A Woman of Fortune (26 page)

He pulled back and remarked casually as he headed for the door, “A charity fund-raiser. A dinner at my good friends' home . . . the Sandells.”

His words punched Lainie's gut. She stood, frozen. “No . . . I can't, Sidney.” She shook her head. “That's not a good idea. There'll be photographers and—”

“You misunderstood, Lainie.” He glanced at the velvet box, then back up at her with a steely resolve. “I wasn't asking.”

35

C
laire shifted in the uncomfortable armchair, trying to decide which looked more professional—reading a magazine,
Businessweek
perhaps, or reading emails on her phone. Or maybe she should just sit with her hands folded.

Yes, she'd do that.

She cleared her throat and focused on the music piped in from a speaker in the ceiling. A familiar tune, but off somehow. Orchestral renditions of Fleetwood Mac songs just didn't cut it.

She waited, letting her thoughts turn to Lainie. Claire hadn't seen her daughter since the night she'd called them all back to the house. Her girl hadn't even come home to say goodbye to Margarita. “Please don't be mad at me. I just can't, Mom,” she'd said.

So it was good to hear her daughter's voice on the phone that morning, even if she was a bit evasive when Claire asked where she was staying. “With a friend,” Lainie said. “Don't worry about me. I'm fine.”

“Honey, let's go to lunch soon. Talk over things. And I want to show you my new place. It's not much, of course. But it'll work until I catch my breath and get back on my feet.”

Lainie declined, saying she couldn't possibly fit anything else in right now. But soon, she promised.

“Claire Massey?”

The voice from behind the receptionist counter startled her. Claire stood and smoothed her skirt. “Yes?”

“Mrs. Craig will be free to see you soon. First, let's have you complete this questionnaire.” She pushed a clipboard toward her.

Claire smiled. “Thank you.” She returned to her seat and looked over the pages, printed on fine linen paper with a gold and navy logo and “Judith Craig Recruiters” at the top. She'd come to the right place, no doubt.

After filling out her basic information and contact data, Claire moved on to the employment history section. Her palms grew slightly clammy, making holding the pen difficult. She took a deep breath and steadied her nerves. Gripping the pen a little tighter, she carefully printed
None
.

She turned her attention to the next section—skills. With pen poised, she moved down the checklist.

Accounting . . .
None
.

Supervision . . .
None
.

Word processing . . .
None
.

Claire continued down the items one by one, checking the boxes indicated. With each pen mark, her spirits sank lower. About the time she'd talked herself into sneaking back out the front door, the receptionist called her name. “Ms. Massey, Mrs. Craig will see you now.”

Too late to turn back. Claire followed the receptionist down a short hall lined with photos of Judith Craig and local dignitaries. The first was a pose with the mayor, then another with the CEO of American Airlines. Another shot showed her shaking hands with Jerry Jones, owner of the Dallas Cowboys. At the very end, she stood in front of Abundant Hills Church with Pastor Richards.

Oh, great, this is going to go well
, Claire thought. She extended her hand to the polished woman, who shook it and invited her to sit.

Judith Craig had red hair, lots of it. And a tiny waist. She wore
cream-colored slacks and a turquoise sweater. Her wrists bore multiple chunky silver bracelets.

“So,” she said, looking over leopard-print reading glasses. “What have we here?” She scanned the forms, her head nodding slowly as she read. Once finished, she placed the stapled set of papers on the side of her desk. “Clearly you've not been in the job market for some time.” Mrs. Craig pulled her glasses down and folded them. “And I suspect we have other challenges as well.”

Claire forced herself to straighten in her seat. She looked Judith Craig in the eyes. “I think we both know I bring rather unconventional baggage to the table. My history is fairly known, I would guess.”

The woman nodded. “Look, I'm the best there is in this field here in Dallas. Your lack of recent skills doesn't worry me all that much. I have a way of positioning candidates and highlighting features not otherwise apparent. My firm boasts a 97 percent success rate. I play both sides of the table, working for candidates and employers. And I only represent the cream, if you know what I mean.”

She nodded, willing herself not to look away.

“I'm also a straight shooter. I wouldn't be doing you any service not telling you the truth here.”

Claire leaned forward. “I'm willing to take an entry-level position. I'm a hard worker. I was hoping to find something where I could use my training in culinary arts.”

Mrs. Craig scowled. “That was in college—how long ago?”

Claire hated how this woman echoed her insecurity. She swallowed. She needed a job and this woman's help. “I realize on paper I must look like a lost cause, but I assure you that—”

“It's not that.” She steepled her fingers. “The truth is, your husband bilked most of Dallas in some manner or another. I'm not sure there are any positions available where I could convince people to hire Tuck Massey's wife.”

“Well, I see,” Claire said briskly. She stood. “I guess I'm wasting time here then.”

The woman with the bright-colored top and dark disposition also stood. She gave a dismissive shrug. “I'm very sorry. Really, I am.”

Later that afternoon, when Claire recounted the meeting over a glass of sweet tea, Jana Rae had a fit. “Well, that really blows. Why did she even have you come in then?”

Claire raised an eyebrow. “I have to answer that one for you?”

Jana Rae vigorously stirred more sugar into her tea. “How small. I mean, really.” She plopped her spoon onto the table. “People who think they know everything really annoy those of us who do.” She pounded the table with her hand. “It's just not fair.”

In spite of how Claire felt, she couldn't help but smile. “I have a lingerie drawer full of ‘not fair.'”

Her friend threw her head back, laughing. “Ha, good one.”

Claire took a sip of her tea. “Yeah, I learned my sense of humor from the best.”

On the sidewalk, a young woman passed by their table wearing a long beige skirt, a gray tank top, and what looked like Army boots. She pushed a stroller carrying a toddler. Around her body, she'd wrapped an infant in a sling.

Jana Rae leaned over and whispered, “Who's her designer? Goodwill?”

Claire suppressed a laugh. Jana Rae swore a person's insides were based on what they wore on the outside.

To most people, Jana Rae had a catty side. And Claire supposed she could see why so many assessed her in that manner. But she'd discovered the hidden side of her friend, who spent every Tuesday in a soup kitchen for the homeless. That was the real Jana Rae.

“Look, here's the deal,” Jana Rae said, staring at Claire. “Forget this employment nonsense. You need to start your own catering business, become an event planner.”

She smiled wryly. “With what? My good looks?”

“I talked it over with the Urologist. I want to lend you starting capital.” She held up her palm. “No. Don't be stubborn. Let me help you, Claire.”

“No way,” she said. “I'll think of something. I like the idea, and there are banks, you know.” Claire threw Jana Rae a devilish look. “And if the banks won't lend me money—I can always go work at Goodwill.”

36

C
ars lined the street surrounding the Sandells' stately two-story home in Highland Park. As Sidney McAlvain's driver approached, Lainie leaned against the plush leather seat, picking at her fresh manicure. Sidney reached over and covered her hand with his own. “You look lovely tonight. A real knockout,” he said as they pulled into the circular drive.

Turned out the dress Sidney had delivered was stunning, a simple tight-fitting sheath in pistachio. The perfect cocktail dress, and Lainie knew she looked beautiful in it. Given the opportunity, she'd use her appearance to her full advantage.

If Reece was even here tonight.

Months had passed since her former fiancé had broken off their engagement at the Arboretum. The early weeks after had been grueling. She'd simply lost her footing.

By the third week, friends had noticed and pushed her to get back out in the social scene. “The best revenge is to get even,” one had said.

Her chance to get even occurred later that evening, when her father's very rich friend walked through the lobby of the Joule. Sidney McAlvain invited her to join him in the bar, where he bought a bottle of Barrique de Ponciano Porfidio, an expensive tequila cost
ing nearly two thousand dollars. The liquor went down smooth, and Sidney's advances were even smoother.

The next morning, Lainie woke in the penthouse suite.

At first she felt disoriented and a bit ashamed. Sidney McAlvain was her father's age, for goodness' sake. And not all that attractive, if you wanted to know the truth.

However, the idea dawned that Sidney could be the answer to a lot of her problems. He had money, a lot of it. When word got back to her father eventually, she'd pay him back for ripping everything out from under her feet, for abandoning her. She'd buy Pride back from the trustee. And the icing would be the look on Reece's face tonight. If she got lucky.

Lainie stood at the door, Sidney's hand at her back. The same door she'd knocked on after the arrest.

She lifted her chin. None of that mattered now.

If she couldn't marry a senator, being the wife of one of the richest men in Texas—in the whole United States, for that matter—wasn't a bad second. Besides, after what her father had pulled, her options were limited, at best. At worst, she'd live her life a nobody.

And that was never an option.

The massive front door swung open. Andrew Sandell stood on the other side. “Sidney, so glad you could make it. Come on in.” His arm made a sweeping motion, inviting them inside.

Lainie had barely crossed the threshold when the host's eyes met her own. “Evening,” she said, tucking her arm tighter into Sidney's.

Reece's father raised his eyebrows. “Lainie. What a surprise.” He looked back at Sidney, a knowing look spreading across his features. To his credit, he said nothing more.

On the other hand, Reece's mother threw a fit when she stepped into the front foyer to greet Sidney. “What is
she
doing here?” Glory Sandell hissed.

Her husband firmly grasped her elbow. “Lainie is here with Sidney, Glory.”

Sidney stepped forward and gave Glory a tight hug. “Been fol
lowing that boy of yours in the polls. Looks like he's finally pushing forward.” He released her and slipped his arm back around Lainie. Then he pulled a monogrammed cigar case from his jacket pocket. “Mind?” he said.

Glory opened her mouth, but her husband quickly answered. “Of course not, Sidney.” He snapped his fingers and a man wearing a suit and white gloves scurried over. “Get our friend a light.”

Lainie gave Reece's mother a satisfied smile. Few people had the power and position to override Glory Sandell, but likely Sidney was a major contributor to Reece's campaign. And he definitely had the power to bring down her son's success, if he had a mind to. She knew from watching how her own father worked that the idea of elections being determined by citizen voters was a mirage, promulgated first in school and then by the media. The real swing votes came with dollar signs—lots of them.

It was that fact that forced a smile onto Glory Sandell's face. “So glad you could join us, Lainie. How's your mother?”

She let a smile break across her face and decided to play along. “Mother is the epitome of grace and dignity in every situation. Despite recent difficulties, my mother is doing splendidly.”

However, Mrs. Sandell was a master at this game. At dinner, she seated Lainie directly across from her son and Miss Perky.

“How are you, Lainie?” Reece asked politely.

“Never better,” she responded, dishing up her own plate of civility.

By the end of the salad course, she learned Miss Perky had a name—Hilary Goddard. Last spring, Hilary had graduated magma cum laude from Harvard Law School. She would be working at Bright McKee, one of the premier environmental law firms headquartered in Washington, DC.

How convenient
, Lainie thought.
And aren'
t those pearls just lovely—if you're my mother'
s age.

On purpose, she kept her eyes averted from Reece. She hoped that would drive him crazy. With any luck, the little pistachio number
would do its job. Certainly there was no competition with that dreadful black lace thing Hilary wore.

For good measure, Lainie gave her rapt attention to Sidney as he argued the dual role of maximizing development of oil and gas resources while also protecting public safety and the environment.

Surprisingly, Hilary agreed with Sidney's positions. “With your growing global footprint, it's more important than ever that companies assemble a multidisciplinary team to address environmental issues. I'm impressed with the approach you've taken, Sidney.”

Boy, she's good.

Not only had Reece's companion won favor at the Sandell dining table, but likely she'd cemented a future client for her firm.

Noticeably, Reece didn't enter the conversation. Lainie allowed herself a quick glance in his direction. As soon as she looked over, their eyes met and held, as if each of them was challenging the other to be the first to look away.

She steeled herself, but a familiar longing circled the pit of her stomach. She stared into his eyes. She loved their soft gray color, the tiny flecks of slate that gave him a certain air of importance. Without much thought, she could remember the smell of his hair and the fresh, soapy fragrance of his crisp ironed shirts.

She let herself smile ever so slightly. He smiled back, and she knew then that he missed her too.

Reece's mother saw it as well, because Glory took that exact moment to tell everyone that Reece had an announcement.

Hilary beamed.

Lainie shot another look at Reece, dread forming.

He dropped his gaze and tapped his linen napkin at the corners of his mouth. “Yes,” he said, slipping his arm around Hilary. “I—uh, we're planning on a spring wedding. And hopefully”—he laughed—“we'll both have a job in DC after the election.”

Oh no
. No!

Andrew leaned back in his chair, looking pleased. “The handlers are telling us we shouldn't make a public announcement until
after the election. An engagement would be too distracting at this juncture.” He glanced around the table. “I trust as good friends and supporters, y'all will keep this quiet for now.”

Lainie drilled her eyes at the floral arrangement, the russet mums and yellow sunflowers. Congratulations drifted from around the table like faceless voices floating on thick fog. Her mouth went dry and she reached for her water glass.

Glory Sandell smirked.

Hilary rested her head against Reece's shoulder. She grinned, showing off a set of tiny white teeth.

Lainie swallowed—hard. Her hands dropped to her lap in defeat.

Sidney reached under the table and took her palm in his. He squeezed—a little too hard.

All anyone saw, including Reece, was Sidney McAlvain pull the cigar from between his teeth and smile.