HowMuchYouWantToBet (8 page)

“It was a given that, after I got my MBA, I would stake my claim in the business, show more than a fleeting interest. As I’ve told you, I’ve done everything but that. In the past three years I’ve worked as a bartender, a chef again, and when my uncle Jeffery caught the flu pretty bad I handled his clients.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s a stockbroker.”

Her eyes lit with amusement. “Let’s not forget your most recent position at
The Linton Herald.”

“Correct. Dad’s not too unhappy about all the money that didn’t necessarily go to waste. He is bothered by the education that grows dust by the year.”

“Same thing as saying you wasted his money.”

Neil frowned. She was displeased on his behalf, and the thought made him feel warm. As the plane bumped and jolted, Gib lifted the shade and looked out. “That was quick.”

A minute later, the pilot informed them they could deplane. Gib grabbed both bags and didn’t continue the conversation. Neil’s discomfort was obvious as she settled into the limousine waiting for them.

“I feel underdressed in this thing. Is this how you always travel?” Neil’s face was flushed, her wild black curls stubbornly fighting the hair band.

Gib hesitated, then reached over and pulled out the band, meeting her gaze and challenging her to say something. She didn’t. “I only travel this way when I’m going home, but I have an idea. This way you won’t feel uncomfortable, and if things get ugly you won’t be there to witness it.” He pushed a button on the console between them.

“Yes, sir?” The driver’s voice came from the speaker next to the sunroof.

“Hey, James, how’s the wife?”

“Expecting.”

“Who’ll be the fifth member of the clan? I’m sure you already have a name picked out.” He smiled when Neil’s eyes widened. She held up five fingers in disbelief. He leaned forward to whisper in her ear and was pleased when he felt her shiver. “That’s not counting the two miscarriages she had in their first year of marriage.”

“The name will be Jameson, and that’s for either sex,” the driver replied.

“How long have they been married?” she whispered.

Gib shrugged at her question. “And how long have you guys been married, again?”

“Fifteen years this coming summer. Quit being rude and introduce me to your young lady. Mrs. Victoria is going to be ecstatic. This is the first woman you’ve brought home since the senior dance in—hmm, it’s been a few years, since then. My, Gib, you’re getting old.”

“Thanks for the welcome home, and her name is Neil Sullivan. I need you to drop me off at the house and then take her to my mother’s boutique.” Chuckling at her expression of horror, he admonished, “Don’t hyperventilate. She’s not there at this hour, but her assistant, Tiffany, will be. Just have her call me when you get there, so arrangements can be made for the bill.”

“You don’t have to do all this for me. I can be comfortable in my jeans.”

“No, you won’t. You’ve been pulling at them ever since I told you we’d be staying at my parents’ house. I want you relaxed. Plus, what are friends for?” Repeating her words back at her, he had the satisfaction of watching her eyes narrow. Then, though it seemed hard for her to speak, she thanked him.

Pleased, his voice went silken. “James, drop me off at the gate. Mom is probably in the greenhouse.”

“Will do.” The speaker made an audible buzz, then silenced.

The next moment, they pulled into a private drive, shaded and surrounded by oak trees. Nerves made his stomach tighten when the gates, and then the house, came into view. It could have been an immaculate replica of a dollhouse, the type of home displayed in magazines like
House of Style
or used as a backdrop in
Garden Variety.
Two stories high, it took up at least three acres, with an exterior painted a beautiful shade of yellow, light enough for someone to mistake it for white at night. It was home.

“Did you grow up here?” Neil asked, her voice filled with wonder.

“Had my diapers changed here, bought my first straight-blade razor here.” He pointed to the huge oak that blocked a full view of the house, leaning closer. “Got my first kiss shaded under those leaves. Maybe I can get another one from you there.”

She turned those eyes on him. “What’s the name of the girl who taught you to kiss like a trout?”

“Melenda Bradberry. I was twelve and she was thirteen. I am forever grateful.” He grinned at her mischievously. “It was my first that taught me most of the things that make your toes curl when I kiss you.”

The worry in her demeanor had vanished. “You can stand to learn a few more things.”

He laughed, letting some of his tension leak out with the laughter. “One of these days I’ll get you to admit that my kisses turn you into a puddle.” He opened the door.

Neil gripped the sleeve of his shirt, hazel eyes twinkling. “That’s a bet I can win.”

“We’ll see. Dinner’s at 7:30. Don’t be late. James will bring you to where you need to go. Don’t worry about the bags.” He stepped out of the car, the feel-good feeling fleeting as he watched the car drive off.

*****

Victoria’s Boutique was a quick ten-mile drive from Gib’s home. The limousine didn’t seem out of place in the back parking lot, where the cheapest car was a Mercedes.
What in the hell have I gotten myself into?
Neil wondered for the hundredth time since she’d packed a small bag, no more than three hours ago, after letting the men leave early for their weekend.

In truth, she didn’t feel out of her depth, just out of practice. She had lived this life once, the life of privilege, with her parents, before everything started to go wrong. Neil closed her eyes to the memories.

First, it had been the deaths of her mother and her sister, then her father’s devastation, the endless months when he didn’t paint. When he realized she could and did paint, he’d been impressed with her talent. She thought of how he’d nurtured it, showing her every avenue of art—oils, pottery, watercolors.

She stared down at her hands, remembering it was then she had discovered the heady feeling of working with glass. In the end, that was what had made her useful with her hands. She reminded herself that those years, those secrets, had died the day her father went out to find inspiration on a rainy day and was hit by a car instead.

Now she lived well under her means, not wanting to draw any attention to herself. Gib probably thought her discomfort stemmed from not being a part of his economic class, but it was actually from the familiar feeling of everything being at your fingertips and all you had to do was grasp it—a feeling she no longer liked to feel, because she knew how easily everything could be ripped from that grasp.

“Ms. Sullivan, we’re here.”

“Thank you, James.” Lifting her chin, she scooted toward the door.

All she had now were her secrets, and in the dark was where they would stay. As Neil entered the boutique, a woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties stood at the counter, smiling at an older couple. The saleswoman could easily have walked onto a photo shoot for
Elle
without needing a wardrobe change.

Not a makeup expert, Neil nevertheless knew perfection and art when she saw it. The woman laughed at something the couple said and waved them goodbye a few moments later. Not yet ready to announce her association with Gib, Neil browsed through the racks.

The casual wear took up less than half the store. Elegant attire was the expensive majority. She’d been happy in jeans for so long, Neil wasn’t sure what would happen if she purchased a skirt just for the hell of it. After ten minutes of browsing, she was ready to leave the store and find the nearest Target.
Wouldn’t it be amusing to pull up to Target in a limo?

“Hi, are you Neil?”

She turned toward the voice and it was the woman who’d been at the counter. Her cover blown, Neil nodded. “I’m not sure I should get anything from here. It’s really not my style.”

The woman tossed a thick mass of honey-colored hair over one shoulder while letting her chocolate-brown eyes rove over Neil. By the time those eyes got to Neil’s shoes, they were filled with disapproval.

“I’ll ask you one question. Well, three, then I’ll introduce myself. Do you feel sexy in what you are wearing? Or, even, do you feel like you can step outside right now and take over the world? Asking this question would really make it four, but, do you have an answer?”

Neil tilted her head. This woman definitely had to be a Winnfred relative, to be giving her the same railroaded sensation she always felt when making a bet against Gib. “No, to both questions, and none of these clothes fit my taste.”

“Excuse me for saying paint-splattered jeans should not be in someone’s everyday wear, even if the person does work in construction. Work clothes should be worn only at work. My name’s Tiff, short for Tiffany. I know I haven’t asked you the third question yet, but we’ll get to that.”

All this was said over her shoulder as she walked toward the door. Locking it soundly, she then pulled down the blinds. “First, we need to find out what you like. Do you enjoy any extreme sports? Oh, by the way, I’m Gib’s older cousin. I know all his dirty secrets, so if you need dirt, I can dish it for a price.”

“The craziest thing I’ve ever done, besides going on a date with your cousin, was jumping ten feet from a rickety swing when I was in elementary school.”

“Hobbies?”

“Reading and making things.”

“You already have the proper attire for that. I’m talking about do you like to dance? Have yoga classes on the weekend?”

“Lately I’ve been betting against Gib.”

“Reckless, dependable, and sexy with all that hair. I’m sure you guys are going out to dinner sometime before you leave. Here’s the last question, do you want Gib sputtering, drooling, or incoherent when he first sees you?”

“Since I do believe that every now and then a man has to be knocked senseless, I’ll say all three, but what I don’t want is to look in the mirror and wonder what happened to
me.
”

“Let’s add self-assured to the list and start shopping.”

An hour later, though satisfied with the purchases, Neil knew without a doubt that she had been railroaded. The woman was definitely related to Gib.

CHAPTER 8

As he entered the parlor, Gib felt a slight disappointment that he hadn’t caught his mother hard at work in the greenhouse, babying her petunias and white roses to be planted in the fall. Quelling the emotion, he headed past the circular staircase to his father’s study, absentmindedly taking in the familiar decor—the Victorian settees in the family room, the brandy-colored coffee tables in the hall, the beaded-shade lamps lighting his way, and the endless bookshelves that seemed to clutter every room with books and photos of his extensive family.

Gib stuffed his hands in his pockets as the low rumble of his father’s voice reached him in the hallway. His mother’s voice followed, and he stilled. Her Floridian accent sounded strained.

Rarely did they sit together in that room as husband and wife. His mother’s protest had always been that the room was too stuffy and inappropriate for being in a home, since the office should stay at work, a famous epithet of hers.

Being caught eavesdropping was the least of his worries as Gib stood outside the door and listened.

“I think it’s time he comes to the forefront of this business. He’s played around long enough, Victoria. He’ll be thirty-three in less than a year.”

“You promised me you wouldn’t pressure him, Winn.”

“And I haven’t, but you know why I am now. Not only is it time I retired, but it’s time he takes on responsibilities. When I was his age…”

“You were doing the back-breaking job of building up your company,” Victoria interjected.

“You had a wife and child to think of. Isn’t that why you worked so hard for what you have? So Gibland doesn’t have to. That was your intention.” Her voice softened. “You didn’t want your son to have to struggle like you did.”

“Yes, but I expected him to do
some
thing.”

Gib heard his mother sigh. “You shouldn’t take it personally that he hasn’t taken an interest in the businesses you’ve created. Let me point this out to you, and maybe you can understand where your son gets his wandering mind from. You bettered the strut in your spare time. In all honesty, that made you a millionaire. You didn’t have to do anything else.” Gib heard his father starting to interrupt, but his mother continued as if she didn’t hear him. “You were restless when you started the computer company, bored when you created your own brand of software, delusional when you spent six months helping me out at the boutique—but every single job you had, you enjoyed. Now it’s this retirement that’s gotten you all jazzed up.”

“It’s not the same, Victoria, and you know it.” She made a ladylike grunt. “I’m going to say this: before you demand he take over the company, ask him what
he
wants to do.”

Gib straightened at the sound of his mother’s heels on the hardwood floor. At the doorway, she smiled and turned to him, kissing his brow.

“You need to learn how to tiptoe.” She placed her hands on her hips. “How do you think I did?”

“You could have hit him where it hurts and brought up the year he took piano lessons.”

“The year I’ve been trying to erase out of my mind since it happened.” She looked behind him towards the door. “Where’s this young lady you’ve told me you were bringing home?”

“I sent her to your shop.”

Victoria tilted her head back and laughed. “You are going to owe me a million dollars when Tiff’s done with her. You know how she is to the unsuspecting. From the way you described Neil, I think your dear cousin is having a field day.”

“I wouldn’t underestimate Neil. She’ll find a pair of jeans in that store.”

His mother shook her head, sending the short bob of chestnut hair into a bounce. “You sent her to get a new wardrobe, not a new personality.”

“You’re quite right, Mother. And now I have to go talk to Father, before he breaks out the cigars.”

Victoria stepped back and inspected his face. “You know what he wants from you?”