Man Trouble (30 page)

Cora had been behaving oddly for the past two days. Jake's mother was not psychic, as far as Molly knew, and neither did she have hidden cameras in the villa's guest rooms, so there was no way that Molly could explain why she thought that Cora knew—or at least suspected—what had happened on Sunday night. She also appeared to know that Jake had not returned Molly's Monday afternoon phone call, because she was making a heroic effort to explain Jake's behavior, as if she were an ambassador for a foreign and inscrutable king.

“The timing of this takeover bid is so frustrating,” she said as they sat together on the terrace, eating breakfast. “The PR campaign was just beginning to have an effect, and a few more weeks of progress would have lifted us out of the danger zone. Atlas does want Berenger, but not at any price. If the stock had just made it to nineteen…”

Molly was not a regular watcher of television, and she had never developed a newspaper-reading habit, so she had not known about Atlas's hostile bid until Cora told her.

“It might still get there, though, right?” Molly asked hesitantly. To her embarrassment, she knew very little about business, and investment lingo did not come easily to her tongue. “And then, they'll go away.”

Cora sighed. “Or raise their bid, but I don't think they'll do that. I'm afraid that it will be more difficult to lift our stock price now that Atlas has gone public with the offer. Jake is going to have to convince the market that Berenger is worth more than Atlas is offering, and he'll have to do it soon. This is a real crisis, my dear. Jake is under terrible pressure right now.”

It was a pretty legitimate excuse for not calling, Molly had to admit. But it still didn't relieve her fear that her feelings for Jake were unrequited. It also didn't keep her heart from jumping with anxious hope whenever the phone rang.

On Thursday, Molly confided some of her concerns to Carter. He was a last resort—she would have preferred to talk to Elaine, but Elaine was in a frenzy of planning and preparation for the reunion of Ingrid and Michael. Michael had arrived on the morning helicopter from Antigua, a flight that—contrary to Elaine's prediction—had not delivered Tom Amadeo.

“Well, I'm glad to be spared his company,” Elaine said loftily. “But I suppose the reprieve won't last. He'll probably be flying in with Jake, like he did last week.”

“I don't think so,” Molly said. “Jake is coming from Miami this time, not New York.”

Elaine pursed her lips. “Hmm,” she said, and refused to discuss it any further.

What Carter lacked in insight, he made up for in attentiveness. He sat eagerly forward in his chair, his eyes barely leaving Molly as she spoke and he listened. Molly was not in the habit of discussing her emotions with Carter or anyone else, but she was feeling needier than usual, as if she had a bad case of PMS. It was a relief to vocalize some of her worries, although it would have taken truth serum to force her to confess to sleeping with Jake. That was too personal to discuss. But she did finally admit to having a crush on him.

Carter nodded knowingly. “Totally normal,” he assured her. “Nothing to worry about. You've been immersed in a world of dazzling glamour, and you've…uh…been dazzled by it. When this is all over, and you come back to live in Chicago, you'll be fine.”

“I'm fine now,” Molly said. That wasn't true, but she hoped that saying so would hasten the process.

“It's not Jake you're attracted to,” Carter explained. “It's the glitter and the gold, the heady aura of excitement, the rush of a thousand starry moments within the rarefied world of the wealthy.”

“Oh,” Molly said. “I see.” Carter had been talking like that ever since he started working on his article about Jake, which he was billing as an “unprecedented glimpse into the mind and heart of America's most enigmatic magnate.”

She didn't bother to argue, but privately she thought Carter was off the mark. Her only starry moment so far had been at the Berenger Grand party, and while it had been fascinating from a sociological standpoint, she had found it exhausting and not much fun. Most of her time was still spent with her laptop, just as it had been in Belden. Lately, she had been happiest when she was absorbed in her work…or when she was with Jake.

“He's not the kind of man that you can allow yourself to get emotionally involved with,” Carter said. “He's a player. He only cares about his business, and he'll never settle down. You have to use him, take what you can from him, and then get out. That's what he's doing to you, isn't it?”

“I don't know,” Molly said, disturbed. “Maybe.”

“Definitely. But here's the question. How much is the ring worth?”

Molly blinked. “What?”

“The ring. You still have it, right? It's payment, right?”

Molly wasn't wearing the “engagement” ring that Jake had given her. The band was slightly too big, and the weight of the stone made it flop around on her finger, which annoyed her when she typed. Plus, she just didn't like it. The sight of it depressed her, for some reason. The diamond seemed as oversized and as emotionless as the role that she was supposed to be playing.

“It's in Cora's safe,” she said. “I only get to keep it if the Berenger stock hits twenty by April first. It's meant to be a bonus.”

Carter shook his head. “You really should have talked to me before you negotiated this, Molly, but since you didn't, it's lucky I'm here to help you now. The ring—
if
you get to keep it, and that's a big if—is probably worth a quarter of a million dollars. Do you know how much you could get from selling your story to the tabloids?”

“I can't,” Molly said. “I signed a confidentiality agreement.”

“I told you that those don't always hold up in court,” Carter reminded her. “You'd need to get a lawyer, and there might be a little fight, but you could win. And the publicity would be incredible. I'll work with you on it, of course. I'll make a deal to write the articles myself, under my byline, but we'll split the profits.”

“Carter, I can't,” Molly repeated, feeling anxious. “It would ruin Jake's life.”

“Why not? He didn't have any qualms about ruining yours, did he? He should pay for that, one way or another.”

Molly had an uneasy feeling in her stomach. She wondered if her unwillingness to exact a real revenge meant that she was a wimp. She had returned to Gold Bay intending to pay Jake back, but even at the outset she had known that forcing him to create a museum and a foundation was hardly going to destroy him. Cause him some embarrassment, yes. Cost him more money than he wanted to spend, yes. But it wouldn't come anywhere close to bringing him down. In truth, her plan wasn't really to revenge herself. It was to assert herself, to show Jake that she, too, could be devious and clever, and that he had better think twice before he underestimated her again.

“Molly,” Carter said urgently, “this is a golden opportunity. You don't get many of these in life, and you can't let it slide. This isn't about being nice, it's about winning! It's about getting what you deserve.”

“What do you think I deserve?”

“Compensation for your pain and suffering. More than you can get by selling that ring.”

“And what about Jake?”

Carter smiled slightly, but his eyes were sharp. “If he was careless enough to put you in a position where you can win at his expense, then he deserves to lose, doesn't he?”

Just then the front door opened, and Elaine swept into the room. She stood facing them, breathing hard. She was holding an enormous bunch of red roses wrapped in white tissue paper, but she did not look happy.

“This is a catastrophe!” she exclaimed. She dropped the bouquet onto the table. “He's
here!”

“Who?” Carter asked. “Who's here?”

“That
man.
He's come to mock me and ruin my plans.”

“Oh, you mean Tom,” Molly said.

Elaine exhaled impatiently. “No. Would the two of you please focus on the issue at hand? I'm talking about that bald-headed swindler. Rama Guru! He arrived on the boat with Ingrid and the group from French
Vogue.”

“I thought you said that he doesn't go to work with her,” Molly said.

“He doesn't,” Elaine said. She sat balefully down in an armchair, crossing her legs and tapping one foot on the sisal rug. “But he's here this time, and that can only mean one thing. Someone warned him about my intentions.”

“He had a vision of danger while he was meditating,” Carter said. “He saw you waving a Tiffany's box at Ingrid, luring her away from the Light…”

“Oh, Carter, be quiet,” Elaine said. “I'm trying to think. The reunion is supposed to take place tomorrow at sunset. I found a secluded spot with a wonderful view, and the Gold Bay staff is going to have dinner waiting there. It's all arranged, and Michael is in his room writing poetry at this very moment.”

“Michael writes poetry?” Carter asked curiously. “He doesn't look like the type.”

“He isn't the type,” Elaine said. “I told him to do it. I gave him a rhyming dictionary and bookmarked the pages for ‘devotion,’ ‘love,’ and ‘passion.’ It would have been perfect, but now I'll have to find a way to separate Ingrid from that accursed guru, which won't be easy. He'll be watching her like a hawk. How
utterly inconvenient.”

“I know how you did it before,” Carter said with a glance at Molly.

“Oh, no,” Molly said. “Not again.” She had ended up spending an hour walking the beach with Ingrid's guru the last time Elaine needed someone to divert him. She had kept his attention by telling him that she was having problems with her boyfriend, Dwayne, who she thought might love her only for her body and not her mind. Rama Guru had been a very sympathetic audience, and had spent the time asking increasingly detailed questions about her sex life. It had been more than enough for one lifetime.

“You won't need to distract him for more than a few minutes,” Elaine said. “The meeting place is very remote, and if we can sneak Ingrid away without him seeing, he won't know where she's gone.”

“What makes you think Ingrid will sneak anywhere with you?” Carter asked. “I don't think she likes you very much, actually.”

Elaine gave him a chilly look. “I beg your pardon. The poor girl is very confused right now.”

“I can't do it, anyway,” Molly said. “We don't have the Sandra outfit.”

“That's true,” Elaine said, frowning. “Drat. I wonder…if I have my housekeeper rush the Sandra box to the post office…international overnight would get it to Antigua by tomorrow, and the Gold Bay shuttle could pick it up…”

“You're forgetting about the wig,” Molly said.

“The wig!” Elaine looked at Carter. “You still have the wig, don't you?”

Carter looked dubious. “Well, technically yes, but…”

“The wig that now belongs to Carter's
cat,”
Molly said indignantly. “Remember? I'm not sharing a wig with a cat.”

“We'll have it sent, anyway,” Elaine said. “We'll only use it as a last resort. I'm sure that we can find a new one before tomorrow evening.”

“Where?” Molly asked.

“At the concierge desk,” Elaine said firmly. “The Gold Bay staff is famous for their ability to accommodate unusual requests. Last year they brought in a tiger for the Maharajah of Marabai. I don't know why he wanted it, but they found him one in less than twelve hours. And then he needed to have its claws painted with Revlon's Jungle Red. If they can do all of that, I don't think a platinum wig will be much of a challenge.”

CHAPTER 29

J
ake arrived back at Gold Bay at one
A.M.
on Friday morning. The villa was dark, and he made his way to his room without seeing anyone other than Cora's butler, who had waited up for him.

He woke at nine, then showered, shaved, and dressed with more care than usual, expecting to see Molly at breakfast. She wasn't there, though, and Cora said that she had eaten early and left the villa.

He pretended not to care, but he was disappointed. He had been waiting for the weekend, using thoughts of Gold Bay as a talisman to ward off the stress at work. Now that he had returned, though, he knew that sun and surf were not what he had been wanting. Atlas's offer and the resulting chaos had demanded all of his energy and attention, and although he hadn't been able to afford a single distraction, Molly had never been far from his thoughts. He caught himself picturing her face when he should have been paying attention to a meeting. When he tried to read the weekly reports, he found his mind drifting away, remembering Sunday night. When he spoke to the television cameras, and delivered his relentless pep talk to the Berenger shareholders, he wondered if she might be watching.

He spent the morning and part of the afternoon wandering restlessly around the villa, reading the newspapers and watching birds swoop over the terrace. He kept one eye on the driveway, waiting for Molly to return, but she didn't.

Finally, frustrated, he went to find his mother in the greenhouse, where she was repotting one of her beloved orchids.

“Molly? I told you, she's gone down to the resort,” Cora said, tucking fuzzy green moss around the newly settled plant. “She's helping her friends with some kind of scheme, and I don't think she'll be back before dark. I get the impression that she has plans tomorrow, also.”

“What? But I'm leaving on Sunday morning,” Jake said. “I have to fly to New York.”

“Do you? Well, say hello to Tom for me.”

She seemed to have missed his point. “I had to rearrange my whole damn schedule to come back here! And now I'm hardly going to see Molly at all.”

Cora gave the orchid a generous misting of water. “You might catch her at breakfast tomorrow,” she said. “If you get up early.”

“I don't want to just ‘catch her at breakfast,'” Jake said, annoyed. “I've been waiting all week to see her.”

His mother looked up from the flower. “Have you? My goodness, I had no idea. I'm sure that Molly didn't, either, since you didn't bother to call.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. He sensed a female conspiracy. “I was busy,” he said. “You might not have noticed, but there have been problems lately.”

“I know that, my dear,” Cora said, suddenly serious. “And I made sure to explain to Molly that you are very distracted and under terrible stress, and that she shouldn't judge you by your actions right now. She's being very good about it, but her confidence is a little fragile, and not hearing from you after Sunday night was—”