What a Woman Gets (8 page)

There was a boot on the Mercedes.

A boot.

Man, that was fast. But then, Mitchell Davenport probably had people lying in wait to do his bidding.

“He booted your car?”

Cassidy inhaled so deeply her breasts rose a good four inches—which made her shirt rise a good four inches, showing a delicious four inches of silky, tanned skin.

Why couldn't the woman be fat and dumpy? Why'd she have to be straight out of every erotic fantasy he'd ever had
and
be a pampered princess? Was the universe
trying
to torture him?

“How the
hell
does he expect me to go anywhere without my car?”

“That explains the taxicab comment from Marco.”

She twisted her lips. “Great. Marco knows. I wonder who else does. It's not bad enough my father evicts me, now he makes me a laughing stock.” She set the puffball down, dragged her pocketbook off her shoulder, and started rummaging through it. “Dammit.”

He was almost afraid to ask. “What?”

“I don't have any cash.”

Of course she didn't. The super rich didn't have to carry cash.

“I'm sure you can charge cab fare.”

She looked at him as if he were an idiot. “The man put a boot on my car. It takes about a tenth of that time to cancel my credit cards and, oh hell, my debit card. You can bet
my
money that my father didn't overlook those.”

Liam wasn't betting anything. Betting had gotten him into this predicament—and smack dab in the middle of hers.

“What about stopping at a bank? You can make a withdrawal.”

She shook her head. “He'll have closed the accounts if he's cancelled everything else.”

“So I'm guessing that means a hotel's out.”

“What?” Cassidy's eyes got wide. “Oh my God. Where am I going to go?”

“The boyfriend?”

“Burton? I don't think so. Not after last night.”

“He doesn't know you don't want to marry him, right? You didn't actually turn him down. I bet he'll come to your rescue.” And she could go live happily ever after in a castle her father paid for. Rachel would be so jealous.

“Oh sure. I call him and see if I can move in? That's
exactly
what my father wants me to do. And then there will be the guilt and the pressure to give in to Burton.” She tugged the shirt back onto her shoulders, but Liam could have told her not to bother. That shirt had been designed to hang provocatively off a set of very sexy shoulders and Cassidy possessed just such a set. “Now what am I going to do?”

“Give your friends a call.” There had to be one she hadn't been turned down by.

“I did. Everyone's away and those who aren't have probably already heard about last night. There won't be any grand gestures of letting me stay with them now. My father's name and influence is bigger than mine in this town, and when word gets out . . . No one is going to want to be on his bad side. In the face of social ostracism, friendship with me falls by the wayside.” She leaned against the hood of the booted car. “Besides . . .” She pulled out her cell phone and swiped her finger across it, then held the screen toward him.

The black screen.

“He turned it off.”

Liam didn't like where her logic was leading him. He really didn't. He also didn't like his stupid, fucking bleeding heart. “So where are you going to go? Don't you have any family that'll take you in? Your mom?”

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. “I guess you haven't read
all
of the society pages. My mother took off with her lover when I was just a kid. Wanted to get as far from Daddy dear as possible. Mexico's pretty far.”

“She could wire you money.”

This time she looked away. “That's not an option.” Her tone said that was the end of the story.

It must be one hell of a story if she was willing to live on the streets instead of calling the woman who'd given birth to her.

So what was with the picture and bracelet under Cassidy's bed? He ought to find it interesting that she hadn't gone for those in her almost catatonic state when she'd been throwing anything and everything into her bag, but maybe not. Maybe she hadn't wanted any reminders of her parents. She hadn't taken any of her personal items like clothing—

Oh hell. All she had to her name was what was on her back and in her bag. Without a freaking dime.

He was going to regret this. As sure as he'd lost the bet to his sister, he was going to regret this. But he couldn't stop the words.

“Come on. You can come home with me.”

C
ASSIDY
shook her head. She couldn't have heard what she'd thought she heard. “Did you just invite me to come home with you?”

“Yeah, I did. And I'm just as surprised about it as you are.”

“But you don't even know me.”

“I know you just got tossed out, don't have two nickels to rub together, have nowhere to go, and no one to help you. That leaves me.”

“How very Prince Charming of you.” He seriously thought she would be grateful to go home with him? Here she was at her darkest hour and he was probably trying to get in her pants.

“Okay, Princess, if that's the way you want it. Seems to me I'm the only option you have. But, hey, if you'd rather not . . .” He dropped her bag on the stamped concrete floor. “Don't let me stop you from finding your prince. I'm sure Burton will come looking for you at some point.”

“That's not happening.” She wouldn't let it. She was
not
going to sit here and wait for Burton to show up. That he would, she had no doubt. It was, after all, Dad's master plan. Well, she was not going to go along with it. Not this time. This was too important.

“Fine. So stay at my place until something else comes through. A day or two. A week even. I'm sure that when your friends come back from vacation, this will have blown over and you can stay with one of them.”

“That's not going to happen either.”

“Huh?”

“Once they find out about this eviction, I'm going to be a topic of discussion. A
scandal
. These women can be vipers, Liam. They
live
for scandals. For talking about other people. For making themselves feel better by crushing others. No one's going to risk Mitchell Davenport's wrath to take in his daughter. No, I'm pretty much a pariah now.”

Which meant she damn well better take
him
up on his offer and be grateful about it.

And quick. Before he changed his mind. Or saw the light in not pissing off her father. “Okay, I'll do it. Stay with you.”

She didn't know who was more surprised: her or Liam.

“You will?”

“Unless you changed your mind?”

“What changed yours?”

“Brutal reality. I have nowhere to go.” Dammit, she could feel the tears well up behind her eyes. But she was
not
going to let them fall.
Not
for Da—Mitchell Davenport. The man wasn't worth it.

Silence filled the space around them, thick and uncomfortable. But then, that went part-and-parcel with brutal reality.

Oh. My. God. Her father had kicked her out. He'd cut her off. No phone, no credit cards, not a single luxury. Not her car, and no one who'd come near her with the scarlet specter of his ire hanging over her head.

She was on her own. Totally. Completely.

And broke.

A chill washed over her and her knees wobbled. She shouldn't be surprised. Not really. This feeling, this itchy floating-above-it-all-knees-wobbling feeling was the same one she'd felt when her mother had walked out. Dad had been just as unemotional then, a bland, “Your mother is gone, Cassidy. She doesn't want to live with us. It's just you and me now,” as if he was discussing a field trip or what was for dinner. Then he'd closed her bedroom door without one whit of emotion and left her there. Alone.

She'd cried herself to sleep and even then she'd understood it was because she had no one.

She wasn't going to cry now. Not this time. Being evicted was merely the physical manifestation of the emotional desert she'd been in since she was four years old.

And hey, at least she'd have time to paint. She'd show her father. He didn't have a hold on her any longer. She'd crank out those pieces so fast, it'd make his head spin.

Except . . . Crud. She'd left her paints in the penthouse.

“All right, then.” Liam picked the bag back up. “Let's get going.”

“Um, Liam?” She really hated to ask him this, but she had no way of getting any other supplies, what with being cut off and all. “Could you . . . I mean . . . That is . . .”

“Spit it out, Princess. I don't have all day. I have to get you situated at my place, then come back here to finish the job I was hired to do.”

“About that. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind getting something of mine I left back there.”

“I am not taking anything out of that place and having your father accuse me of theft.”

“Oh, trust me. He'll probably give you a reward if you do.”

Liam's gorgeous blue eyes narrowed. “What is it?”

“My new paints. I left them in the bottom drawer of the credenza in the dining room.”

“You paint in the dining room?”

She shook her head. “I stuck them there after I bought them the other day. It's the least-used room in the place, so it's the last place Dad would think to look for them.
If
he'd even think to look for them. After last night, I'm sure he'll be more than happy not to have them around as a reminder. So if you could get them for me, I'd really appreciate it. It will allow me to start earning some money to pay you for my stay.”

Liam rubbed his chin. “We'll worry about you paying me back later, but, yeah, I'll get the paints. Anything else? Jewelry, gowns, shoes?”

She shook her head. “No. Nothing. If I know my father, and unfortunately I do all too well, he'll have Deborah inventorying everything against the charge slips. I don't want anything of his.”

“Then you might want to leave those rocks on your ears here.”

She fingered the diamond studs. “I'm keeping these. I earned them.”

“Doing what? Entertaining visiting dignitaries? Hosting heads of state?”

She glanced away and blinked back more tears that sprang up at his sarcasm. Silly really, since he was right, but oh how she wanted to be valued for what she could do instead of what she looked like. And the ironic thing was, she
had
earned these. Chit-chatting with people she had no desire to speak with, attending events that left her bored to tears, and being thought of as nothing more than a pretty face with the occasional pass-by ass-patting deserved recompense.

“Look, I get what you think of me. I know what people think of my life. That it's all wine and roses and I should be happy as a clam living in the gilded tower with my clothes and jewelry and nice things. I get that. The thing is, that's who he wanted me to be. I bought into it for a while, but I'm not that person anymore. There's more to me than that.”

She wanted to wipe that skeptical look off Liam's face, but words alone would never do it. She had to show him. She had to show them all. And she would, dammit. This was her chance. Her shot at making over her life as she'd planned to do during the lunch yesterday—had it only been yesterday?—with Dad.

“If you say so.” Liam picked up her bag. “Okay, then. Let's get going. My truck's over here.”

She watched him swagger ahead of her. Oh, it wasn't an intentional swagger; those, she could spot a mile away. His was all natural grace and athleticism, with one hell of a nice butt—

Okay, not thoughts she ought to be having at the moment. She was going to stay with the guy just until she got on her feet, not move in with him forever. No sense starting something like that and risk having him think
that
was how she was going to pay him back—

Uh oh. That wasn't what he thought, was it? He'd talked about paybacks . . . He didn't think she was going to . . . That she would . . .

Titania wriggled in the crook of her arm and started to whine. “Um, Liam? Could you hold up, please? Titania needs a potty break.”

Liam looked back over his shoulder with his eyebrow arched. “Don't tell me you got her a throne-shaped one of those as well.”

“Not funny.” She juggled her bag, her purse, the dog, and the leash to get the last two attached to each other. Normally, Titania wouldn't run away, but with the way Cassidy's luck had gone the past twenty-four hours, she wasn't risking it.

The dog kept wiggling. “Hold still, Titania. The bushes are over there.” She hurried to the edge of the garage where the landscaping was above the chest-high wall, and plunked the cutie-pie among the petunias. “Go ahead. Do good girl.”

She caught Liam rolling his eyes in her peripheral vision.

Titania, being Titania, took her time sniffing the flowers before finding the perfect spot.

Liam's foot started tapping.

All finished, Titania yipped her sweet little happy bark, then licked Cassidy on the nose before practically leaping into her arms. There was nothing like the unconditional love of a dog. That would be why Titania barely left her side. The Maltese was six years old and Cassidy could remember each day as if it were yesterday—especially the day she'd brought her home.

Dad had had a conniption. Cassidy had heard the term but never known exactly what a conniption entailed. Bringing a dog home to his new pristine, “highpoint of my career” penthouse induced the conniption. And what a thing it had been to behold. Exactly what she'd been trying to avoid yesterday at lunch by breaking the news to him gently.

Yet he'd gone and had one just the same. Granted, it'd been in her—
his
—home, but still, it was the second time she'd ever seen that reaction from the normally calm and unflappable Mitchell Davenport.

She still couldn't believe he'd cut her off. She hadn't seen that coming. How could she have been so wrong about her own father?

“Are we all set, then? You don't have softly scented, individually wrapped doggy wipes, do you?”

The sarcasm was rolling off Liam's tongue, yet still the man held open the door of the truck
and
helped her into it. Thank goodness because it was really high off the ground, even with running boards.

“This is a big truck,” she said after he walked around the front and climbed in the driver's side.

“Yes, it is.”

And that was it. There wasn't another word spoken by Mr. Liam Manley the entire way, for which she was grateful because she was still trying to wrap her brain around the past hour. Dad had cut her off. He'd tried to force her to his will with money.

God, how pitiful. How utterly shallow did her own father think she was? How shallow was
he
? And Burton? How shallow was
he
to marry her just to become Mitchell's heir?

Okay, well that might be incentive, but did he really want to marry someone who wasn't in love with him?

Scratch that. People did it all the time, and being CEO of her father's conglomerate was reward enough for a loveless marriage.

He'd. Cut. Her. Off.

Cassidy shook her head. Her own father, manipulating her—an almost thirty-year-old woman—into an arranged marriage. What was this, feudal England?

Cassidy looked out the window as Liam turned onto a quiet, tree-lined street with the houses spaced close enough to be called neighbors, but far enough apart that they wouldn't know their neighbors' intimate business.

Intimacy
. Burton would have expected it. And with money as the basis for their marriage, her father would be consigning her to being a very well-paid prostitute.

She was going to be sick. She'd never even
thought
of him doing something like this. Oh, sure, the passing “being broke” comment had risen its head every once in a while when she'd thought about going out on her own, but she'd expected the “broke” part to be temporary while she waited to sell more furniture,
not
because every cent she possessed would be frozen due to her father's long reach.

What was she going to do? When she'd first envisioned this, she'd expected to stay in the penthouse or maybe one of his other properties until she had enough income for a small mortgage. She'd planned to live simply. Make do with a thousand square feet instead of the four thousand she'd just been booted from.

Now, if it weren't for Liam's generosity, she wouldn't even have
one
.

Liam pulled down a long driveway. Cassidy had to keep her mouth shut. And not shut, as in, she wasn't going to say anything nasty, but shut as in preventing her bottom jaw from dropping. She was worried about
one
square foot? Liam probably had four thousand of them himself—and that was just the front yard.

“This is yours?” she finally had to ask him, not taking her eyes off the beautiful landscaping. She hadn't known what to expect on a maid's salary, but it certainly hadn't been this. Tree-covered except for a small clearing that was lit as if from a beacon, with a lily pad pond in the center and stone-carved benches around it, with an old-fashioned water pump used as a fountain, and a beautiful array of annuals at the pond's edge, the place actually looked like a fairyland. Titania would have a blast curling up by the rocks. “Are there fish in there?”