Trouble in High Heels (3 page)

L
ori sat on her bed with Kenny by her side as she looked at the contents of the package she’d received earlier that afternoon. She couldn’t remember being this angry in her life.

She snatched another Oreo from the plateful on her bedside table, then lifted the nearly empty bottle of Cristal champagne and guzzled it straight from the bottle. She’d smashed her crystal champagne flute against her closet a couple of minutes ago.

Her personal line rang, and she was so disgusted she almost didn’t answer. Glowering, she snatched up the receiver. “Hello,” she said in a voice that sounded both slurred and cross to her own ears.

“Lori Jean? Is that you?”

Lori immediately recognized her sister Delilah’s voice, and something inside her eased. “It’s me. I am so angry at my father I could scream.”

“What’s wrong? You don’t sound like yourself at all.”

“Probably because myself is so furious I can’t stand it.”

“I know Harlan had almost as much money as the devil himself, but what could he do from the grave that would piss you off this much?”

“It’s not what he did from the grave. It’s what he did before,” she said, scooping up a pile of letters from her long-deceased mother. “Did you know Momma sent me at least three letters a week until she died? He kept them from me. Even after she died, he didn’t let me see them.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie. If it helps any, my father wouldn’t let me read them, either. He was actually worse, though. He burned them right in front of me.”

Lori knew Delilah’s father had been downright harsh. He’d even been known to beat Delilah. It was a miracle Delilah had turned out as loving and successful as she had. No one would have predicted she would marry one of the Houston Huntingtons and start having babies right away, but Delilah had always been one for the unexpected.

“Your father was a toad. He was worse than a toad,” Lori said.

“Lori, sweetie, you sound very strange. What are you drinking?”

“Cristal, but I’m balancing it with Oreos since you’re not supposed to drink on an empty stomach.” She glanced around her room. The decor hadn’t changed much since she’d first moved here as a frightened young girl so many years ago. Once Harlan had learned that his quick affair with her mother, Sunny Collins, had yielded a daughter, he’d smeared Sunny’s reputation in court and won custody so fast it made heads spin. He had been a doting but controlling father, determined that Lori not go the way of her slutty mother.

Delilah snickered. “I approve the champagne, but you’re gonna feel horrible in the morning.”

“I’ve felt horrible for the last few days, so it won’t be anything new. I knew my father was controlling, but this, this just takes the cake. Between the will and the letters, he was-”

“What about the will?” Delilah asked.

Lori winced. She hadn’t wanted Delilah to know about the will and the trust. “It’s nothing, really. He was just being his regular controlling self, wanting to control my entire life. I swear if he could have put strings on me to make me dance like a puppet, he would have done that.” She picked up another letter addressed to her in her mother’s flowery script and felt a dull pain behind her ribs. “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to forgive him for this.” She felt so betrayed, so horribly betrayed. She had longed to contact her mother, but Harlan had prevented every effort. All because he was terrified that she would end up a floozy like her mother.

“Lori? Lori Jean, are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m still here,” she muttered, picking up the bottle of Cristal and swallowing the last drops.

“As much as I can sympathize with your anger and your desire to tie one on when you found out about the letters, you’re gonna pay for this big-time in the morning. Trust me. I want you to promise me that you won’t drink any more champagne tonight.”

That was easy. The bottle was empty. “I promise,” she said, smothering a burp. “No more champagne tonight.”

“You promise?” Delilah repeated skeptically, as if she knew she’d extracted the agreement too easily.

“I promise. I not only promise. I promise to keep that promise.”

“You’re really loaded, aren’t you?”

“Don’t worry. I’m not driving.”

Delilah chuckled. “I may have one of my Dallas managers check in on you tomorrow,” she said.

Delilah had expanded her spa business so that she now had an additional location in Dallas. Lori could feel the haze of alcohol closing over her brain, but she didn’t want Delilah worrying about her. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Remember, I’m surrounded by people eager to do my bidding.”

She slumped down against her pillow and yawned, closing her eyes.

“If you’re sure,” Delilah said.

“I’m sure. I’m really sure,” Lori said, absently stroking Kenny.

“Well, I doubt you’ll remember this, but the reason I called is to tell you that I’m pregnant.”

Lori’s eyes popped open. “
Again?
That’s three times in three years!”

Delilah gave a low chuckle. “What can I say? Benjamin inspires me.”

Lori felt the slightest stab of envy but pushed it aside. She knew Delilah had suffered before she’d found her dream man. “Is Ben excited?”

“Of course, and he’s so sweet about morning sickness. He brings me crackers, caffeine-free soda, and a prenatal vitamin every morning before he leaves for the office.”

“Must be nice to have a man so crazy for you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, but I don’t want to gush too much. Something tells me you might be dealing with a queasy stomach in the morning for a totally different reason.”

“Well, I won’t need any prenatal vitamins, that’s for sure.” She closed her eyes again. “Congratulations on the new baby, sis.”

“Thanks, Lori. I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon. Don’t forget to wash off your makeup and take an Advil before you fall asleep.”

“Absolutely,” she said, wishing her voice didn’t sound so slurred. “’Night, Dee.”

As she began to fall asleep, she muttered to herself. “I’m going to fix my father. I don’t know how, but I am really going to fix my father good.”

The next morning, Lori awakened to the sound of Kenny barking and a pain in her head that felt as if she were being hit with one of her father’s ten irons. She opened her eyes with effort, recalling that she hadn’t washed her face. Her makeup felt as if it were cracking on her skin.

Lori made a face and lifted her head. Her stomach turned and her head pounded. “Oh, I should have taken that Advil. Why didn’t I take the Advil?”

Kenny continued to bark, no doubt wanting to relieve his little bladder. The sound abraded her senses. Her fingers holding either side of her head, she gingerly made her way to her bedroom door. “Hang on, Kenny. It’ll be just a minute. Just a minute.” She turned the doorknob and he rushed down the stairs.

The only way Lori could imagine getting downstairs was either crawling or throwing herself over the railing. She fumbled for the button for the intercom. “Mabel?” She paused and waited, hearing Kenny’s staccato yips jab at her brain like knives. “Mabel?” she repeated, hearing the desperation in her own voice.

No answer. She walked down the hallway and covered her eyes to shield herself from the bright, offensive sunlight streaming through the half-circle window above the front door.

Peeking down at the ominous grand stairway, she adjusted her peach sundress, bit her lip, and sat down. Her head throbbing with each movement, she scooted her feet forward and followed with her bottom, step by step, until she reached the foyer, where Kenny danced on the tile floor.

The doorbell rang. “
Where
is Mabel?”

Glancing through the peephole, she caught sight of Jackson James. Lori scowled.
This early?
She looked at the grandfather clock and was shocked to see the time was 11:00 a.m.

Looking down at her mussed self, she shook her head. He couldn’t see her like this. He already had a superior attitude toward her. This would only make it worse. “Oh,” she groaned as the pain shot through her skull. “Kenny, you’re just going to have to pee in the backyard. C’mon,” she said, lightly clapping. “Back door.”

But Kenny continued to bark and dance in the foyer, even though she gestured for him to follow her. “Kenny, c’mon.”

The doorbell rang again. Kenny raised his leg. “Oh, no. No, no, no.”

She opened the door and set the dog outside, where he proceeded to take a leak on Jackson James’s black shoes.

“Oops.” Lori cringed, noticing that Jackson moved quickly for a man his size. “I’m really sorry. Kenny rarely has accidents, but I couldn’t get Mabel and I didn’t realize how late it was and-” She broke off when she noticed him staring at her face. Oh, God, she hadn’t even glanced in the mirror, but she could well imagine what she looked like, mascara under her eyes and her hair a rat’s nest. Lori shuddered.

“Please take off your shoes and I’ll get you some new ones in no time. When I find Mabel, I’ll ask her to take the shoes out to the garbage. I apologize for running late for our appointment, but I have a few things I need to do.”

“I don’t need to throw away these shoes just because your dog sprinkled a little on them. I just need to clean them off. It won’t take me but a minute, and we can go ahead and get to work.”

Except I’m not ready. “Fine. Let me find Mabel,” she said, heading down the hallway. “Mabel? Mabel?”

“Yes, ma’am. I was just emptying the trash in the backyard.”

Lori pulled her housekeeper aside. “Kenny had a little accident on Mr. James’s shoes, so I was wondering if you could get someone to clean them. I also need to shower, so I need you to occupy Mr. James with something,” she said, searching her foggy brain for possibilities. “Food. Just give him food, please, and I’ll be down as soon as I can.”

Her head still pounding, she dragged herself up the back staircase, so she wouldn’t run into Jackson again. She ate a couple of leftover cookies and downed the Advil she should have taken the night before, then stripped and got into the shower. Although she would have loved to linger, she knew the clock was ticking. Quickly lathering herself from head to toe, she rinsed and got out of the shower. She rubbed herself dry, put some gel in her hair, slapped moisturizer on her face, and applied lipstick, concealer, and mascara. After brushing her teeth twice, she pulled on a red cotton sheath and stepped into red heels. Red made her look more confident, even if she didn’t feel it.

Sometime in the middle of her Cristal-enhanced sleep, Lori had dreamed the solution to her problem. She would beat her father at his own game of control, and Jackson James was going to help her. Despite her headache and queasiness, she felt completely resolute, and all she had to do to turn her conviction to concrete was to look at the box of letters Harlan had kept from her.

She walked down the front stairway with a clearer head and entered the parlor, where Jackson James was reviewing some papers. A tray of food that Mabel had left him appeared untouched. The man must have the self-discipline of a priest. No one could resist Mabel’s cinnamon rolls.

He glanced up at her, his gaze sliding over her in quick neutral assessment. “Nice of you to come,” he drawled, standing.

She nodded. “I already apologized.”

“Too much partying last night?” he asked.

“I’m not sure I would call it a party,” she said. “Please sit.”

He shrugged and sat down. “How does your head feel?”

“Like hell,” she said with a smile. “But you already knew that. I need to discuss something else with you. I made a decision last night, and it will impact your duties.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What decision is that?”

“I’ve decided I want to get married, and I want you to help me find a husband.”

J
ackson stared at the insane woman in disbelief, but he didn’t need to ask Lori to repeat herself. Her words would ring in his ears at the top of his list of unforgettable requests. He stood and shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

With perfectly manicured, unsteady hands, she poured herself a cup of coffee. She rattled the china so much he took the cup and saucer from her, for fear she would drop them. Jackson poured the coffee and nodded toward a chair. “You need to sit down,” he said. “You drank way too much last night if you think I’m going to find a husband for you.”

Lori sat down and immediately slipped off her shoes. She tucked one leg behind the other, beauty-queen style, and gingerly sipped from the coffee, wrinkling her nose. She closed her eyes for two seconds, then fixed her baby blues on him. “This is the perfect solution to my financial situation. Find a man who agrees to be my husband until I turn thirty, pay him for his services, then divorce him so I can do what I want.”

“Have you even considered that a budget could be a better solution? You need to learn how to responsibly manage your inheritance.”

Lori rolled her eyes. “You and I both know that even at the rate I spend, I would have to throw away a lot more money on a daily basis in order to go through my father’s fortune during my lifetime. My father wrote his will to control me. He always tried to control me, and a lot of the time, he succeeded.” Her eyes turned dark. “Now it’s time for me to take control. That’s why I’m getting married on my terms.” She took another sip and grimaced. “That’s where you come in.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I manage your finances, not your love life.”

She shook her head, then pressed her fingers to her temple. “This has nothing to do with my love life and everything to do with my finances.”

His stomach twisted at the determined expression on her face. She looked angry, resolved, and a little nuts. “Marriage is serious business, Lori.”

“Exactly,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Business. That’s why you’ll be the perfect matchmaker for me. You can vet prospects, arrange for background checks, and coordinate a prenuptial agreement with an attorney. Plus, you’ve got that whole emotionally detached accounting thing going for you.”

She was serious. This kooky rich girl was serious. He swallowed an oath. “You’ve got the wrong man. There’s no way I’m going to be your matchmaker. No way.”

As he bolted from the Granger mansion, Jackson felt steam rising from his head, and it wasn’t because of the August heat. It was all internal. Lori had fried his brain circuits with her idiotic proposal.

Driving to the office, he strode directly to Hollingsworth’s office and tapped on the door. His boss’s assistant looked up at Jackson and frowned as if she weren’t going to let him inside, so he went ahead and opened the door.

“ Jackson?” Mr. Hollingsworth mouthed, cradling a telephone receiver to his ear.

“Excuse me, sir-”

Hollingsworth held up a finger. “I look forward to meeting with you. Friday at 10:00 p.m. We’ll have your favorite cigars.” Hollingsworth laughed. “Sure, see you then.”

Jackson felt movement behind him.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hollingsworth,” the assistant said, frowning at Jackson in disapproval. “Mr. James got past me before I had a chance to stop him.”

“That’s okay,” Hollingsworth said, studying Jackson for a few seconds. “This time,” he added. “Come on in, Jackson. You can close the door behind you. Hold my calls.”

Jackson closed the door and walked to his boss’s desk. He cleared his throat. “Mr. Hollingsworth, I’ll put my accounting background against anyone’s in the firm, but I can’t fulfill Lori Granger’s latest request,” he said with a bitter taste filling his mouth.

“Have a seat,” Hollingsworth said, motioning to the leather chair in front of his desk.

Jackson reluctantly sat. He was still stifling the urge to scream.

“Did she ask you to commit a crime?”

Jackson blinked and shook his head. “No, no,” he said.

Hollingsworth stood and walked to the side of his desk. He lifted the lid of his humidor. “You see what’s in this humidor?”

Jackson looked inside. “It’s empty.”

“Right. I hate cigars. They’re nasty, and the odor clings to everything. But Friday this humidor will be filled with the finest Jamaicans money can buy, because a client with a multimillion-dollar account will be walking through that door. He’ll light a cigar, and so will I-even though I hate them. Dealing with top clients means you’re willing to work with their eccentricities. If these people weren’t rich, they’d be called freaking weirdos instead of eccentrics. Now, I’m not going to ask what Lori Granger wants you to do. I’m just going to tell you that this is part of playing with a big fish.” He leaned forward and clapped Jackson on the shoulder. “We believe you can handle this account.” With a smile reminiscent of Jack Nicholson’s I-couldn’t-care-less grin, he waved the hand toward the door. “Now have a nice day.”

Nodding, Jackson rose and strode from the office to his vehicle. He got inside and felt himself boil with frustration. At least he understood the rules. He could expect zero backup from the partners, and he was expected to fulfill Lori Granger’s most insane wish as if he had a magic wand. Hey, he’d dodged a roaring, snorting bull, mad with the urge to kill, before. He should be able to manage a female mad with the urge to marry.

Swearing under his breath, he started the vehicle and shifted it into gear. Who was he kidding? This job was going to be a bitch if ever there was one.

Needing silence and sense, he drove to his house and walked inside. His black Lab, Sadie, greeted him by rising and walking toward him. “How ya doing, girl?” he asked, petting her silky coat. He really hadn’t had room in his life for a pet, but when he’d found Sadie abandoned and emaciated from lack of food, he hadn’t been able to leave her. After they’d come to an agreement on her chewing habits, she’d become an easygoing buddy for him.

Hanging his suit coat on the back of a chair, Jackson lifted his phone and checked his voice mail. One message from his mother, another from his brother, another from a tenant. The tenant needed a faucet. No problem. Jackson could take care of that tonight. His mother and brother needed money, he suspected. Whenever both of them called, they didn’t come out and ask for money, but they needed it. Since his father came and went as he pleased, Jackson sent money to fill in the gaps, with the understanding that his mother use it strictly for herself or his teenage brother, Adam.

Grabbing a beer from the refrigerator, he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled off his tie. He sat down in a wooden kitchen chair, put his feet on the chair across from him, and looked out the window. The view wasn’t anything to scream about, just a couple of trees and brown grass singed from the unrelenting hot sun, along with the back of a neighbor’s house. It soothed him because it was normal. He could use a lot of normal after the last few days.

He took another long drink from the can and let the silence and sanity seep inside him. He took a deep breath and felt his muscles loosen. Grabbing a notepad, he began to scribble notes, questions. Within twenty minutes, he formulated a plan for how to help Lori Jean Granger find a suitable husband, all the while trying to drown out the sound of the theme song from
Mission: Impossible in his mind.

The following morning, Lori made sure she was ready early for Jackson, since he’d called her assistant and told her to expect him at 10:00 a.m. sharp. She was still stinging from the fact that he’d caught her in such an embarrassing position the morning before. She had no doubt that Jackson was mentally tough and she would have to stay on her toes at all times to keep up with him. He’d already let her know he was no pushover.

Grimacing at the prospect of meeting with him again, she checked her watch: 9:55 a.m. The doorbell rang. What an anal man, she thought, at the same time conceding that most good accountants probably were detail-oriented. It was a necessary trait for the job. She wrinkled her nose. The fact didn’t make working with him any easier.

She opened the door and caught a look of surprise on his face. “What?” she asked, immediately feeling defensive. “You expected me to have another hangover? I’m not a drunk.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t say you were a drunk. I was surprised Mabel didn’t answer the door,” he said and entered the foyer.

“Oh.” She felt as if someone had pricked her balloon. She met his level gaze and felt unsettled. “I’m assuming you’ve decided to work with me on my husband hunt.”

He cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes in irritation. “Against my better judgment.” He jerked his head impatiently. “If you’re dead set on it, let’s get on with it.”

“I’m definitely dead set,” she said, sensing his supreme disapproval of her and trying not to feel on edge because of it. Walking with him toward the study, she told herself she didn’t care what Jackson thought of her as long as he helped her accomplish her goal.

He held the door open for her, then waited for her to sit before he took his seat across from her. Pulling out a pad of paper and a pen, he sighed and scratched his head. “I have some questions I need you to answer. Do you have an age preference for your husband?”

She blinked. “I hadn’t really thought about it. If he were going to be a real husband, I don’t think I would want to marry someone too old. Older than me, though.” She shrugged. “But since I’m only going to be married to him for a few years, it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“Unless he dies,” Jackson muttered.

“Which would make me a very young widow-” Lori broke off. “I wonder what the requirements are if I’m widowed. If I married someone really old, maybe-”

Jackson groaned. “If you married someone really old, you’d have to contend with his heirs.”

Lori made a face. “Oh, well, scratch that idea.”

“Age preference,” Jackson repeated.

“Twenty-eight to forty,” she said.

He scratched her answer on his pad of paper. “What about education?”

“What about it?”

“Do you care if this guy has a college degree or not?”

Lori sighed. The truth was that she didn’t want to overthink this. She just wanted to do it so she could get it over with and have it interrupt her life as little as possible. “I suppose so.”

Jackson nodded and made another note on his paper. “Do you have a preference about his physical appearance? Height, weight, body type, hair color, that kind of thing.”

Lori gnawed her lip. “I’m not sure you’re getting this. I don’t really want to have to be married. I don’t want to spend much time with this man. Any time,” she added. “I want this to be a strictly business arrangement.”

“And you don’t care what the press will say about it?” Jackson asked, his gaze level.

Lori opened her mouth to answer no.

“You don’t care what your friends will say behind your back. You don’t care what kind of impact this may have on a future real marriage.”

Lori felt her stomach twist. “I may not want to get married.”

“What if you do? What if you have children?”

She bit her lip hard. He didn’t know what he was talking about. He obviously didn’t know that she probably couldn’t ever have children because of the terrible horseback riding accident. “I don’t think I’m cut out for motherhood,” she managed in an airy voice, ignoring the stabbing sensation inside her.

He gave her a long, considering glance, as if he were weighing his opinion of her. His gaze swept to the pad of paper, and Lori experienced that old, familiar feeling of not measuring up.

She felt naked and vulnerable, but not for long. Self-righteous anger burned to the surface. She clenched her fingers into a fist to keep from throwing something at him.

“No children,” he said. “Does that mean no sex?”

The question took her off guard. The whole discussion unnerved her, but Jackson ’s tone was deep and rich, edged with a tinge of huskiness that teased something inside her. She met his dark gaze and felt an odd tugging sensation in her belly. She wondered what kind of lover he would be. Passionate, she decided. Whether a little rough or a little tender, he would be passionate when he made love to a woman. She wondered how he chose his lovers.

Lori caught herself. What was she thinking?

He was so anal he probably had some sort of numerical rating system and checklist.

“I already told you this is supposed to be a business arrangement,” she said.

“So is it okay if this guy gets taken care of on an extracurricular basis, or does the poor sap have to sign a chastity agreement?” He paused. “For that matter, what about you?”

“No, he doesn’t have to sign a chastity agreement,” she said, feeling more huffy by the moment. “He just needs to be discreet.”

“Discreet as in down the street, out of town, or out of the country?”

Lori frowned. “I’m sure we can work out the details later.”

Jackson shook his head. “You can get in a lot of trouble not taking care of details.”

“Spoken just like an accountant,” she muttered under her breath.

“I heard you,” he said. “Just remember, you asked an
accountant to find your husband for you.”

Lori bit her tongue to keep from sticking it out at him. “Okay. Discreet means in a different city and not in view of the press.”

“For you, too.”

She looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean, me, too?”

“You’ll be discreet, too, by going to a different city when you have your affairs.”

Lori wrinkled her nose. “You make it sound slimy.”

He lifted an eyebrow but said nothing. Aloud, anyway. His expression said he thought the whole thing was slimy. Lori couldn’t stand his censure another moment. “I’m not slimy.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“You might as well have.” She pointed at his face. “Your eyebrow said it.”

His lips twitched in amusement. “I didn’t know eyebrows could talk.”

“Well, yours can,” she said, her hands on her hips.