Retreat (2 page)

    
“Does he give you everything you need?”

    
“Meaning?”

    
“You never struck me as the kind of girl
who’d be happy in the passenger’s seat of a Cadillac sedan, or volunteering at
an arts center where rich people pretend they’re talented.”

    
“Things change.”

    
“I don’t think you’ve changed that much.”
He reached for her hand but she picked up her wine glass instead.

    
He frowned and sat back in his chair.

    
“Come on, Clara. What’s the deal? I know
it’s not about his money. You’re more than capable of earning your own. So what
is it? What is it about this guy that made you give up everything you set out
to do?”

    
She considered him for a moment, surprised.
He thought she’d withered away here, sold out.

    
“Is that what you think I’m doing? Giving
up? Jon, think about it. What other possible reason could I have for compiling
information about who has money to give and who just pretends they do?”

    
He studied her for a moment. “Due
diligence.”
  

    
She hated that he looked pleased. “The
light goes on. Someday, when I open my own liquidation firm this information
will come in very handy.”

    
“So then what’s with the guy?”

    
“What about him? He loves me. He wants to
marry me. He has a good job and a steady routine that bodes well for him not
kicking me to the curb when things get hairy.”

    
“That’s what you think I did?”

    
“That’s what I know you did,” she said,
giving him a hard look.

    
Jon searched her light eyes, trying to
decide whether to go there or not. He finished his wine and motioned for the
waitress to bring him more.

    
“So does Carpenter know what you’re up to?
Scoping out his friends to see who you can take down?”

    
“They’re not his friends and it’s not his
business.” She shrugged, trying to appear more confident than she felt.
“Besides, the ones who are struggling will think I’m doing them a favor when I
relieve them of their corporate burdens. It’s all about the process.”

    
“And what about your so-called engagement?”
Jon said coolly. “How does that fit into the process?”

    
“It’s not so-called. It’s real.” She
flashed her substantial ring at him. “And, as you pointed out, David works for
a brokerage firm and he’s done well. When the time is right I don’t think I’ll
have trouble convincing him to throw in some start-up capital.”

    
“Do you love him?”

    
“He loves me.” She shifted in her chair.
“And trust me, he’s not going anywhere.”

    
“That’s not what I asked. And, for the
record, I don’t think you know this guy as well as you think you do.”

    
“I know he’d be less than thrilled to find
out I’m here with you.”

    
“Less than thrilled? So you told him about
me, then.”

    
“Of course not. That would mean you
mattered to me in some way.” She hoped her words stung. A few verbal jabs might
make this night worthwhile after all.

    
“Then what will he care?”

    
“Do you know what you are?” The anger that
stewed for the past year bubbled into her words. “You, you …” she tried to form
the thought as he raised his eyebrows at her. She got it and threw her hands
up, no longer concerned with who was watching them.

    
“What?”

    
She pointed an accusing finger at him.
“You’re Tequila Thursday.”

    
“What the hell are you talking about?”

    
“Ask Marcy. She’ll remember and I bet
she’ll agree with me.”

    
“You’re comparing me to a drinking game?”

    
“It wasn’t a game. Marcy and I went to this
bar near campus that served gigantic margaritas. It’d be playful at first but
inevitably we’d progress to lick it, slam it, suck it with straight shots of
Cuervo.”

    
“Lick it, slam it, suck it?”

    
“The next thing you know you’re waking up
with a wicked hangover wondering where you left your underwear and swearing,
swearing, you’ll never do it again.”

    
He laughed. “You’re losing me.”

    
She sounded ridiculous but she didn’t care.
It was the best analogy she could come up with and she wasn’t letting him off
the hook. “I’ve sworn off your kind of hangover, Jon. You bring out the worst
in me. You’re Tequila Thursday in human form.”

    
“And Carpenter?”

    
“Isn’t.”

    
“Don’t marry him.”

    
“How dare you? How dare you come here after
the way you treated me and …”

    
“Don’t,” he said, the laughter gone from
his eyes. “Damn it, it’s not right. I’m telling you.”

    
“I can’t believe this.”

    
“Look, I can’t let you make this mistake.”

    
“How could you possibly know it’s a
mistake? And isn’t it my mistake to make?”

    
“Because he won’t be a good father.”

    
Clara sat back in her chair as if he’d
punched her.

    
“Clara?”

    
She hesitated.

    
“What makes you think I want to have kids?”

    
“Don’t you?”

    
She felt her cheeks flare, her heart
stutter.

    
“Well?”

    
“Eventually …maybe …,” she admitted. Oh
this was not something she wanted to talk with Jon about. If there was one way
to lose her edge it was to talk babies with Jon Griffin. She needed her head in
the game, not swirling on images of what their babies could look like, with
Jon’s curls and her fair skin.

    
“Well, he’d suck as a father,” Jon was
saying. “He’d never be there.”

    
“How do you know?” Clara slid back to the
moment. “You don’t even know him. He’s really a solid …”

    
“Because he already has two kids he doesn’t
take care of.”

    
His words hung in the air. Clara crossed
her arms and glared at him.

    
“You don’t believe me?” Jon asked,
genuinely surprised.

    
“No,” she said, shaking her head
confidently. “No I don’t. If David had kids I’d know about them.”

    
“Would you?”

    
“We’re engaged. I think I’d know if my
fiancé had children!”

    
Jon reached into the inside pocket of his
black suit coat and pulled out a wallet-size photograph. He slid it over to
her.
   

    
Clara went still.

    
It was definitely David with his sandy hair
and hazel eyes, with a tall, attractive woman and two toddlers.

    
“David Carpenter, his wife, Sally, and
their two children, Dallas and MaryJo. This photo was taken two years ago.”

    
“This can’t be right,” she said, even
though she knew Jon’s surveillance was never wrong. He’d proved that to her
again and again when she worked with him at Freedman’s in Fort Worth. There was a reason the takeover
attempts he structured never failed. He knew all the cards going in, and then
dealt an expert hand.

    
She examined the photograph without
touching it. “This looks like it was taken in his mother’s living room. I
recognize the Native American sculpture on the mantle. How could he be married?
His mother, she …”

    
“It’s him,” Jon said. “No doubt about it.
He and Sally must be separated.”

    
“Where did you get this picture?”

    
“From someone who knows Carpenter well,”
Jon said. “I assure you it’s legitimate.”

    
“Why are you doing this?” Clara asked,
searching his deep eyes.

    
“Because you don’t belong with him.”

    
She contemplated the photograph. She picked
it up, taking in the smiling children, set it down, pushed it away.

    
She squinted and set her jaw to keep the
tears away.

    
“I guess I should say thank you,” she said,
hating that she felt defeated. All of the fire she’d shot toward him had been
doused by this terrible revelation.

    
“You’re welcome,” he said, reaching out to
take her hand across the table.

    
This time she didn’t have the energy to
stop him. His gentle touch released a fresh wave of dismay.

    
“Shit,” she whispered, her heart pounding
and her face growing hot. The room began to swim. She felt a tremor flirting
with her legs.

    
“Are you okay?”

    
“Yes,” she lied, picking up her tall water
glass and taking a long drink. The cold liquid splashed down her throat. She
closed her eyes to center herself.

    
When she opened them he was watching her,
concerned.

    
“I’m okay,” she said, reassuring herself.

    
“Are you going to take this off now?” he
pushed, fingering her engagement ring.

    
She gazed down at the ring, fighting back a
renewed sting of tears. Then a thought struck her.

    
“What if there is some kind of reason … a
good reason why he didn’t tell me?”

    
“You name me one reason that would satisfy
you about this,” Jon said. “Just one.”

    
“Maybe she’s a psychopath?” she said, too
hopefully.

    
“Then why would he leave his kids with
her?”

    
“Maybe …,” she stopped and tried to search
for an explanation that would make it okay. She couldn’t think of one, unless
the children weren’t really his, but from the picture she could tell they
shared too many of David’s features to chalk it up to coincidence. “I just
can’t believe it. Why would he keep this from me? There’s no way we could be
married legally if this is true.”

    
Jon shrugged. “I have no idea. But I know
you well enough to know it’s a deal-breaker, even if you have made yourself
comfortable in his gilded nest. Somewhere beneath that Brooks Brothers suit is
the woman I fell in love with.”

    
She was already off-kilter and now a surge
of adrenaline whisked through her. Somehow she managed to keep her voice
steady. “What did you say?”

    
“You heard me.”

    
She looked down at her hand, which he was
still holding, as if he planned to remove the ring himself if she didn’t hurry
up and take it off.

    
“It is obnoxious, isn’t it?” she said,
trying to act as if what he said didn’t matter, to give a little laugh, but it
came out choked. “I should throw it into Grammy’s lake.” She worked the ring
from her finger and set it on top of the photograph.

    
She looked at him, expecting to see
smugness but instead found compassion in his eyes.

    
“I’m sorry,” she relented. “I was really a
jerk to you and you came all this way to warn me.”

    
“I missed you.”

    
She gave a weak smile. “It’s been a while.”

    
“Too long.”

    
“I’ve been busy.”

    
“I know.”

    
She sat up straighter in her chair, swiped
at her damp eyes. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been keeping tabs on me, too.”

    
“Of course I have.”

    
“That’s creepy, don’t you think?”

    
He studied her for a moment. “When you left
Fort Worth we
had unfinished business. So yes, I’ve made it a point to know where you are. I
have to admit I never pegged you for the Junior League circuit. Did you tell
them you used to have a real job or would that automatically disqualify you?”