Pandora's Box (previously Worth the Wait, a Zebra print best seller) (2 page)

“Yes. And with such touching brotherly love, too.” Damian intimidated his brother even when he was fifty miles away. She could picture Erik in the bathroom right then, making himself sick with worry.

Charlie leaned against the wall and folded her arms across her chest. A ribbon of heat uncurled in her but she credited her temper for the unsettling feeling. Or perhaps Damian was to blame. The way he looked her over as if she were standing in a cattle call infuriated her, and his grin of admiration blew what remained of her very short fuse. “Have you got a problem?”

To her further annoyance, he laughed. “Why is a shark like you hanging around with Erik?”

“I keep the piranhas away from him.”

He rested against the desk and smiled. “Should we pass the time trading one-liners?”

“Why? Aren’t you capable of a paragraph?”

His amusement faded to an annoyed frown. “Are we going to see how long we can keep it up?”

“No. I have to get back to work. It’s been a treat, Damian. Let’s do it again sometime.”

She stormed out of the office and returned to work. Despite her effort to remain annoyed and unaffected, a strange fluttering sensation overtook her when he followed her back to the bar. Not an unpleasant feeling, she decided, but a damned inconvenient one. He stood off in a corner, watching her self-consciously serve the rowdy customers.

Erik arrived in less than ten minutes. He found a vacated table and sat down with his brother. She cringed when they waved her over.

Ever professional, she placed two cocktail napkins down on the table and took the small pad from her vest pocket. “What can I get you gentlemen?”

“One martini, just stir, don’t shake it,” Damian said.

He must have thought he was James Bond the way he ordered his drink. Although he was handsome enough to play a Bond hero . . . Stop it, her conscience mocked. She shook off the heated feeling and looked towards Erik.

He glanced up helplessly. “A bouncer?”

“What’s a bouncer?” Damian asked.

“Someone to throw you out of the bar,” Charlie said. “One Harvey Wallbanger, shaken not stirred, I presume?”

Eric chuckled and relaxed in the chair. “Make it a zombie. I don’t want to feel this.”

Damian scowled at their lighthearted banter. “How come you never mentioned that Charlie was such a charming young lady?”

“Because she’s not charming,” Erik taunted.

Charlie made a clicking sound with her tongue and wrinkled her nose at him. “You blew it, pal. You are definitely getting the check. And, I’ll include my fifty-percent tip.” She slid the pad in her pocket and returned to the bar.

* * * *

Damian watched her leave, and then turned his attention back to his brother. “Someone Mother should worry about?”

“We’re just friends.” Erik fidgeted with the napkin during the strained silence. “Why are you here? I didn’t think you had time in your busy schedule to visit me.”

“It wouldn’t have been necessary to waste all this time if you had bothered to return any of my calls today.”

Erik shook his head and groaned. “I’m sorry you were put out, but I never got the messages. I was up in Boston.”

“Boston?” Damian thundered. “What’s wrong with New Jersey? You have nothing better to do with your time than go on a joyride?”

“I was helping out a friend. Did you come here to lecture me, Damian?”

“No. You didn’t forget about Mother’s party tomorrow, did you?”

“I’ll be there.” Eric said sullenly.

“Are family gatherings such a chore?”

“I said I’d be there. Is that it?”

Damian opened his mouth to say something but snapped it shut again when Charlie returned with the drinks. The delicate scent of her perfume wafted around him. She placed a glass in front of Erik and gave him a sympathetic smile.

“Actually, I came to invite your friend. Since the two of you seem to be inseparable, Mother thought you might like to bring her to the party.”

Charlie nearly spilled the drink on Damian’s lap. A splash of liquid trickled over the rim onto the table. She quickly blotted it with a napkin. “I’m sorry. I’ll get you another.”

“That’s not necessary.”

She exchanged a panicked glance with Erik. Damian was intrigued by the nervous response of the two of them. If they were just friends, why did the thought of attending a party cause such a reaction? “Is there a reason you can’t attend?”

“I have to ... to work,” she stammered.

“Surely, you can take off one night?”

“Not if I want to pay my rent. Tell your mother thank you, but I have to pass.” Since I’d rather roll naked through a field of poison ivy than eat in her presence, she added silently.

“Think about it, Damian. What would the Farnsworths think if I showed up with Charlie?” Erik asked.

Damian paused. “Is that the problem? She can go as my date.”

In spite of her turmoil, Charlie laughed. That offer tempted the spiteful little brat inside her. Wouldn’t Monica Lawson have one heck of a birthday surprise if the daughter of her husband’s mistress showed up on the arm of her sexy, older son? She got so caught up in her fantasy that she didn’t catch the rest of the conversation until it was too late.

“. . . bet you a hundred dollars she won’t go. She can’t afford to lose her job,” Erik said.

Damian turned toward Charlie. “Is your job the real reason you won’t go?”

“Of course. What other reason would I have?”

“Wait here.” Damian stood up and walked to the bar to speak to the manager. He exchanged a few words with her scowling boss. Suddenly, Barry broke out in a wide grin and nodded his head. Damian removed some bills from his wallet and handed them to Barry.

He returned to the table and smiled. “You have tomorrow night off, with pay.” He took a sip of the drink and put the glass back on the table. “And you, Erik, owe me one hundred dollars. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

He dropped a twenty dollar bill on the table and walked out.

Charlie and Erik exchanged shocked stares. She tried to say something, but Barry called her. “The deal is for tomorrow. Charlie. Get behind the bar.”

CHAPTER TWO

Damian Westfield had to be out of his mind! He had actually paid her boss two hundred dollars in cash to give her the night off. She couldn’t believe it. Not only that, he had made a stipulation that if Charlie didn’t attend his mother’s party, he wanted the money back. Barry, too greedy to part with the cold cash, told her that he expected her to be there if she wanted a job when she returned.

Erik spent hours apologizing to her and offered to buy her a dress to make up for it, but she wouldn’t allow him to. She had to make do with a dress from My Sister’s Closet, an upscale, secondhand shop. Erik picked her up at five o’clock, apparently too preoccupied to notice that over the black, strapless evening dress she wore her leather jacket and with it a pair of red, high-top sneakers. Although she had a pair of sandals in her purse, she preferred the comfort of her sneakers for travel.

“Whatever possessed you to make a bet like that?” Charlie asked as she settled herself into the car.

“For god sake, Charlie, I never expected him to take me seriously. It’s just something you say. Like, ‘I bet you a million dollars you can’t do it’ I didn’t think the square had it in him. It’s kind of ironic in a way, my half-brother going on a date with my half-sister.”

“Well, he and I aren’t related. We have different parents altogether. And I can’t figure out why he wants me to go to the party anyway. All I did was insult him when we met”

“I know he’s not your first choice for a date, but Damian is okay. He’d never hurt you.”

“Damian I can handle,” she said with more confidence than she felt. Erik was aware of her wariness toward men, although she was sure he didn’t understand it. How could he? She never spoke of her past with him. Despite the many years and her effort to forget, the painful memories were never far from the surface.

“Then what’s the problem?” Erik asked.

“I’m not in a hurry to meet your mother.”

He raked his fingers through his hair. “Hopefully, your name will not mean anything to her. She wasn’t aware of my father’s journals.”

Monica might not be aware of the journals, but she must have been aware of her husband’s child by his mistress. When Charlie left the orphanage, she’d begun using her mother’s surname, rather than Lawson, the name on her birth certificate.

Her childhood had been the worst hell on earth. Why should she care if her presence caused Monica Lawson any distress? Because Erik deserved better from her, she reminded herself. He loved his entire family and he tore himself in two to avoid hurting any of them, including her.

If anyone back in Ohio had told her she’d be in this position right now, she would have laughed. Being offered a scholarship to finish her degree at Rutgers University in New Jersey had seemed like a dream. When she transferred and Erik introduced himself, she realized that he was the one paying for the scholarship. At first she had been so furious with him that she was going to drop out and leave. With no job or home to return to, she decided to get her degree first and then pay the money back.

“Charlie, you’re going to twist the strap right off that purse.”

“Huh?” She glanced down and noticed the thin black strap tangled in her fingers. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. The closer they got to Erik’s family home, the tenser she felt.

“There will be a hundred guests at the party. Mother won’t have time to give you a second thought.”

His words offered no comfort. Charlie didn’t want to be even a first thought

They arrived at the house at six o’clock. Although she loved the feel of riding with the convertible top down, the wind had ruined her hairstyle. Her long spiral curls fell around her face, making her look as if she had just rolled out of bed. She tried to smooth them back into place, but in the end, she gave up and joined Erik at the front door.

“What time are we meeting your date?”

Erik shot her a grin. “Date? We make an appearance, get our parents off our backs, and return to our own lives.”

“I still want to meet the woman who thinks her tennis coach is a better catch than you.”

“You are such a brat.”

She took a moment to admire the large Tudor-style house and the well-trimmed gardens. Pink and white azaleas lined the flagstone walk, and the plush lawn of fresh-cut grass looked more comfortable and smelled nicer than some of the places Charlie had lived in the past few years. With a flash of resentment, she reminded herself that too many people lived in tenements or worse, while one woman had all this space and luxury.

“Come on, runt. In a few hours, this will all be history,” Erik joked, opening the front door of the house.

They were greeted at the door by a butler. He took her jacket and held it away from himself as if it bore some kind of deadly germ. This evening promised to be the longest few hours of her life. If the butler had an attitude, what were the friends of Monica Lawson like?

“Your mother is already at the club overseeing the arrangements,” the butler informed Erik. “Your brother is waiting in the living room.”

“Oh, rapture! Lord Damian is awaiting our arrival,” Charlie said. “Shall we join him for drinks, Master Erik?”

“Why, yes, Mistress Charlotte. Let’s do,” Erik rejoined, offering his arm playfully. She hooked her arm though his and allowed him to escort her through the large, intimidating house.

Damian stood up to greet the arrivals. He took one look at her red sneakers and let out a laugh. “They clash with the outfit.”

“I know. But the maid forgot to pack my black high-tops. I had thought to stop at Gucci’s for the matching red purse, but I left my Gold Card at the Polo Club and they wouldn’t take my personal check.”

“You should have used my name. I would have vouched for you.”

“It’s so gauche to name-drop.”

Damian shook his head and grinned. “Charlie. Erik has told me nothing about you. What is your real name?” He held up a bottle of wine for her approval.

“I don’t drink. And my name is Charlotte.”

“Does that come with a last name, or do you fancy yourself another Madonna?”

She crinkled her button nose and smiled. “Please. I wear my lingerie under my clothing, not over it. And my last name is Simone.”

“French?”

“No. American.”

He offered her a glass of mineral water. “How old are you?”

She took the glass and raised it in a salute of thanks. “How ungentlemanly, to ask a lady her age!”

“I didn’t think you’d reached the age where it mattered yet,” he said smoothly.

Charlie feigned shock. “A lady who tells her age will tell anything. Let’s just say that I’m not breaking any laws by working in a bar.”

“Is she always this evasive?” Damian asked his brother.

“Not with me. I have to get changed. Try to be polite, Damian. I know it’s a stretch for you,” Erik taunted and left the room.