A Fortune's Children's Wedding (8 page)

“The setting's gotta be right. I want my kid to think her dad is the coolest dude ever,” Brandon had explained to Flynt. When Flynt mentioned Swank to Angelica, she had agreed to meet them there at nine o'clock in a tone so utterly indifferent that he
knew
she was faking it.

“Do you see her? Is she here yet?” pressed Brandon.

“No, I don't see her, she's not here yet,” Flynt replied, for what felt like the thousandth time.

He'd followed the traditional security seating arrange
ments and faced the entrance of the lounge, putting himself on guard duty. Meanwhile, waiting with Brandon for Angelica to arrive seemed to him a lot like watching for Santa on Christmas Eve with an eager kindergartner. Neither possessed much patience or any sense of time.

“I'll have another drink, Kimmy,” Brandon called to the waitress. “Same as the last.”

“That'll be your third martini, Brandon.” Flynt took a sip of his beer. His first, from a local microbrewer. “In addition to the wine with dinner. Think you'd better slow down?”

He suspected Brandon had a few drinks earlier, too. Monitoring the other man's alcohol intake made him feel like a prep school chaperone.

Apparently Brandon agreed. “What're you, a teetotaling watchdog?” he snapped, his voice slightly slurred.

“You don't want to be drunk when you meet your daughter for the first time, do you?” Flynt grimaced. He sounded like a condescending scold, but he didn't want Angelica to find her father soused upon her arrival.

Maybe another approach would be better received. “Look, Brandon, I know you're nervous about meeting Angelica—who can blame you?—but—”

Flynt paused as Brandon jumped to his feet to snatch his latest martini from the waitress's tray. Still standing, he glanced at the entrance of the lounge.

“Oh, wow!” Brandon downed a large gulp of his drink. “Flynt, is that
her?
”

Flynt followed the direction of Brandon's pop-eyed stare. A young woman in a short blue dress was striding into the lounge. She wore high-heeled strappy sandals that gave her added height and showcased a pair of
shapely legs. Her thick shiny black hair flowed around her shoulders and she held her head high as she walked.

She was not only beautiful, she had presence, she radiated sexual charisma, and Flynt knew that every male eye in the lounge was on her. On Angelica.

“Can that be my little girl?” Brandon fairly gasped the words.

Flynt figured that although Brandon had seen the photograph of Angelica, he somehow, against all logic, must have been expecting “a little girl.” Perhaps a sprite in pigtails and kneesocks.

“Brandon, I think you'd better sit back down,” Flynt said, trying to ease him back into the seat. Poor Brandon didn't look too well.

By the time Angelica reached their booth, her father was pale and hyperventilating.

“I think he might be having an asthma attack,” guessed Kimmy, who'd returned to check out the commotion.

“Or maybe a cardiac arrest,” a patron at a nearby booth suggested helpfully. “Does anybody know CPR?”

“I do, I'm a nurse,” said Angelica. She leaned over Brandon, holding his wrist to take his pulse. It was quite strong, not at all indicative of cardiac distress.

“I'm pretty sure he's having an anxiety attack,” Flynt said quickly, before Angelica and the interested group of spectators who'd gathered could begin CPR. “A paper bag would be helpful.”

Someone shoved a bag into his hands. “Breathe into this, Brandon,” Flynt ordered, holding it up to his face.

Brandon took a few deep breaths and gradually resumed breathing naturally.

Angelica met Flynt's gaze over the top of Brandon's head. So this was her father? She decided to get this over even more quickly than she'd originally planned.

She would introduce herself and then take off. “Hello, I'm—”

“Don't even think it,” Flynt growled, and she knew he'd read her thoughts—all too accurately.

The other customers returned to their booths. Kimmy asked if Angelica would like to order a drink.

“That's my daughter, can you believe it?” Brandon sounded like he didn't. “Give her whatever she wants. Money is no object.”

No doubt her status-conscious father expected her to order a magnum of the most expensive champagne, Angelica thought. Well, she would not bow to greed. This was her first opportunity to show him that, apart from sharing a gene pool, she and Brandon Fortune were not alike in any way.

“I'll have a chocolate martini, please,” said Angelica.

Flynt assumed she was being sarcastic. “Angelica, if you don't order something, I'll order for you,” he gritted through his teeth.

“No, she's already ordered, Flynt.” Brandon leaped to her defense. “A chocolate martini is
the
cool, up-to-the-minute drink. Of course,
my
daughter would know such things.” He gazed raptly at Angelica for a long moment.

“A chocolate martini?” Flynt grimaced. “Who dreamed that one up? And why?”

“It's cool and up-to-the-minute,” Angelica assured
him, a gleam of humor in her dark eyes. She kept them focused on Flynt, stealing only a covert glance at her father.

“Sit down, both of you!” Brandon played host. “We have so much catching up to do.” He slid over, making room for Angelica on his side of the booth.

Instead, she slipped into the other side, across from her father, casting him a veiled sidelong glance. Brandon's eyes were slightly bloodshot, his face tanned and somewhat dissolute, his hair too blond and too long for a man of his age.

He was her father. Her father! Shouldn't she be feeling something, anything, toward this man? Some sort of allegiance based upon biology, at the very least. Instead she felt…

She felt nothing. Angelica's eyes collided with Brandon's, and she noticed that he looked away as quickly as she did.

She twisted the napkin that she hadn't even realized she'd picked up. Well, maybe she was feeling something, Angelica conceded, a confusing inner turmoil that she wasn't sure how to identify or to handle. What were she and Brandon Fortune supposed to do now? What could they possibly say to each other? He was her father, but she didn't know him.

There was no need to know him, she reminded herself, she didn't want to know him.

“My daughter, huh? I've been in some really weird places but this kind of tops them all,” Brandon said, breaking the silence again. “I mean, I thought meeting my mother and sisters and brothers for the first time
was—was…” His voice trailed off. Clearly, he was at a loss for words.

“Weird?” Angelica supplied one.

She was suddenly intensely curious about this man.
Weird
hardly covered the unsurpassingly strange series of events that comprised Brandon Fortune's life.

“Yeah, weird,” Brandon agreed.

Flynt sat down beside Angelica, closer than he needed to be. Close enough for her to feel the sturdy strength of him, to absorb the heat from his body. Instead of being offended at this invasion of her personal space, she found his nearness to be comfortable, familiar.

“Are you okay?” Flynt asked in a low quiet tone, for her ears only.

Angelica nodded her head, grateful for his concern. For his presence. If he had taken her hand for an encouraging squeeze, she knew she wouldn't have objected.

But Flynt rested his arms on the table, folding both his hands around his bottle of beer. “I have to admit, I'm not sure how to proceed from here. Should I introduce you two to each other?”

“No introductions necessary, Flynt,” said Brandon. “Angelica and I know who we are.”

Angelica swallowed. If this wasn't the most bizarre moment of her life, it was certainly a prime contender. “Yes, we know.”

“So what do you think of your old dad?” Brandon asked in faux hale-and-hearty tones.

“I don't know you well enough to be able to answer that, Mr. Fortune,” she replied. And instantly took herself to task. No, that sounded wrong. Too cold and for
mal, maybe even critical which she didn't mean to be. “Um, Brandon,” she amended. But that didn't sound right either.

“You can call me Dad,” Brandon said rather breezily.

Flynt winced. In his book, that suggestion earned Brandon the title King of Superficiality. But Angelica's response stunned him.

She smiled. “Okay, Dad.”

“Say, this is a lot easier than I thought it would be.” Brandon looked pleased.

And then Flynt began to understand the dynamics between the pair. The title, the very concept of
Dad,
meant nothing to Angelica. She probably attributed the same emotional weight to the word
Dad
as she did to
man
or
person.

And Brandon shared her attitude completely.
Dad
held no special meaning for him, either. As Brandon Malone, he'd grown up without a dad, thanks to his adoptive mother's succession of lovers and his own father's hideous betrayal. Flynt frowned thoughtfully. The more he considered it, the more
Dad
seemed an imprecation for this pair. A subtle, convenient expression of hostility.

Which was a shame. The two of them shared a common loss, without either realizing what they'd missed. Inevitably, came memories of his own dad, whom he'd deeply loved. Flynt felt the familiar dark sadness well within him and immediately suppressed it. This wasn't the time or the place to think about the late John Corrigan.

He ignored the niggling guilt, reminding him that he'd
never
found the proper time and place to think about his
father, that he'd been keeping those memories at bay for too many years.

Kimmy's arrival ended his reverie, and Flynt was glad to let it go. He watched as the waitress placed a peculiar-looking drink in front of Angelica.

“So that's a chocolate martini?” He eyed it dubiously.

“Would you like a taste?” offered Angelica, lifting the glass.

“No, thanks.” Flynt politely declined. He saw no reason to add that the very idea of a chocolate martini made him feel like gagging.

“Do you have a picture of your mother with you, princess?” Brandon asked Angelica. “Romina was my first love, you know. You never really forget your first love, right?”

“To be honest, I wouldn't know. I've made it a point not to fall in love. And I do have a picture of Mama.” Angelica delved into her purse and found her wallet. “This was taken last year, right before my brother Danny was sent overseas. He's stationed in Bosnia. There we are, the five of us, Mama, Danny, Sarah, Casper and me.”

Brandon stared at the Carroll family picture. “Romina still looks damn fine for a woman her age.”

“She's younger than you are.” Angelica was immediately defensive.

“Brandon was complimenting your mother, Angelica,” Flynt pointed out.

“Yeah,” agreed Brandon. His eyes remained riveted to the photo. “Romina looks good.”

“Mama looks
very
good,” Angelica proclaimed loy
ally. She was surprised to notice her martini was gone. She must have gulped it down, though she barely remembered tasting it.

Brandon noticed her empty glass, too. “Kimmy, another drink for my daughter,” he called, then flashed a smile at Angelica and Flynt. “Would you two excuse me? Try to keep the conversation going without me, okay? Bet you won't have a bit of trouble.” He gave an exaggerated wink and loped off.

“He beat me to the punch,” Angelica grumbled. “
I
planned to be the one to excuse myself and hide out in the rest room.”

Kimmy set another chocolate martini in front of her. Angelica automatically reached for it.

“Careful.” Flynt laid his hand over hers. “Getting yourself juiced will only make things worse, Angelica.”

“I'm not,” she protested, then reconsidered. “You're right.” She pushed the glass away.

“Pretty tough going, huh?” Flynt said softly.

Angelica turned to him. Right now, when she needed a friend, Flynt had somehow transformed himself into just that. He was her ally in this surreal episode.

“Brandon said it's easier,” she cried. “
Easier?
Compared to what?”

“Brandon's worst-case scenario probably was that you'd turn out to be a histrionic drama queen like Monica Malone. Ever seen any of her movies?”

“Some of the old ones on the movie channel on TV.”

“Then imagine how Miss Malone would play the scene if she were cast as the long-lost daughter of a, well, rather notorious father.”

“As an actress, Monica Malone was usually way over
the top.” Angelica smiled slightly. “If she were playing me, Brandon would be wearing this chocolate martini.”

“And then you'd probably make him eat the glass.” Flynt leaned back and draped his arm lightly around her shoulders. A supportive gesture. One of comforting warmth and friendship. He was not coming on to her, he assured himself.

“What's it like, meeting the man who is your father for the first time?” he asked huskily.

“Do you need to know for the report you're writing for Brandon's family?” Angelica resisted the surprisingly strong temptation to lean back against his arm.

“I'm not writing a report, but I admit to being personally curious. This is a fairly unique situation, you know. Most of us meet our fathers in the hospital maternity ward and have no recollection of the event.”

“Mmm, that's true, I guess.” Angelica felt a glowing warmth spread languorously through her veins. “I drank that first martini way too fast.” She spoke her thoughts aloud, confirming what she'd just realized. That the drink was quite strong and its effects were starting to hit her.

“I thought so,” Flynt agreed amiably.

“Thank you for keeping me from bolting down a second one or I'd be weaving and staggering out of here.”