Zinnia (32 page)

His investigations into Chastain family history had produced the information that thirty-five years ago Ella had hoped to marry Bartholomew Chastain. When Bartholomew had left for the Western Islands without showing any interest in either the marriage or his family's business, she had turned her attention to Orrin. Nick suspected that it was Ella's skillful maneuvering that had resulted in Orrin becoming CEO of Chastain, Inc. after Bartholomew disappeared.

Ella had got what she wanted, but as far as Nick could see, she had never been particularly happy about it.

“I was surprised when Orrin told me that you would be here tonight,” Ella said crisply. “I hadn't realized that you had been accepted into the Founders' Club.”

“I can understand your deep sense of shock.” Nick swirled the champagne in his glass. “The decline in standards these days is appalling, isn't it?”

“I assume you intended that to be amusing.”

“Not really.”

Ella cast a disapproving look at Zinnia, who was still in the middle of the dance floor with Duncan. “If
you plan to move in these circles you would do well to be a bit more discriminating in your choice of female companions. Miss Spring has a certain reputation.”

Nick swung around so quickly that Ella gasped and took a hasty step back. He lowered his voice to the merest of whispers. “So do I. Among other things, I am known for not tolerating insults to women who have honored me with their company.”

Ella blinked once and then recovered quickly. “Don't you dare threaten me, Nicholas.”

“I assume you want something or you would not have gone out of your way to talk to me in front of all your socially acceptable friends.”

“There's no need for sarcasm. I wish to speak to you about a family matter.”

“I thought you didn't consider me to be a member of the family.”

Ella's too-snug features became even more tightly drawn. “There is no denying that you are Bartholomew's son. The whole world can see that. You are his living image. Therefore, I think it's time you repaid your obligation to this family.”

“Only a Chastain would have the nerve to suggest that I've got an obligation to this family.”

“I'm sure you're well aware that Chastain, Inc. is having financial difficulties.”

“Yes.” He smiled.

Ella's gaze hardened with grim determination. “I won't beat around the bush. Orrin's talks with Mr. Luttrell did not go well.”

“You mean Luttrell refused to pour cash into Chastain?”

“Very shortsighted of him, but there you have it. As of this evening, Orrin has exhausted all possibilities. Chastain faces complete ruin. It is your responsibility to step into the breach. You are the only one who possesses sufficient financial capital to save the firm.”

Nick nearly choked on the champagne. “My responsibility?”

“As the son of Bartholomew Chastain, it is your duty to invest in the family business. Orrin tells me that the company must have a cash infusion soon or we shall face bankruptcy. I will contact you in a few days to tell you exactly how much money is required.”

“You look as if you've just watched the Curtain reopen.” Zinnia smiled quizzically at Nick as he drew her out onto the dance floor. “Something wrong?”

“I had an amazing conversation with my aunt a few minutes ago.” Nick took her into his arms and moved her into a slow gliding turn. “She informed me that I have a duty to invest in Chastain, Inc.”

“Your family's firm?”

“My side of the family has no interest in the company.”

“I see.” She was amused by the austere passion that he had somehow managed to infuse into that simple declaration.

“What are you smiling at?”

“Nothing.”

“Don't give me that.” He glowered. “You think it's funny that my aunt wants me to put my money into the company?”

“No. I think it's a sign that the rest of the Chastains are desperate. I know the feeling.”

“What in five hells do you mean?”

“If I'd been in your aunt's position, I'd have done the same thing. Unfortunately when Spring Industries went under there was no one in the family who had enough cash to save it.”

“As far as the rest of the Chastains are concerned, I'm not in the family.” Nick's hand tightened around her waist. “And I don't think that you would have
gone down on your knees to anyone. Not even to save Spring Industries.”

Zinnia raised her brows. “Did your aunt actually beg?”

“No, not exactly.” Nick exhaled deeply. “You could say she stated her demands in no uncertain terms.”

“I'm sure it took courage for her to approach you. She probably expected you to laugh in her face.”

“You don't know my Aunt Ella.” Nick steered her through the crowd of dancers with negligent grace. “She expected me to whip out my checkbook then and there.”

“What did you do?”

“Smiled very politely and came over here to pry you out of Luttrell's arms.”

“Smiled very politely?” She frowned. “I don't believe that for one moment. You never smile politely. Nick, I really think that you ought to think very carefully about this situation before you make any rash decisions.”

“Don't,” he warned gently, “try to tell me how to deal with the Chastains.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.”

“Damn.” He had the grace to look chagrined. “I didn't mean to snap at you.”

“Maybe we should both just shut up and dance.”

“Good idea.” He swung her into another slow turn.

Zinnia gave herself over to the music and the many sensory pleasures to be derived from the experience of dancing with a matrix. Nick's instinctive sense of timing and distances meant that they never accidentally bumped into other couples or had to change direction in a hasty awkward manner. When viewed from above the movements on a large ballroom floor always appeared random to her, but she knew that Nick had a feeling for the underlying pattern. The result was a smooth graceful trip around the room.

When the music came to an end, he seemed reluctant
to let her leave his arms. He halted at the edge of the crowd and looked at her with intense eyes. “I think we've made our statement for the evening. Everyone here knows that we're a couple. Let's go home.”

She felt herself grow warm in direct response to the blatant sexual desire that emanated from him. “Do you know, I used to think you were the subtle type.”

“I don't know where you got that idea.” He took her arm and started toward the nearest of the long row of double doors that lined one side of the ballroom.

Zinnia noticed a few heads turn to follow their progress toward the lobby. She had been aware of several discreet stares since Nick had escorted her into the ball but no one had actually said anything nasty in her range of hearing.

There were several small conversational groups clustered in the lobby. One or two people who had been friends of Zinnia's parents noticed her and nodded politely. She could see the speculation in their gazes when their attention shifted to Nick.

Nick did not appear to be aware of the attention they received as they crossed the lobby. He guided her toward the cloak room with the cool arrogance that seemed to be built into him.

“Wait here. I'll get your coat.” He released Zinnia's arm to deal with the woman at the coat-check booth.

A flicker of movement near the elevators made Zinnia turn to see who was staring at her now.

She found herself looking straight at Rexford Eaton. It was the first time she had encountered him since the day the tabloid photographer had taken the ruinous picture of the two of them emerging from the bedroom.

Rexford was clearly nonplused to see her. He stood with his wife, Bethany, and the third member of their intimate trio, the tall distinguished Daria Gardener.

Zinnia told herself that she should have been prepared for this. After all, the Eatons had been members of the Founders' Club for three generations. And Daria Gardener's climb to the heights of politics had been largely financed by contributions from the people who moved in this world.

Eighteen months had gone by since the scandal had broken across the pages of the tabloids, but Zinnia's anger and disgust boiled up inside as if it had happened yesterday. Damn them all, she thought. They had come out of it unscathed, but she was still trying to recover from the loss of business these three secret lovers had caused her.

Her only consolation in that moment was that all three appeared as stunned to see her as she was to see them. She was particularly pleased to notice the distinct uneasiness that flashed in Rexford's eyes.

Zinnia gave Rexford, Bethany, and Daria her coldest smile and pointedly turned her back.

She found Nick standing right behind her. He had her coat draped over his arm.

“Easy,” he said quietly. His eyes went to the threesome. “Run into some old acquaintances?”

“No one important.”

“I can see that.” He arranged the coat around her shoulders, took her arm, and started toward the bank of elevators.

A premonition of impending disaster descended on Zinnia. It did not require a matrix-talent to deduce that the vector of the path that Nick had chosen would bring them very close to Rexford, Bethany, and Daria.

“Uh, Nick—”

He ignored her.

The elegant threesome seemed to recognize that a predator was moving in their direction. Like a small flock of nervous goat-sheep, they turned to melt discreetly out of the way only to find themselves
trapped by the wall and the wine bar. By the time they realized that they had been neatly cornered, Nick and Zinnia were almost upon them.

It might have been amusing to see the nervous alarm in their eyes, Zinnia thought, if it had not been for the fact that she knew Nick had purposefully selected this route to the elevators. He was up to something and that worried her.

“Think respectability,” she warned out of the side of her mouth.

“Respectability is ever at the forefront of my thoughts.” He studied the threesome with the lazy interest of a lion-pard that has happened upon trapped prey. He paced closer.

Rexford, Bethany, and Daria tried to squeeze discreetly aside but Nick gave them no space. His eyes were filled with dangerous anticipation as he came within a hairsbreadth of brushing against Rexford's shoulder.

“Well, well,” Nick said in a soft voice that managed to reach the small crowd standing at the nearby wine bar. “Will you look at this, Zinnia. You know the old saying, two's company but three's a syn-sex show.”

Zinnia groaned silently. The devil was loose in the Founders' Club. There would be hell to pay.

Rexford blinked several times. His mouth opened and closed and color rushed into his face. “What is the meaning of that crude remark?”

Bethany's eyes widened in alarm. “For God's sake, Rex, don't make a scene.”

“Don't let him goad you, Rex,” Daria said with cold authority.

Nick grinned at Rexford. “Which one is the dominatrix, Rex? Or do they take turns with the little whips and chains?”

“Bastard,” Rexford managed in a hoarse whisper. “Get out of here.”

Daria took charge. She looked at Nick with icy disdain. “I see the Founders' Club has lowered its criteria for the acceptance of new members.”

That was too much for Zinnia. She smiled sweetly at Daria. “It certainly has. Otherwise how could one possibly explain the presence of three such avant-garde thinkers such as you and the Eatons?”

Bethany's eyes snapped. “I would advise you to control your tongue, Miss Spring. You're getting enough publicity in the tabloids as it is, these days.”

“I've always been rather sorry that the three of you didn't get the kind of attention that I got eighteen months ago,” Zinnia murmured.

Rexford took a step toward her, his hands clenched at his sides. “One more word, Miss Spring, and I'll have my lawyers after you. By the time they're finished, you won't have a dime left to your name.”

“Don't make threats you can't carry out, Eaton,” Nick said gently. “You aren't going to call your lawyers.”

Rexford swung toward him, chin outthrust. “I damn well will do just that if the two of you don't leave us alone. Now take yourselves off. This club is for decent, civilized people, not bastard trash from the islands.”

Zinnia saw red. “Don't you dare call him trash. Nick Chastain is a gentleman. You, on the other hand, are a hypocritical son-of-a-spider-frog, Rexford Eaton. You had no compunction about throwing me to the press in order to cover up your cozy little arrangement with your wife and Miss Gardener.”

Daria's face went rigid. “Speaking of cozy arrangements, Miss Spring, how does it feel to be the current mistress of the notorious Nick Chastain? I assume there are some interesting financial advantages to the position?”

“Nothing compared to the financial advantages a
politician like you receives from sleeping with the Eatons,” Zinnia shot back.

Bethany gasped. “You little tramp. I can't imagine why they let you or Mr. Chastain attend this ball.”

Nick grabbed Zinnia's arm and hauled her back to his side before she could get her fingers on Daria's throat.

“Think respectability,” he said. But his eyes were gleaming.

“That does it.” Rexford clenched and unclenched his hands. “I'm calling my lawyers in the morning.”

Nick looked at him. “Before you call them, I suggest you talk to your nephew, Warren. He owes me over sixty thousand dollars. At this point, it's a private matter. But I can certainly arrange for the debt to be made public. I'm sure it would make interesting reading in the tabloids.”

Rexford's face turned an unpleasant purple. “Why, you … you bastard.” He took a menacing step forward.

“Rex, no,” Daria snapped.

Nick grinned. “You heard her. Down, Rex. By the way, just how far down do you usually go?”