Read Their Summer Heat Online

Authors: Kitty DuCane

Tags: #menage, #wealthy, #BDSM, #murder, #suspense

Their Summer Heat (3 page)

BOOK: Their Summer Heat
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“Yes.”

He lifted his head, looking up from the screen at the distress in that single word. It shredded his soul with a razor blade. She stared straight ahead; her hands trembled slightly.

“Miss Heat, if your father opened this account in your name, you do not owe this money.”

“No…” Her voice cracked. “I will pay my debt; I just don’t think I should pay the full amount when Bunkum Bank won’t work with me.”

“Your father killed three people, a family, last year in a car accident. He also died in that wreck. He was drunk. Your father was nothing but a drunk.”

Summer’s head snapped around and she pointed a trembling finger at him. “Don’t you dare talk about my daddy. You didn’t know him.”

“Miss Heat, if you are a victim here—”

“Shut…up.”

She spoke in a voice so low he doubted even the judge had heard her statement.

“Mr. Preston, let me tell you what’s not on paper, what your fancy damn analyst hound dogs won’t find.”

Her voice squeaked, and the desperation in her tone sent a chill down his spine. Behind them, Channel Four relocated to get a better shot.

“My daddy was the most wonderful man in the world. He helped me with my homework, showed me how to hold a bat, how to ride a bike, how to beat the shit out of bullies. My mama died when I was a senior in high school. Daddy had a hard time with her passin’. Me and Momma were his world. Then I went off to college, six hundred miles away.”

Summer paused, a lone tear rolled down her cheek. “He had no one except the bottle and gamblin’. I left him. When he needed me. If I had stayed at home… If I hadn’t traveled so far away,
I
could have…prevented this.”

Several tears spilled over, and he wanted to hold her, to end her anguish.

“It was my fault. I will pay my debt.”

At least two women in the crowd were openly sobbing. Judge Overton wiped her face, and the camera crew was all over it.

Damn it to hell. For once in his life, he felt sorry for his opponent. Before today, he wouldn’t have cared that someone’s father had run up all this debt. His life was always about winning.

Until her.

Summer faced the bench. “I want to pay my debt.”

“Your Honor,” said Max. “I will get with Bunkum Bank, and I’m sure, with the proper documentation, we can—”

“Forty cent on the dollar,” she squeaked.

“Miss Heat, if your father opened these accounts without your knowledge, you may not be liable,” said the judge.

“I understand, but I need to pay.”

Max caught the judge’s gaze and nodded to her, hoping to hell she understood to agree to Miss Heat’s terms and end this madness. He’d handle it later, without an audience and without a camera stuck in her face.

“Okay, Miss Heat. Forty cent on the dollar, $200 per month until paid in full,” said Overton.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Max watched her gather her stuff. She still hadn’t wiped the tear tracks from her face, but then again, she seemed detached from the present, lost in a past that he had wrenched opened for her.

When she stepped from behind the desk, he was there, blocking her escape. “Congratulations, Miss Heat. You’re the first.”

She blinked, tears shimmering on her dark lashes. “What?”

“You’re the first one to beat the New York Shark.”

“I might have won the fight, but I sure as hell lost the battle.”

 

By the time the doors opened at 8:00 at the Bergeron Cancer Gala, Summer had recovered from her tangle with the Shark and the subsequent swarming of locust disguised as reporters. Admittedly, the locusts were much worse than the Shark. There were more of them, and they all asked different versions of the same question at the same time. And they didn’t understand “no comment,” or “get out of my way.”

Salvation came only when the great Max Preston stepped onto the courthouse steps, and the locust reverse swarmed. At least he was good for something.

Summer snagged a glass of champagne and slipped into the little alcove she’d discovered three years ago. Her special place gave her a good view of all the guests, allowing her to put her people-watching skills to the test. People with money acted differently than normal, everyday people. The women’s noses were truly upturned, they did indeed drip in gems, and rudeness was apparently the norm. The men tolerated the cattiness, nothing was off limits for their eyes, and they coolly regarded each other as competition.

And after meeting Mr. Max Preston today, she could sling a few more negative adjectives onto the pile. She pushed him away from her mind, needing to eat since the last time was what, this morning at three a.m.? The hors d’oeuvres were to die for, and the champagne kept her volunteering every year. Last year, she’d had to Google a few things when she got home to figure out what she had eaten.

At the food table, her belly growled, so she selected one of everything and two of every sweet goodie. She snagged another glass and took a sip. Damn, that was good.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice sounded from behind her.

Turning, she found herself face-to-face with a distinguished stranger. “Yes.”

“Didn’t I see you in court today? Aren’t you Miss Heat?”

Oh shit.
Couldn’t the court thing go away just for one night? “Yes, and you are?”

The man smiled. “Tom Werner.”

Summer looked at her plate and her glass. “Sorry, but I seem to have my hands full.”

“That’s quite all right. Let’s have a seat.”

No. No. No.
Not wanting to sit with anyone, she ignored the man’s suggestion and moved to a tall table on the outskirts of the room. No way in hell would she invite him into her secret place.

“Your performance was brilliant in court today.”

“Thank you.” Of course, she didn’t feel that way about it. By now, the whole world probably knew that her daddy was a drunk, had killed himself and an entire family who were on their way to the NC State Fair, and that he’d been a terrible gambler, to boot. Oh, and that she was a prostitute.

“You really gave Max Preston a run for his money.”

“Mr. Werner. I’d much rather forget about today’s events, if that’s okay with you.”

“Sure. Please forgive me.” He settled into the space next to her. “I understand you’re a psych major.”

“I am.” Thanks to the press, she was sure most details of her life were now public knowledge.
Why won’t he just go away?

He grinned. “You’re not going to give anything away, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Then let me come straight to the point. I’d like to offer you a job.”

She glanced at him, trying to ascertain his meaning from his expression, his statement totally catching her off guard. “Why exactly would you want to do that?”

“Today, you pegged Max Preston. You’re skilled with reading people, and that’s a gift we could use in our jury-selection process.”

She opened her mouth, but he charged on. “Hear me out. You could continue with your education, and in the afternoon, you could work with our attorneys on jury selection. Perhaps you wouldn’t have to work but one job. Free up a lot of your time.”

She popped something in her mouth that tasted like smoked salmon and melted like butter. Summer studied Mr. Werner over her champagne. He didn’t seem like a bad guy. But she’d probably had just enough of the sweet bubbly to override her good sense.

“Mr. Werner, you specifically want me on jury selection against Max Preston. You lose more cases to his firm than any other. You’re presently ridin’ the number two spot, and you want the number one spot.”

Bewilderment crossed his face, followed quickly by the show of straight white teeth. He burst out laughing. “Well done, Miss Heat. Well done. Max has a way of wooing the jury, intimidating the witnesses. I really don’t know how he does it. But you, Miss Heat, rattle him.”

Summer definitely didn’t see it that way. “And you want me to be the equalizer.”

The man smiled big. “Absolutely,” he said, before sipping the dark liquid in his glass.

“And you don’t care that I talk dirty on a 900 number to make a livin’?”

His eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared and his gaze went south; no doubt he was having a sexual fantasy right now. Men were easy to peg because they were so simple.

And they were pigs.

Mr. Werner cleared his throat. “We would put a spin on it; say that you don’t have to do that anymore because you now have an upstanding job. No one can blame you for doing what’s necessary to make ends meet.”

“You didn’t ask your daddy about this, did you?”

His eyes grew wide, and she couldn’t hold back a smirk. Obviously, she’d managed to shock him.

“Your daddy is the senior partner in the firm, isn’t he?” she pressed.

“Yes, but I have no doubt I can win him over.”

Sure, you can
. Slime oozed from Mr. Werner. He wanted a sexual pet and an advantage against Mr. Preston, all rolled into one package and tied with a bow.

Well, she didn’t do packages or bows.

Summer was no fool; she’d be way out of her league with an upscale law firm. She was a southern girl, through and through. The offer would give her the opportunity to study more people, but it wouldn’t be worth the hassle. “Thank you for your offer, Mr. Werner, but I must decline. It’s very temptin’, but nothin’ about the legal system is appealin’ to me.”

“I can offer $75,000 a year.”

The offer was too much, reeked of desperation. A pissing contest between lawyers had to be a dirty, disgusting event, and the last thing she wanted was to get in the middle and get piss on her shoes. “The answer is no, Mr. Werner. It’s not on my career path.”

“I understand. It’s too soon.” He set his glass on the table, fished a card out of his billfold and handed it to her. “I’m not giving up, Miss Heat. Werner and Werner could use your skills.”

She gracefully accepted the card and placed it in her purse. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Werner.”

She hoped he got the hint that she wanted to be alone. When he picked up his glass, toasted her and left, she let herself relax. She purposely waited until she’d lost sight of him in the crowd before she slipped away to her little hidey-hole.

Now maybe she could enjoy her food. She picked up a finger sandwich and plopped it into her mouth, relished the cream cheese mixed with some sweet flavor that may be strawberry jelly. She’d snag a menu from the catering company on the way out and try to figure out what was what. She dropped her napkin and stooped to pick it up.

“Are you are hiding, Miss Heat?”

Summer’s whole body jolted at the sound of the voice. When she stood up, another man was beside her. Must be her lucky day. This man was beautiful. Who knew she’d meet two of the most handsome men in the world in one day. Even if the first one had been a total jackass, maybe this one would make up the difference. She smiled at him.

He held up two glasses. “More champagne?”

“Yes. Thank you.” The way her night was shaping up, she’d need a whole bottle. “How do you know my name?”

“I asked. You were talking with Tom Werner.”

“Yes. Are you a lawyer too?”

“Nope. Real estate.”

“Ah, that’s refreshin’.” She took another sip of her courage and realized this was her third glass. She needed to slow way the hell down.

His smile blew her away. “It’s none of my business, Miss Heat, but you should stay clear of Werner and Werner.”

Interesting.
“And why is that?”

“I hear he’s ruthless.”

Ain’t they all?
“In the real estate world?”

“No. My law firm has run up against him a time or two.”

She toasted him, sensing he was truthful. “I have no intention of gettin’ tangled up with Tom Werner. If I never see another law firm partner, it will be too soon.”

“So why are you hiding over here instead of mingling?”

“I don’t mingle too well. Why are you runnin’ from the ladies?”

“Who said I was?”

“Well, there’re three over there, wonderin’ what in the hell you’re doin’ over here with a no-pedigree like me.”

He had the good grace to blush a bit as he glanced over his shoulder. “I hoped your cubbyhole was big enough for two of us.”

An announcement came over the speaker, requesting the women who were being auctioned tonight to head backstage.

“You’re in luck. This cubbyhole is all yours.” Summer didn’t give him time to respond; she scooted by him and melted into the crowd.

Backstage was so chaotic, she wanted to snatch another glass of bubbly. Last year, the men had been auctioned to raise money for cancer research, and they’d been simple to contain. Just give them a stiff drink and shove them onto the stage when their name was called.

But working with women was like herding cats. Nothing was right; the lighting was bad; does anybody have any hairspray; I chipped a nail; blah, blah, blah. If Summer hadn’t experienced it with her own eyes, she would have never suspected that the social elite of New York could be supremely needy bitches.

By the time seventeen ladies—a term she used loosely to describe these women—were auctioned off for a dinner with a lucky bidder, the cancer society had raked in close to $72,000. Summer herded the cats back out onto the stage for an encore and even clapped herself.

Whoohoo. Time for a drink.

“Will Miss Summer Heat come to the stage, please?”

Summer looked at the other volunteer backstage hand. Cathy, with her black-rimmed reading glasses perched on her nose, shrugged. Summer looked around her friend and waved her hands at the Gary, the emcee, to let him know she wasn’t a front-and-center kind of girl, but he motioned for her to come forward. Summer tugged down her dress, swallowed hard and stepped out into the bright lights.

“Miss Heat, we have an unusual request.”

“That must be why I have a bad feelin’ about this.”

The audience laughed, but Summer was serious. Her gut tightened as her heart revved.

“We have one more dinner at the Strip House Steak House in Greenwich Village for tomorrow night at eight, and you, Miss Summer, have been asked to participate in the auction.”

“Um, ah, no…I’m not…”
A bimbo, socialite, bitch.
“Auction material.”

BOOK: Their Summer Heat
8.77Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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