Yours for the Night (16 page)

“What’s up, Dad?” She headed for the kitchen. She needed caffeine to deal with her father. She’d recommended the homeowners leave a pot for prospective buyers to enjoy, but also because the rich scent of coffee made a house seem like a home.

“Listen, honey, your mom’s pitching a fit about having to go to a charity thing tonight. It’s the third one I’ve dragged her to in a week. Want to come with me instead?”

Marianna held the phone away, checking the ID to make sure that really was her dad’s number. Yep, it was. “This is Marianna, Dad. Did you think you’d called Tina?”

“I know who I called, honey. Sorry it’s last minute.”

Tina was honey. If their mom couldn’t make it, Tina stepped in when he needed a companion to one of his big events. Ah, that was it. Tina had turned him down.

“Well, if Tina can’t make it—”

“I didn’t ask Tina, I asked you.”

He didn’t ask Tina? Well, jeez, she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, to quote the old saying. He wanted her. “Sure, Dad, I’d love to. What time?”

“I’ll send the car for you at six thirty, and you can pick me up on the way.”

Six thirty. Chase was supposed to call after dinner, but she couldn’t talk to him with her dad there. Dilemma, dilemma. Okay. She’d call him today, very 98

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brief, tell him about the change in plans, and suggest they talk tomorrow.

“Cool,” she told her father. “I look forward to it.”

“See you then, honey. Dress up with a really nice pair of the choo-choo shoes.”

“Great.” Shoes. They were his concession. Now she was supposedly making money, she could have her Jimmy Choos. She’d take what she could get.

“Thanks for inviting me, Dad.”

“My pleasure, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. A house sale, that’s all it took. She should have started lying to her father years ago.

MARIANNA CHOSE A SLEEK BLACK EVENING DRESS, BEADED JACKET, a darling pair of mini-boots, and the gambler’s chain Chase had given her. Elegant, stylish, and above all proper.

Chase hadn’t answered. She’d left him a message instead.

“You look lovely, sweetheart.” Her father complimented her as he climbed into the car.

“Thanks, Dad. You look wonderful, too.” Distinguished and handsome in his black tux, no one would guess him to be sixty-two—late fifties at most. She couldn’t resist telling him her news. “A couple at the open house today was very interested in the property. We’re meeting tomorrow to go over an offer.” It was no lie. She was damn lucky to have scored this couple. Most people were lookieloos checking out their neighbors’ decorating scheme and getting an idea of their own house value.

“Congratulations, honey.” He kissed her forehead. Another endearment. She was suffering from shock. They chitchatted during the short drive to the opera house where the charity event was being held. It was like standing back and watching someone else. She was amazed her father chitchatted with her.

And once they arrived . . .

“I’d like you to meet my daughter, Marianna. She’s a real estate agent on the Peninsula”—he beamed at her like a thousand-watt bulb—“and you can’t find better advice in this market.”

Good God, he was advertising for her. He seemed to know absolutely everyone. Patrons filled the opera house’s front lobby. Most dressed in black and 99

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white, with a few women going wild in navy or green. Conversation echoed against the high ceilings, laughter, glad-handing. Half an hour in, Marianna was parched. Champagne. She snagged two glasses from a passing waiter, handed one to her father, and applied a death grip to her own.

“It is a down market with the whole credit crisis, but if you choose the right price . . .” She tried to sound intelligent. She wanted her father to be proud of her, but the stress made her head ache. She’d earned his respect, but she could easily lose it with one stupid remark.

“Oh, yes, the south of France is a must during the winter,” she said, agreeing with . . . some woman. Marianna had never been to the south of France. And she couldn’t remember the lady’s name.

She sipped faster on her champagne, the bubbles fizzing in her head. When were they were serving dinner? She should have eaten something. The woman left, a man replaced her. “You’re a pretty little thing. Where’s Asa been hiding you?” He was old—white hair, florid cheeks—and his tone was mildly suggestive.

“Just work, work, work,” she said, quipping, “so I don’t get out to many functions.”

“You know what they say, all work and no play.” He winked, and a tic started at the corner of his eye.

Yuk. He was hitting on her right in front of her father, though Dad was deep in discussion with a CFO about . . . reserves, or something obviously involving money.

Then, as if he felt her discomfort, her father exited his conversation and shot out an arm to draw her in. The white-haired man drifted off. Thank God.

“Having a good time, honey? Making lots of contacts?”

Okay, her mother had to have put him up to this, saying he wasn’t doing enough to help her. Because it was all starting to feel surrealistic. “Yeah, sure, Dad. A ton.”

“That’s great. Now let’s mingle.”

She’d been mingling, but his gaze was already darting around the room looking for business associates he hadn’t spoken to. As he started to pull away, a heavy arm slipped around her shoulder. “Asa, you sly devil.”

Her stomach plunged. She knew that voice. Oh God, she knew that man. 100

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Brock Ransom. Her first “date.” Her blood seemed to shudder to a complete stop in her veins.

Good God, Brock was a friend of her father’s. The color drained from her dad’s face as if he’d had a premonition and knew something momentously bad was coming.

Marianna wanted to run. She wanted to hide. She wanted to shut the man up before he said another word. “I—”

Brock didn’t wait for her to finish. “I’m sure this one’s worth every penny.” He chucked her under the chin. “So don’t be stingy, Asa.” Oblivious to the panic swirling around him, Brock beamed down at Marianna. Then he slapped her father’s back. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, kids.”

With a wink, he trundled off as if he hadn’t just brought her life crashing down around her.

All the oxygen was sucked out of the room. Spots danced before her eyes. The voices and laughter all around secluded them. Just her. Just her father. Maybe he didn’t understand. There could still be hope. Brock had said so little. It might have meaning only to her guilty conscience. In their bubble of silence, she couldn’t look at her father. Then he cleared his throat, and she couldn’t not look at him.

Oh God. Worth every penny. Don’t be stingy. Oh yes, he understood. Horror had bleached his skin white. His eyes were both a big round O of disbelief. He took two steps back. As if being too close to her was repulsive. “I have to go,” he muttered, minus his usual commanding tone. Turning his back on her, he disappeared through the big brass front doors. Marianna couldn’t move for a full five seconds. Then she dashed after him. Maybe she could explain, say something, anything. Outside, a doorman put his fingers to his teeth, whistled, and a cab shot to the curb. Her father climbed in without looking back, and the cabbie darted into the traffic.

Exhaust seeped into her nostrils. A pounding started in her head—the noise, the car horns, the roar of engines, a homeless man shouting. Even if she could have caught up with her father, there was nothing to say. He would probably call Brock and ask for the full story. She could never explain it away.

In two minutes, everything had changed.

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TUESDAY MORNING. TWO AND A HALF DAYS SINCE HE’D SEEN MARIANNA. Sixty hours since she’d walked out of his apartment. Isabel was polite but adamant. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ramirez. I understand your desire, but under no circumstances can I give you Marianna’s home number.”

Goddammit. He wanted to wring the woman’s neck over the phone, but it wasn’t her fault. Marianna had cut him off.

Sunday afternoon, she’d left a voice mail saying she had to spend an evening with her father, and she’d talk to him in the morning. He’d called on Monday. She hadn’t answered. He left a message in the afternoon and another that night. Then today, her phone no longer worked. What the fuck? Saturday night had been perfect. She’d liked Krista, and his daughter had liked her. He hadn’t even gotten around to asking her to give up being a courtesan, so it couldn’t be that. It didn’t make a fucking bit of sense. Why would she do this? How could she drop him without a word after everything they’d shared? After he’d let her meet his daughter?

He wanted to bash heads.

With the Tuesday morning staff meeting coming up in half an hour, he’d closed his office door and given in to his obsession by calling the agency to try to track her down. Isabel, however, wasn’t giving her up.

“It’s nothing personal, Mr. Ramirez.”

Hell yes, it was fucking personal. He needed to calm down. He needed to think.

“Thanks for your time.” He sounded surly. He felt panicky. He didn’t know Marianna’s real name, her address, or her phone number. She was simply gone, and he had no way of finding her.

SITTING BY THE FOUNTAIN ACROSS THE SQUARE FROM THE BROKERAGE, Marianna soaked up the Tuesday noontime sun. She’d been cold since Sunday night, her hands numb. She could not get warm no matter what she did, even when she’d resorted to lying in the bathtub, refilling it when the water cooled. The midday air was crisp, a slight breeze tossing leaves to and fro, then swirling them in little eddies. But the sun seeped deep into her bones. Hopefully it would kill the chill.

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Like the leaves, people rushed this way and that, grabbing a bite to eat at the deli stand, nabbing a bit of shopping time during the lunch hour, nipping into the bookstore for a magazine. Her lunch? An apple cut into quarters. An apple a day keeps the doctor away. She couldn’t stomach much more than that. Her sale on Monday, after Sunday’s open house, was unheard of. Everyone knew that couples making the rounds at open houses weren’t ready to buy. The most you usually picked up from it was a new contact. If you were lucky, someone might ask you to show them houses in the area. But make an offer Monday morning, much less have it accepted that evening? It was nothing short of miraculous. Everyone in the office looked at her as if she’d suddenly been elevated to goddess status. She’d have real money, enough to make rent, pay bills, even save a little.

It didn’t mean a damn thing. Her family had disowned her. None of them had called since it happened, that horrible thing. She’d contacted Isabel to sever the tie, thrown her special phone down the garbage chute, and answered Jewel’s messages to say she was okay. Isabel had apologized profusely. Brock Ransom’s privileges would be revoked. Way too late for her. Marianna kept hoping she’d come up with a way to fix what had happened. She had to find a way. Her family was bad, but the worst was Chase. She’d been living on lies and fantasies. She’d built up this dreamworld where he actually cared about her when the truth was she was just a hooker. He’d called, she hadn’t called back. It was cowardice, but she couldn’t face him. She couldn’t have him tell her that’s all it was, that she was just a panacea for his guilt and loneliness. Because it had been so much more to her. She’d actually believed her own fantasy. God, she had gone so wrong thinking she could be a courtesan without repercussions. If only she could handle things the way Jewel did, without fuss, without emotion.