Shopping for a Billionaire's Wife (30 page)

“Because it wasn’t a problem. It was just life.”

“Maybe.”

“Sometimes the structure of life works against us.”

“What do you mean?”

“I come from a family with limited resources. You don’t. We have patterns ingrained in us, and emotional realities imprinted on us by our parents. It’s not your fault that I’m the way I am. And it’s not my fault that you’re the way you are. These institutions—family, financial management—clash sometimes. It makes the people who are part of those systems clash.”

Declan sits up, propping his back and neck up with pillows, and watches me as I talk. “You’re saying the structure of those institutions and systems is what’s in conflict, and not you and me?”

“Exactly.”

“That sounds like cultural economics.”

“Maybe.”

“You are so hot when you play the social science professor.” His smile goes impish.

“I’m trying to have a serious discussion about what’s happened to us this week.”

Declan’s head disappears under the covers. Seconds later, I learn where his tongue is.

“And so am I,” he says between my gasps. “So am I.”

Tap tap tap.

His palm splays against my belly, pinning me in place. “Don’t answer that,” he says, his voice muffled.

“Why? Is it a nine-foot koala bear that vomits dollar bills?”

“No.” Pause. “Why? Did Andrew give one of those to Amanda?”

Tap tap tap.

“Please,” Mom’s voice carries through the door. “Please, Shannon. Please be there. I’m trying to find your father.”

I sit up, Declan crawling out from under the covers and looking at me with concern.

“He’s disappeared,” she calls out. “I can’t find Jason anywhere.”

Chapter Nineteen

Oddly enough, it is James who figures out where Dad went.

After throwing on whatever mismatched designer clothes we could find, Dec and I race out the door with Mom, riding the elevators to the security office, where Declan and the head of security, a tall, gaunt man named Jed, scan video footage using facial recognition software to spot him.

“You spy on people when they stay here?” I say loudly, a bit outraged.

The head of security glares at me.

“Do you have legal permission to
do
that?”

Now
Declan
glares at me.

“Do you want to find your father or not?”

I sigh.

A fast scan shows nothing.

“When did you see him last?” the head of security asks Mom.

“Not since breakfast.”

His eyes grow angry. “He isn’t missing, then. That’s what? Eight hours?”

“He’s not answering his cell phone, and my husband doesn’t
do
this.”

Declan and Jed share a grimace.

“What?” I ask.

“When people gamble and lose, they tend to disappear.”

“Forever?”

“No, no,” Declan backtracks. “More like they go and try to find enough money to hide their loss.”

“We don’t
have
enough money for Jason to gamble.”

I wince. “Actually, Mom, you do. My wedding fund.”

“He wouldn’t!”

Dec and Jed just look away.

“People behave in really aberrant ways when they have a big loss.”

“Wouldn’t he be on-camera if he did?”

“Maybe he gambled at a different resort.”

A numb fear grips me and I clench Declan’s forearm, hard. “Dad doesn’t disappear, Declan. If he lost a bunch of money, he’d come back shame-faced to Mom and just tell her. I’m worried.”

“Does he have any medical conditions?” Jed asks Mom.

“Nothing life-threatening,” she says with a head shake. “Just some acid reflux and an intolerance for red peppers. Don’t go anywhere near the man after he’s eaten them.”

Jed puts up his hand. “Got it.”

“Jason could use his ass as a bioterrorism weapon if a government provided him with enough red peppers.”

“GOT IT.”

James strolls in, commanding and authoritative, his grey hair conferring immediate power. “What’s wrong?”

“Jason’s missing,” Mom sobs. “He’s not answering his phone and he never came back this morning from going out for coffee.”

“But I saw him downstairs earlier. Near the fountain, outside. A group of us were talking about the resort and investments. He started ranting about how fake Vegas is. I agreed heartily—and told him the fakery paid for Shannon and Declan’s wedding.” 

“Oh, no,” I groan.

“I meant it as a joke, but he didn’t take it well. Turned red, muttered something and stormed off.” James shrugs with one shoulder.

“When was this?” Mom asks.

“Around ten this morning.”

“Oh, Jason,” she says with a long sigh. “Where are you?”

“Does he have any haunts?” Jed asks.

“A hot dog place and ice cream store across the street?” I offer.

“What about Louie’s Stiff One?”

“Is Louie a friend of yours with a penis problem?” Mom asks.

“That’s the name of a casino we own,” Declan explains. His phone buzzes in his pocket. His eyes cut to me, then to the phone, as he answers.

“Is it Dad?” I ask.

He shakes his head, covers the phone, and dips out of the small video security equipment room.

Jed, James and Mom huddle around, speculating where Dad might be. I hear Declan saying a string of numbers and talking about capital, leverage, private ownership, and a bunch of other business
blah blah blah
.

A tiny flutter begins in my chest, like a butterfly drowning in a rain puddle.

Where is Dad?

Jed’s suddenly on his phone, his voice tight. He’s all military, his voice flat like a Midwesterner, the tone of the general in a techno-thriller who takes command and fixes all the crap the wild cowboys mess up.

Mom gives me a helpless look.

Jed says, “Security confirmed he’s at Stiffy’s.”

Me, James and Mom give him a round of looks.

Jed reddens, but doesn’t flinch. “Louie’s Stiff One. He’s there.”

“I knew it,” James crows.

Declan finishes on the phone and comes back in, extremely pleased with himself. 

“What’s going on?” I ask, glad there’s good news somewhere.

“Oh, you know. Business,” he says breezily, eyes raking over my mom, James and Jed. “You find him?”

“As I predicted,” James explains. “Louie’s Stiff One.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would he go there?”

“Dad is more of a hot-dogs-and-ice-cream kind of guy. Louie’s sounds like it’s more hot dog than filet mignon.”

“More like Spam in a can,” Declan says in a voice tinged with disgust.

“That would be my Jason,” Mom says with a relieved smile. “Let’s go find him.” 

“Why?” James asks.

“Why? Because I’m worried about him,” Mom explains.

“He’s a grown man. If he wants some privacy, give it to him.” James makes a sound of disgust.

Mom’s eyes narrow. “What, exactly, is this Stiffy’s? A strip joint?”

Declan, Jed and James all start laughing.

“It’s about as far from a strip joint as any place in Vegas can be,” James says with a chortle, his condescension clear. Is he...protecting my dad? Siding with him on some issue I don’t understand?

“Then why are you trying to stop me from seeing him?” Mom protests.

“I’m not stopping you.” James gives Mom a gimlet eye. “I just find your way of treating him like he’s on a leash to be a bit much.” 

“Since when did my relationship with Jason become any of your business?”

James points to me. “Since she sprayed me like a dog while your husband attacked me for allegedly having an affair with you.”

“Which you would have been lucky to have,” Mom counters.

James is nonplussed.

Mom turns to Declan and says, “Can we please go to Stiffy’s?”

We walk down into the cavernous private garage, James driven in a separate car, while Dec, Mom and I climb into an SUV limo. The first two minutes of the ride are full of tense silence, which ends with Mom opening her mouth. 

“When are you two actually getting married?”

She had to bring it up again, didn’t she?

Dec gives me a micro-look so swift I almost don’t see it, eyes darting to Mom, face going slack. “When we’re ready.” 

“You’re already more than ready.”

“When we decide, Mom. Not you. Besides,” I add with a little too much glee, “we’re trying to find the right Liberace impersonator.” 

Mom’s face goes sour. Carol was right. Hah! Mom doesn’t take the bait, though.

“Are you eloping?” Her voice is soft, turned up at the end, the question a cold squall on the surface of my heart.

“Maybe,” Dec and I say at the same time, then share closed-mouth smiles.

“Will you let me and Jason be there?” She blinks hard, holding her hands in her lap and twisting them, worry about Dad etched on her face.

“We don’t know.” Declan answers for me. It’s the same response I would have given.

Because it’s true.

“I would understand if you just ran off,” she says as she inhales, the words so airy I almost can’t hear them. “I would.” 

Dec starts to answer, looks at me, stops, and crosses his legs, face impassive.

“Good,” I reply.

And the rest of the drive to Stiffy’s is quiet, but not calm.

* * *

You ever wonder what sour beer would look like if it took human form?

I
don’t have to wonder any longer.

If Corrine and Agnes, from Mom’s yoga classes, came to Vegas, Louie’s Stiff One would be their place. As Declan and I walk in, I do a double take. At his other resort, we’re about the same age as most of the guests.

Here, we could be everyone’s
grandchild
.

“Don’t you dare steal my slot machine, Helen!” an old woman croaks, standing by, holding on to a tennis-ball-covered walker. As she moves one lurch at a time away from her spot, she calls back, “I’m going to start wearing diapers just so I won’t have to deal with this shit.”

This is
so
not Litraeon.

“How did Anterdec acquire this place?” I ask James, who looks around the casino like he’s starring in the corporate version of the
Hoarders
television show.

“Bankruptcy and buyouts and, hell, I don’t even remember.” He scrubs his chin with his palm. “We can’t sell the damn thing. No one wants it.”

I spot Dad easily, because he’s the only man in the room with red hair.

Hair, period.

He’s at a baccarat table, a pile of chips in front of him, and two empty drink glasses. He’s slumped in his chair, a small crowd around him, one man wearing an oxygen tank and—

“Is that man
smoking
?” I gasp.

“Sure. It’s allowed. We’ve been over this,” Declan says with a weary sigh.

“While wearing a nasal cannula and having oxygen pumped in him?”

Dec grimaces, then gives the room a calculated look. “I wonder how well-insured we are on this place.” 

I hip check him and he shuts up.

“We have baccarat here?” James sniffs. 

“What’s wrong with that?” I ask.

“It’s generally associated with finer establishments,” Declan explains.

“Even the games have a condescending hierarchy?” I say with a snort. James and Dec stay silent.

“Seven hundred dollars! I’m up seven hundred,” Dad says, looking up at me. “Oh, my honey. My little Shannon found me. C’mon, Shannon. Pull up a chair. Have a beer. This is the real Las Vegas. No one’s fake here!”

“Except for my teeth,” some old dude says with a rheumy laugh.

I see why Dad is here. It’s more his speed.

Dad does a double take when he sees James. Curiously enough, Mom hides. I can tell she’s doing it on purpose, watching Dad from behind a row of slot machines.

“James!” Dad booms. “It’s James McCormick, the self-made billionaire from Southie. Hey, guys—this is your owner!” 

“I ain’t no pet. No one owns me,” Rheumy says.

Dad cackles.

How many beers has he had?

“James! I’m up seven hundred bucks. A thousand more winning streaks like this and I can pay my debt to you.”

Genuine bewilderment fills James’ face. “Debt?”

“Pay for my daughter’s wedding.”

The two give each other the most uncomfortable looks I’ve ever seen on grown men’s faces. Some part of my heart starts shrieking, and if pain were a scent, it would smell like burning ego. Like missed opportunities. 

Like regret.

“No.” James’ single word is like a thick, brittle stick being cracked over someone’s knee. “That’s not how this works, Jason.”

“Oh,” Dad says, dragging out the word with bluster, his arms stretching over the backs of the chairs of the men on either side of him, men who give Dad arched eyebrows with expressions that say,
You gonna let him talk to you like that?
 

“Well, Mr. James McCormick, why don’t you tell me how this all works.” His words are slurred, and I wonder not only how
much
he’s been drinking, but for how
long
.

James’ mouth goes tight. Declan just watches my dad with a neutral expression.

“Really. How does Vegas work? How does wealth work? Because I sure as hell don’t know anything about that,” Dad continues, giving the men around him a collegial smile, all of them with bitter, twisted lips in various states of scorn, remembrance, or wrapped around a beer-bottle neck. 

“Daddy,” I say softly. All of the men jerk slightly, looking at me with hardened expressions.

Be quiet, little girl.

I can hear them, even if all I do is imagine them.

“You’re changing, Shannon.” Dad’s voice goes loud, then soft, like he’s talking around a curve. “You’re entering a world that is as familiar to me as Mars. About as safe to breathe in, too. For the past few days I’ve marinated in all this money—fake money—and I’m crawling out of my skin.”

James and Declan share a look.

And then Declan’s attention turns exclusively to me.

“I can’t spend five grand on tartan ribbon,” Dad chokes out, his voice low and sad. “I just sat in your casino, James, and watched some guy lose fifty grand, his entire life savings. Saw another guy win fifteen grand and blow it all in one of those mall stores. He shot his wad on a dress, some purses, and shoes for his wife. Said it was his one and only chance.”