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Authors: Susan Johnson

Wine, Tarts, & Sex (11 page)

BOOK: Wine, Tarts, & Sex
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“Since I’d be scaring the hell out of your kid. He’s pretty young to be yanked out of his mother’s arms by a stranger.”
“Bring them both back, then. I’ll deal with her myself.”
“Do you have any idea where they might have gone?”
“Not a clue.” Leo grimaced. “That’s why I need you.”
Leaning back in his chair, Roman held Leo’s gaze. “So who’s the new woman?”
Leo smiled. “One of our interns.”
“That’s getting pretty young.” Leo was officially late fifties but actually mid-sixties. Tanned and semitoned by a personal trainer, he liked to think he didn’t look his age.
“So?”
Roman shrugged. “So nothing, I guess.” He came to his feet. “I’ll give you a call when I know something.”
As Roman exited Leo’s office, Ben shot him a raised-eyebrows look. “Has he calmed down?”
“Semi. Who’s the new babe in his life?”
“Hannah Reiss. A tall, leggy blonde, big boobs—maybe real. She doesn’t want to work all her life.”
“I see. And Leo took the bait.”
“She’s good-looking, sharp, smooth as silk. Anyone would take the bait, but she didn’t put out for anyone in middle management. She went straight to the top.”
“Jeez. And I suppose he believes her when she tells him he’s great in the sack.”
“Fucking a. Leo eats up her phony flattery; they giggle on the phone. It’s disgusting.”
“You shouldn’t listen in on conversations.”
“You should talk. Anyway, it’s self-preservation.”
“You
have
lasted longer than the others.”
Ben grinned. “I have the bloody record, and you know it.”
Roman smiled. “Can’t argue there. Not that I’m any different than anyone else. I put up with him and take his money, too, just like this new little Hannah Reiss is gonna do.”
“She’s not little. She’s pushing five ten. Them together is like Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. I figure any day now, Leo’s going to get lifts. So, are you bringing his kid back or what?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
Ben’s gaze narrowed. “You didn’t tell him that.”
“I don’t tell him anything.” Leo’s go-to guy lifted his hand in a casual wave. “I’ll stay in touch.”

 

Eleven
That evening, after Matt had been tucked into bed, Liv and Janie sat on the porch, watching the moon come up and drinking a glass of wine.
“I really can’t thank you enough for your hospitality, Liv. Matt adores your farm—your dogs and kittens and horses. It’s perfect for him. I’m feeling as though I can really decompress here.”
“You’re more than welcome. And Matt’s a darling— really—he’s sweet as can be. There’s a lake not far from here, too, if you get bored. They have swimming lessons in the summer for the kids. He might like that.”
“Thanks. Maybe we’ll try it. And thanks, too, for listening to me all day. I talked you to death, I know, but it’s been quite a while since I could vent. Leo always had so much staff around, you were never sure if someone might be listening to your conversation.”
“Not a problem. It sounds as though Leo’s been a major pain.”
“A vast understatement.” Janie made a small moue. “I have a feeling he’s found someone else, though. Not that I’m surprised.”
“Since
you
were in the wings before he divorced his last wife, you probably shouldn’t be.”
Janie sighed faintly. “I know. I just thought maybe I’d be different. Not too bright of me, I suppose. Although, the way Leo’s been screaming and carrying on and making my life difficult lately, I can’t lie and say I’m heartbroken. It’s actually a relief to have it over.”
“What are the chances he might roll over on this divorce? ”
Janie snorted.
“That’s what I thought. His last custody fight was vicious. ” Liv smiled. “I hope you haven’t done any drugs with photographers nearby.”
“God no. I’m not that stupid. Lisa, on the other hand— well you saw what happened. She lost her daughter. I’m not about to do anything that’ll jeopardize custody of Matt. There
is
another little thing, though, I probably should mention. ” Janie put up a calming hand. “Don’t worry. It has nothing to do with drugs. And it’s not actually
little
. It’s life-sized and should arrive tomorrow.”
“Okay, you have my interest. Just one question. Will anyone be going to jail for this
little thing
?”
“Technically, it’s mine—so, no.”
“Somehow that’s not reassuring. How about in terms of the letter of the law? Will a court agree with you?”
“If possession is nine-tenths of the law, it will.”
“Jeez,” Liv muttered. “So what of Leo’s did you steal?” Janie had always looked on things she wanted with a flexible attitude apropos actual ownership details. When they’d shared an apartment, Janie had always conveniently overlooked whose dress was whose. Or shoes. Or jewelry. Or on occasion even the money in Liv’s wallet.
“We had Hockney paint portraits of us shortly after we were married. I just took mine with me, that’s all. Leo’s going to say he paid for them, but I figure they’re half mine, and I took my half.”
“
David
Hockney?”
Janie nodded.
“So this portrait you took is worth what? Two, three mil?”
“Probably,” Janie said under her breath. “But why should I leave my portrait behind for Leo to sell or put into storage somewhere?”
“Weren’t you locked out? How did you get your hands on it?”
“Because I’m a very lucky person, that’s how,” Janie brightly replied. “The portraits had just been sent to MoMA for an upcoming exhibit. I simply asked for mine back, although, I must say, the curator wasn’t very gracious about it. I had to resort to screaming and threats.” She smiled. “Men never like when women scream in public. He caved, and then I watched while they crated it up and personally saw it put in a FedEx truck. You’ll really like it, by the way. I’m wearing my Rick Owens little black suit, and you know how his clothes all drape so naturally and flatter the body. I must say I look fabulous. I saw no reason to leave that gorgeous portrait behind.”
Liv could see the headlines now: “Stolen Multimillion-Dollar Painting Found in Minnesota Barn.”
“How soon before Leo sends out the gendarmes for you or, more precisely, for Matt and the Hockney painting?”
“They’re probably looking for us already. But, really, with our false passports and your remote location, I really think we’re safe. As for the painting, Leo won’t know I took it from MoMA. He’s totally uninterested in museums, and the curator was too intimidated to even bring up the fact that I’d been there.”
“That all sounds good,” Liv politely replied, figuring harsh reality would impinge on Janie’s dream world soon enough. Leo had been both relentless and ruthless in his last custody fight. There was no reason to think he’d be any different in Matt’s case. But time enough for cynicism in the morning. Picking up the bottle of wine, she smiled. “More wine?”
“Yes, please. Your wine tastes so-o-o good. Do you have a marketer or an advertising agency working for you? I know a few people who could make you rich with this fabulous wine.”
“Thanks,” Liv said, refilling Janie’s glass, “but I prefer my boutique label and hand-selling. This operation is more hobby than serious.”
“You always did save all your money. I suppose you’re set financially.”
“I have enough to live on, which was the point of working so hard those years when I was in demand.”
“But you quit long before you would have had to.”
“As soon as my finances allowed, I was gone. That was the plan.”
Janie sighed. “You always were so sensible. Unlike me. I haven’t saved a penny.”
“Don’t sweat it. That’s what a lawyer is for. He’ll get you a nice settlement.”
“So Brad says, although I’m not so sure. Leo always has to win at everything.”
“He can’t
always
win. He has to lose sometime.”
“You think?”
Suddenly Janie looked frightened and unsure, her bravado gone. “You said you have a good lawyer. You have Matt with you. With luck, Leo won’t find you here. I’d say you’re holding a winning hand.”
Janie’s smile reappeared. “Thanks. You always could cheer me up. Remember that time they fired me from the soap, and you calmed me down and told me what to say to get my job back?”
“See, things
can
work out,” Liv soothed. “They did then, and they will now. Don’t worry. Call your lawyer in the morning, tell him you’re safely settled in a
remote location
,” she said with a grin. “But let him know you have that Hockney painting—if you haven’t already told him. You don’t want to be thrown in jail over some legal technicality. Leo would use it against you like he did with that photo of Lisa doing blow.”
“You always think so rationally. Thanks for the good advice. What time is it, anyway? Can I still call Brad? He
did
say I could call him day or night,” she added, answering her own question.
“Then call him. Ask him what to do with the painting. You’ll sleep better knowing all the facts.”

 

Twelve
Liv could have used some of her own advice about knowing the facts and sleeping better, because she was having serious trouble falling asleep. When she should have been getting a good night’s rest for her busy day tomorrow, she was tossing and turning, kept awake by persistent memories of Jake Chambers looping through her brain.
When she shouldn’t be thinking of him at all.
Because—realistically—she and Jake Chambers had had a good time, but that’s all it was: a good time.
It would never do to become infatuated with him because he was incredible in bed. The long list of women before her who had enjoyed his sexual favors suggested infatuation would be a waste of time.
As for an actual relationship, it was not only ludicrous but lunatic to even contemplate such a thing after one night of sex, however mind-blowing.
There. Really. She was a mature adult. She was capable of separating lust from fantasy. More importantly, she did not, nor had she ever, had fantasies about
any
man. Period.
Maybe she could fall back on the same excuse as Jake. She was tired, not thinking straight. In the morning— if she could ever get to sleep—her world would return to normal. Her vineyard, winery, and the work she loved would suppress the tumultuous moonlight madness keeping her awake.
Jake had spent the day sleeping, so when he woke up at eight, he knew he was going to be up for the night. For the next few hours, he worked on some rough sketches for re-modeling the restaurant. Nothing major. The main dining area didn’t need much altering, but he would be adding the sports bar he’d always wanted, and that would entail more substantial changes. Walking downstairs, he eyeballed the dimensions of the spaces, the position of the windows overlooking the river, considered the possibility of adding a terrace outside, decided the east wall would probably have to be knocked out to make the bar area larger.
He wanted his River Joint to be like the bars he’d hung out in back home in Seattle: neighborhood places where people could relax, eat good food, visit with friends. He’d been thinking about his menu for a long time, probably as long as his discontent with the razzle-dazzle world he’d inhabited for so many years had been simmering in his brain. He wanted a menu heavy in
small plates
so customers could taste a variety of foods and flavors. And he wanted a bar menu that ran the gamut from Bud to private-label liquor with wines from speciality vineyards.
He made lists on top of lists, e-mailed more of his suppliers on the West Coast, decided about eleven that it wasn’t too early to call some vineyards in France. An hour later, he set down the phone, having ordered several hundred cases of his favorite wines.
It was nearly midnight, he was hungry, and the small niggling thought he’d been able to keep at bay with constant activity suddenly surfaced.
He literally muttered, “No,” aloud, rose from his chair overlooking the river, and hied himself upstairs to his kitchen. He’d make himself something to eat, then maybe go for a walk. He was
not
going to call Liv Bell only hours after leaving her. He wasn’t some horny adolescent who couldn’t control himself. So get a grip.
That stern admonition lasted ten minutes—maybe less. Whether he liked it or not, his cock had other ideas, and his sex drive being what it was, he struggled to keep himself in line. With considerable effort he restrained himself from calling her, flipping through the channels on cable instead, looking for distractions.
Wouldn’t you know—nothing appealed.
For five minutes more, he tried to talk himself out of obsessing over having sex with Liv again. It was totally bizarre how he couldn’t get her out of his mind. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t fucked plenty of beautiful, blonde models before.
BOOK: Wine, Tarts, & Sex
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