Fast Track (12 page)

A waiter appeared with glasses of champagne on a silver tray. Cordie was so nervous she had to force herself not to guzzle the drink. There was a short welcoming speech by the president of something or other—she wasn’t paying attention—and then the orchestra began to play.

Aiden extricated himself from his growing entourage and walked over to Liam. “I’d like a word with you, Scott,” he said, his tone downright belligerent.

Liam looked up. “Sure, go ahead.”

“I don’t believe you’ve answered my question yet. Why are you here?”

Liam pushed the chair back and stood. “Alec thought there might be trouble, and I owe him a favor, so here I am. He’s worried about Cordie.”

“I can take care of Cordelia.” Aiden’s voice radiated anger.

Liam wasn’t fazed by the heated response. “And I can take care of Rayburn and his sons . . . if there’s trouble.”

Cordie rolled her eyes. She wasn’t impressed by the testosterone throwdown. She stood between the two men and sweetly said, “How about I take care of myself?”

“Heads up,” Liam said, looking over Cordie’s shoulder.

Cordie and Aiden turned toward the entrance.

“The Rayburns are here,” Aiden said.

S
imone and Craig Rayburn seemed to be the in couple.

They stopped just inside the entrance, apparently oblivious to the fact that they were clogging the pathway for other guests behind them as they greeted friends and business associates. Craig removed Simone’s wrap and handed it to a hovering coat-check lady, then took Simone’s elbow and guided her through the crowd. They slowly made their way to the opposite side of the ballroom, pausing again and again to chat with people vying for their attention. Cordie couldn’t get a good look at Simone because other guests obstructed her view. She saw Craig clearly, though, and the bulldog comparison was even more accurate than she’d imagined. His jutting lower jaw was rather impressive, and his bottom teeth showed when he spoke. He wasn’t an attractive man by anyone’s standards, but from the way people were reacting to him, he obviously had achieved a certain level of stature among the wealthy elite. Shaking hands and kissing cheeks, he worked the room with great finesse. Each person he greeted seemed happy, even thrilled, at his attention, and there was no doubt he relished all the adulation. His smile seemed genuine enough, but there was a hint of arrogance behind it.

The couple reached their reserved table and took their seats. After a few minutes, their friends gradually drifted away to their own tables, and Cordie saw Simone clearly for the first time. She wore a shimmering silver strapless gown. In person, Cordie didn’t think they looked all that much alike. Simone’s hair was just as dark as hers and she seemed to be the same height, but their body shapes were different. Simone was extremely thin. She didn’t have any curves or an ounce of fat, though judging by her skinny sculpted arms, she worked out daily. Simone turned toward the dance floor. Cordie couldn’t see the color of her eyes, though she guessed they were blue. In the photo Alec had shown her, Cordie saw the resemblance, but now she was having trouble finding the similarities. Some would consider Simone a beautiful woman, but compared to the picture, the angles of her face were sharper and more defined. She was in her forties now, so the lines were probably because of age and stress. No, that wasn’t true. Simone wasn’t affected by stress—she caused it. Others might think they looked alike, but Cordie didn’t want there to be any resemblance at all.

Aiden put a supportive arm around her shoulders. He leaned down and whispered, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t want to look like her,” Cordie said.

“I know.”

Cordie couldn’t take her eyes off the couple. They were having a fine old time. Craig said something Simone thought was quite funny. She put her hand on his chest, laughed, and shook her head.

Alec had filled Liam in on Cordie’s situation, and Liam hadn’t really had an opinion until this moment, but watching Simone laughing and carrying on with her husband and her friends, as though she was a queen holding court, he felt a jolt of anger for Cordie. Simone had accomplished the impossible. She had successfully rewritten history.

Craig suddenly spotted someone in the crowd. He stood and waved to draw their attention. Cordie turned in that direction and saw the Rayburns’ two sons, Glen and Knox, enter the ballroom.

“The sons look like their father,” Liam remarked. “That’s a real shame.”

The brothers were not handsome, but they were impeccably dressed in their designer tuxedos, and they exuded unusual confidence for such young men. Cordie guessed the older brother, Glen, was around eighteen. They headed straight for their parents, and Simone greeted them with a broad smile as they approached. When each son embraced his mother warmly, Cordie felt a blow, like a fist to the stomach. She was outraged, and the longer she watched the outwardly touching scene of family affection, the angrier she became. This was the woman her father had loved, the one he had ached to see again. She had lied to him and caused him so much pain. All those years were wasted as he pined for Natalie Smith, a woman who didn’t exist.

Cordie reached for her beaded bag and took out the letter she’d sealed in a hotel envelope. Stopping a passing waiter, she handed the letter to him and pointed across the room to Simone as she gave him instructions.

Liam watched with growing curiosity. “I know it isn’t my business, but may I ask what’s in the envelope? Is Simone going to go postal when she sees it?”

Aiden was just as curious, but he had intended to wait until they were back in the car to find out. “If you don’t want to tell us what you wrote—” he began.

“I didn’t write a letter,” she said quietly, her eyes still on Simone.

“Then what’s in the envelope?” Aiden asked.

“A copy of the letter she left for my father. I thought she might want to read it again. Years have passed since she wrote it, and she might have forgotten some of the cruel things she said. I wanted to remind her and to let her know . . .” Her voice drifted off as her attention remained fixed on Simone and her family.

Neither Liam nor Aiden asked any more questions. They kept their eyes on the waiter, watching him weave in and out of the crowd to get to Simone.

Craig Rayburn had left his wife’s side and was sitting at a table with friends. A couple came up the stairs from the dance floor and stopped to talk to Simone just as the waiter reached her. Smiling, Simone took the envelope and walked a few feet away from her friends before she opened it.

Cordie watched her pull the letter out and unfold it. Simone didn’t have to read much to know what it was. She stiffened, and there was such a look of panic on her face it was almost as though she had seen something grotesque. She frantically looked to her left, then to her right, as she folded the letter and refolded it. Mindless of where she was, she stuffed the letter down the bodice of her gown. Out of sight, out of mind? Was that her mantra? For a brief second or two she looked terrified. Glancing around one last time to see if anyone was watching, she again plastered a serene expression on her face and rejoined her friends.

Cordie wasn’t through taking the woman down memory lane. She wanted one more jab to make certain Simone understood that she hadn’t gotten away with her little scam, that the daughter she’d tried to erase knew what she had done. She didn’t intend to cause a scene or confront Simone. She just wanted some vindication for her father, to make Simone realize her deceptions had not evaporated into thin air. They existed. Once she saw that recognition in Simone’s eyes, Cordie would let go of the anger, never say Simone’s name again, and get on with her own life.

Cordie walked around the table and took a spot in front of a pillar. Standing on the top step, she simply stared at Simone and waited.

Aiden wasn’t sure what Cordelia planned to do, but he wasn’t going to let her do it alone. Liam followed him. They stood on either side of her.

Across the room Simone was smiling and nodding, but her eyes were not on the people in front of her. She seemed to be distracted, impatiently looking around as though waiting for someone to jump out at her.

“Here comes good old dad,” Liam said.

Julian Taylor, a tall, thin man who walked with an air of authority, was making his way toward his daughter, stopping to shake a few hands, and deigning to give a rigid smile to only a few people.

When Simone saw her father, her expression changed. Like someone who was looking for an escape, she glanced around the room in desperation. And that was when she saw Cordie. Her face turned white in an instant. She shook her head as though trying to change what she was seeing. Taking a step in retreat, she looked again at her father, and then stiffly turned back to Cordie, no doubt making sure she was still there. Cordie could detect a hint of anger now, and that surprised her.

She could almost see Simone’s mind racing. How could she keep her father from seeing what she was seeing? She turned in his direction and her hand went to her throat. Letting out a soft cry, she slowly and dramatically fell to the floor. It was the most graceful and phony faint Cordie had ever seen. She wasn’t the only one who noticed.

“Should we clap?” Aiden asked.

“You wanted to shock her,” Liam reminded.

Cordie nodded. “Shall we go?”

Aiden draped her cape around her shoulders and took her hand. “You’re sure you’re finished here?”

“Oh yes,” she said, smiling. “I’m finished.” She looked across the ballroom one last time. A crowd had gathered around Simone, who was still pretending to be in a dead faint. Her husband had her in his arms and was talking to his sons as he nodded toward the entrance.

Liam walked to the doors with Cordie and Aiden, who had already texted Cavanaugh to tell him to bring the car around. He was suddenly anxious to get Cordelia away.

“You could tear that family apart just by telling them who you are,” Liam remarked.

She shook her head. “I don’t want to destroy her family. Like I said, I just wanted her to know. Now I’m finished. I don’t ever want to hear her name again.”

Seeing one of the Rayburns’ sons pushing his way through the crowd and heading to the entrance, Aiden increased the pace.

Cavanaugh pulled up just as they exited the building.

“It was a pleasure meeting you both,” Liam said. He shook Aiden’s hand and then turned to Cordie, taking her hand in both of his. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Aiden thought the good-bye was lasting longer than necessary, so he took Cordelia by the arm and ushered her into the backseat.

Cordie was quiet on the way back to the hotel. She was thankful Aiden wasn’t asking her questions, because she wasn’t ready to talk about the Rayburns. The only good thing she could say about them was that they lived on a different continent and she would never have to worry about running into them. She stared out the window. Her hands were shaking and she was spent. Taking deep breaths, she tried to slow her racing heart. She had been so nervous the entire time she was at the Gallery Ball, but now it was over, and she could relax and get rid of her anxiety. She just wasn’t sure how to go about it. Yoga would help. At least that’s what Regan often told her. Yoga was good for stress, she’d said. She had even bought Cordie a yoga mat. Whatever had she done with it? she wondered. She’d have to search for it when she got home.

Aiden finished listening to his messages and reading his texts, then turned to Cordelia and said, “Have you calmed down?”

“I’ve always been calm. Why would you think I wasn’t?”

“You were hyperventilating, and your face was red. It isn’t now, so you must be feeling a bit calmer.” He added, “But you’re still frowning.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m just trying to remember where I put my yoga mat.”

He wasn’t buying her obvious attempt to look relaxed. “You do yoga?”

“No.”

“But you have a mat.”

“Yes, Regan gave it to me. Yoga helps with stress.”

He put his hand on top of hers. She was still shaking. “Would you like to go out to eat, or do you want to go back to the hotel and do yoga?”

She didn’t acknowledge his wisecrack. “Back to the hotel.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

“You could go out. You could drop me off if you want.”

He laughed. “I could? Thanks.”

Cordie really did relax then. For a while there, Aiden had been a sympathetic, almost loving, man, but now he was back to being his arrogant and impertinent self, and she felt a sense of normalcy again.

Several minutes passed in silence, and then Cordie said, “I’m going to have to wear this beautiful gown somewhere else so I won’t associate it with them.”

“‘Them’ being the Rayburns?”

“Yes. It probably cost a fortune,” she said. Her fingers gently brushed the fabric of her skirt. “Miss Marie’s bill for all the outfits will be astronomical. Oh, I know what you’re thinking. I can afford it, right? My father left me a fortune. That’s true; however, I’m going to be sensible about it. I’m not used to spending that kind of money on clothes, and designer labels are lost on me. My father was a generous man, but I’ve always survived on my own. I taught in a Catholic high school, for Pete’s sake. Do you know what the teachers make? Zip. They make zip.”

She continued her running monologue until they pulled up in front of the hotel. Aiden helped her out of the car, waited while she thanked Cavanaugh, and then said, “The bill will be zip.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

As they crossed the lobby, Aiden twice stopped to answer questions from the staff. He inserted his card in the elevator slot, and the doors opened.

“The bill was taken care of,” he said as they entered and the doors closed.

“By whom? Oh no, Aiden. I’m paying for my clothes, not you.”

He was ignoring her while he read a text. She poked him in his chest. “I said—”

“I heard you.”

“All right, then.”

She assumed he had agreed with her. Mollified, she said, “I appreciate the offer. I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful . . . Oh my God, you’re so rude,” she declared, raising her voice. “You shouldn’t text while someone is talking to you.”

Her indignation was short-lived. His smile could melt the hardest of hearts. He put his phone back in his pocket just as the elevator doors opened to their foyer.

“What do you want to eat? You haven’t had dinner,” he said.

“I’m not hungry.” She hurried across the living room to get to her bedroom. “Maybe just a hamburger. That would be nice . . . and French fries. I really shouldn’t have fries . . . and a milk shake. Chocolate, please. I deserve it after the night I’ve had.”

He stood in the middle of the foyer watching her disappear into her room.

“And no cheese,” she called out. “Oh, and pickles, please. Lots of pickles.” As she was closing her door, she said, “That’s a lot to remember. Just wait until I change, and I’ll order.”

Aiden looked around the living room and shook his head. Her scarf was on the back of the sofa. Her purse, which was the size of a suitcase, was on the floor, and her shoes were under a chair. What looked like a tube of lipstick was on the coffee table next to a pair of reading glasses and a leather-bound book he was sure had something to do with chemistry. On the wingback chair was a packet of tissues. Why in God’s name would she leave tissues on a chair? It looked as though a whirlwind had gone through, but it was just clutter, he told himself. And he hated clutter. Yet her clutter didn’t bother him. What was that about?