What a Woman Gets (28 page)

D
O
I look okay?” Cassidy fidgeted with the fake diamond earrings for the fifth time since getting into his truck.

“You look beautiful, Cassidy. That dress looks great on you.” He'd pulled half a dozen from her closet with shoes to match, bundling them up in a garbage bag, giving himself a laugh. Especially when he'd seen Davenport's car still in its reserved spot when he'd left. Taking the merchandise out right under the guy's nose. Davenport would never miss it, and if he did, he wouldn't create a scene in public. But Cassidy would come off looking like a million bucks—hopefully while
earning
a million bucks.

He wanted to tell her she didn't need the money. That he had enough for them to get started together and she'd make more once her work started selling consistently. He wasn't going to ask her to pay him back for staying at his place—he was going to ask her to stay permanently. But not tonight. Tonight was her night. Her chance to make it on her own, to prove that she could. He'd waited this long; he could wait a little longer.

“Come on, sweetheart. We don't want to be late for your big night.” He opened her door, then tugged the sleeves of his tuxedo jacket down. Been a while since he'd had to get this dressed up. The last black-tie event he'd been to had been with Rachel.

It was much better going with Cassidy.

“Okay, I'm ready.” She took a couple of deep breaths and tugged the neckline of the midnight blue gown up a little.

Damn. He liked it lower. Then again, he didn't want anyone else liking it lower.

“But remember,” she said as she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, “this isn't
my
big night. It's C. Marie's and she's not here. Bit of an introvert, apparently. But I hear she does beautiful work.”

He closed the truck door and covered her hand with his. “I heard that, too. Maybe we should buy one to get the process started.”

He'd been teasing, but when she put her hand on his chest and looked at him, there was no teasing about anything.

If they weren't standing across the street from the gallery and she hadn't just spent an hour doing her hair and makeup—which she hadn't needed to do—he'd kiss her senseless.

“Thank you, Liam, but no. You are not to buy anything. I need other people to so they can have it in their homes and talk about it when friends come to visit. Word of mouth and actually seeing my work, that's what'll get people interested. I just hope I sell
some
.”

“Not Gran's piece.”

“No. I had Jean-Pierre mark it as sold.”

“What about the hutch and sideboard? I know you need the cash, so if they don't sell, I'll rent them from you.”

“You're not paying me anything for them. You've done more than enough.”

He wanted to do so much more.

He had to chuckle at himself. He'd almost let her slip through his fingers, but when had Cassidy Davenport crept under his skin and touched his soul? When had this woman he'd thought the worst of become one he could see the best in? When had he fallen in love with her?

“Liam? You ready?”

“I am.” For so much more than she knew.

*   *   *

C
ASSIDY
took a deep breath, clenched Liam's arm a bit tighter, and walked into the gallery.

It was packed. Cassidy hadn't realized that the other artist who was supposed to have been here tonight had such a big following. If all of these people had come to see
her
work, there'd be no way she'd pull out of the event, artistic temperament or not.

“Cass, some champagne?” Liam waved the glass under her nose. “Might help calm you,” he whispered, his breath on her skin doing
nothing
to calm her.

She took the glass and drank about a third of it because champagne flutes were too small and she was
wired
. The frenzy to get everything finished while maintaining quality . . .

There were two pieces she'd refused to include. They hadn't been up to her standards and, as she'd told Liam, branding was all about giving people a certain experience. If her work didn't pass the C. Marie standards she'd set, they hadn't gone into Jean-Pierre's moving van.

“Cassidy? It
is
you. What are you doing here? I didn't think you were, well, that you were representing Davenport Properties anymore.”

Carolina Hutchinson was one of her “circle,” someone who'd gone to all the same events, shopped at the same stores, had attended the same boarding school. Cassidy wouldn't exactly call them friends, and with the speculation going on in Carolina's eyes vis-à-vis the piece in the
Herald
, Cassidy would go with
frenemies
to describe their relationship.

But she slapped that Showpiece smile on, handed her champagne flute to a passing server, and worked the moment like she used to. “Oh you know the rumor mill, Carolina.” She tugged Liam beside her. Nothing could change Carolina's focus quicker than an attractive man. “Carolina, may I present my date, Liam Manley? Liam, this is Carolina Hutchinson. We went to school together.”

Liam's bottom lip twitched and she prayed he wouldn't laugh. He'd understood her relationship with Carolina immediately.

As predicted, Carolina latched onto Liam and the topic of Cassidy's life was forgotten in the face of trying to then pull the woman off him in the figurative sense. Carolina had sat through far too many etiquette classes to make that sort of spectacle of herself, but Liam was hot and Carolina wasn't blind. She was, however, opportunistic, and it was all Cassidy could do not to tell her what Liam did for a living. While it didn't matter a hill of beans to her, Carolina would have a stroke being seen talking to a general contractor. In their world, they
hired
general contractors, not
dated
them.

Cassidy looked around. There were a lot of familiar faces. People from her previous life who were caught up in being out and being seen. A typical Tuesday night gathering like the ones she'd come to abhor.

Interesting how being on the other side of it wasn't so abhorrent. No, it was thrilling, actually. Fun. Exciting. Would people enjoy her work? Would they like it enough to purchase it? Would this be her one and only show, or would it make a name for her, er, C. Marie, so that her dream of being on her own and supporting herself this way actually came true?

She smiled, she talked, she commented on C. Marie's
work, all the while supremely aware that she wasn't the same person who'd been at the last art exhibit here. Nor was her date.

Liam was beside her the whole time. It might be because he didn't know anyone, but Burton had always been off networking, making contacts to fit in with Dad's view of who he should be. It was nice having a man beside her who was comfortable in his own skin and not trying to be the person someone else wanted him to be.

Jean-Pierre gave his welcoming speech and spoke about the artist, then schmoozed his way around the place as he usually did before slipping beside her and pressing another glass of champagne into her hand, making it look for all the world to see as if she were just another patron.

The whisper in her ear told a different story.

“You are a hit,
ma belle
. The pieces are selling. The auction is higher than I'd thought it'd go, and the night is still young. You are a sensation. There will be demand for C. Marie's furniture for years to come. Congratulations.” He kissed her cheek. “And I do get to tell you I told you so.”

She blinked the tears away. No need to make a spectacle. Cassidy Davenport shouldn't have tears at this event. “Thank you, Jean-Pierre. I owe it all to you.”

“
Non, ma chèrie
. You owe it to your talent and your hard work. I am just the vessel by which your message is conveyed to your admirers. Here's to many more exhibits together.”

He
chinked
his glass to hers and for a moment she allowed herself to feel the joy and the satisfaction. She was going to be okay.

But then her father walked in.

“What's he doing here?” She reached for Liam, but he was a few feet away, trying to extricate himself from Carolina's clutches yet again.

“Who?” Jean-Pierre raised his glass and looked around the gallery. “Your father? He was invited, of course. As always.”

“But he never comes to these things.” He couldn't have known she'd be here.

She was trying not to hyperventilate. It was one thing to tell Dad that he was wrong, to enjoy the moment when she could throw sales figures in his face and tell him she was on her own, but another to do it in a packed gallery where everyone could overhear them.

She worked hard to plaster that damn smile on, but for the first time in her life, she wasn't sure she could. Why'd he have to come tonight? Why, this one exhibit of all of Jean-Pierre's exhibits, did he decide to show up? Was it because it was hers? And if so, how had he known?

“Cassidy.” Her father strode over to her with poor Burton in tow, and Cassidy could swear the noise level in the place dropped a few thousand decibels.

“Dad. Burton.”

“Cassid—”

“How could you, Cassidy?” Her father cut Burton off. Burton had better get used to it if he planned to have a future at Davenport Properties—and that would be the only future he'd get with Davenport attached to it. “I specifically told you not to.”

Cassidy linked her arm through her father's to throw off the pack of gossip wolves and tried to nudge him away from the crowd. She was not having this conversation in front of everyone. “Perhaps we could discuss this somewhere else?”

He wasn't budging. “Why? Have something to hide?”

She didn't know what to say. That was the first time she could ever remember him calling not just her, but
anyone,
out publicly. Usually he did it with such panache that the person on the receiving end of his anger never realized it until it was too late.

Was
it too late? Was this the end of her new beginning? Was Dad going to cause such a scene that people would rethink their purchases? That they'd be too scared of Mitchell Davenport's reach that they'd pass on her work simply to keep him happy?

Oh, no. Not this time. He didn't get to do this to her now. She'd had no choice when he'd removed her from the design team because it was his company, but now, this, tonight . . . this was
hers
.

“No, I don't have anything to hide. Including the fact that C. Marie and I—”

Her father grabbed her arm, spun her a hundred and eighty degrees, and stormed off with her toward Jean-Pierre's office—with Burton in tow. Again. “Don't say a word.”

“But you asked me a question and I was answering it.”

Her father practically shoved her into the office. “Burton, close the door.”

It was yanked open not two seconds later and Liam strode in. “Leave her alone, Davenport.”

“Oh, good God.” Her father rolled his eyes. “You've gotten yourself another puppy, yet you throw an infinitely more acceptable man out to the curb. What is wrong with you, Cassidy?”

He
was talking about
her
collecting puppies? Of all the ridiculous accusations . . .

“Look, you arrogant son of a bitch.” Liam shoved his jacket sleeves back. “You don't get to talk to her like that. Not anymore. Not after the stunt you pulled with the
Herald
. Backfired on you, didn't it?”

“The
Herald
? What's he talking about, Dad?”

Her father didn't answer her, but he pushed his sleeves up as well. “You don't know what you're talking about.”

Cassidy had to step between them. Her father would press charges if Liam so much as brushed by him, and Liam wouldn't be able to beat—or afford—Dad's lawyers.

“Don't I?” Liam took a step closer.

“Dad, Liam, stop.” She pushed both men's chests to separate them. Liam's was heaving, but Dad was Mr. Cool. It'd always annoyed the hell out of her that she couldn't get a rise out of him even when she'd purposely done something wrong. No, Mr. Analytical had let her have her temper tantrum and would only speak to her when she'd “gotten it out of her system.” There was no winning with him if anyone went off emotionally.

“Liam, I appreciate you defending me, but I can handle this. He is, after all, my father.” She rolled her shoulders back and stared her father in the eye. “How did you know about tonight? I can't believe that you suddenly decided to patronize the arts tonight of all nights.”

“He probably had you tailed.” Liam took a step closer to her and, man, it was nice having someone have her back.

Her father adjusted his jacket, the supposed epitome of style.

Style came in many forms and his was sorely lacking.