiola sounded as if she liked Lennox, but that could have been wishful thinking.