скачать книгу бесплатно
“Margaret, darling, would you please get Mr. O’Connell some coffee? Would you like a cappuccino or latte?”
“Black will work,” he said, studying her. She had a fluid natural grace and at the same time she emanated good breeding and energy. Despite the fact that she was impeccably groomed, her facial features were anything but fixed. He would guess that she could be charming when she felt inclined.
He also knew she could get hostile when defending her turf. Talking with Amelia had given Jack a big advantage. He knew Lillian’s sore spot—her crushing disappointment that the heir she had produced for Bellagio had thumbed his nose at the family company and headed west. Worse yet, from what Amelia had told him, Junior only visited Lillian every other year at the most.
Margaret delivered coffee, tea and pastries on a tray. “Thank you, dear,” Lillian said and fixed her cup of tea. “That may still be a little too hot,” she murmured, then looked up at him and took a deep breath.
He felt her gaze travel from his hair to his eyebrows, lingering on his eyes, over his cheeks and nose, down to his mouth, chin and shoulders. Her expression was cool and assessing.
“You have the Bellagio hair, eyes and mouth.” Her mouth twisted in a half smile. “You did better in the height department than your father.”
“My mother’s brother and father were both over six feet tall.”
She nodded. “Then I suppose you can thank her for those genes.”
“A little late for that since she’s dead.”
She nodded, her smile fading, her mouth tightening. “So she is. Please accept my condolences.”
“I might,” he said, feeling a nick of impatience. “If I thought you were remotely sincere.”
She parted her lips in a half breath of surprise before she recovered. “My lack of affection for your mother is understandable.”
He nodded. “Is it understandable that you kept me from meeting my father?”
She looked down at her lap for a long moment. “Understandable, perhaps.” She picked up her cup and set it down. “Not forgivable.”
That was when he knew he had her. Lillian Bellagio felt guilty and needed to assuage that guilt. Jack knew exactly how to help her.
She took a small sip of her tea. “From what I’ve heard, it appears you may have inherited some of Dario’s business acumen.”
“I don’t know much about inheriting anything, Mrs. Bellagio, but I do understand hard work.”
“Jack, many people work hard. Very few reach your level, especially coming from your circumstances. Before I supported Marc Waterson’s proposal to the board that Bellagio agree to your offer to provide venture capital for the redesign of the men’s activewear shoe line, I made a few calls. I know your net worth, the deals you’ve made, your business associates, your friends and enemies and your real estate holdings.”
“What made you decide to vote in favor of accepting me as Bellagio’s money man?”
“Because I know you’re not nearly as detached as you present yourself. You’ve bought and sold a South American shoe company, I suspect for learning purposes. You’ve purchased an accessory line that has the potential to complement Bellagio’s existing products.” She smiled. “You also attended a workshop on how to make shoes. How did yours turn out?”
He shouldn’t have been surprised at her thorough investigation of him. “Not bad. I wear them around the house. Did you also learn how many cavities I’ve had filled?”
“If the gene gods were good and you brushed your teeth when you were a child, then you probably don’t have very many. Bellagios have great teeth. I don’t apologize for investigating you and your background.”
“What do you apologize for?”
She looked down, and the life seemed to drain from her face. “I could apologize that you didn’t benefit from the million dollars I gave your mother to go away. I thought she would give you up for adoption.”
“A million?” he echoed in disbelief. He’d known his mother had been paid off for Dario’s indiscretion, but he’d never known the exact amount. He vaguely remembered moving from a nice house to an apartment. A couple years later they’d moved into a worse neighborhood.
“She blew most of it the first three years, didn’t she?” Lillian asked.
He nodded. “I think so. She had some bad habits.”
“How did you manage to stay away from those habits?”
“I saw her crashing off the high often enough to know I didn’t want any part of it.”
“You could have announced who your father was a long time ago. Why have you waited? Why the secrecy?”
“Because I want to be more than an empty suit in those board meetings.”
“You want respect,” she concluded.
He shrugged because there was more involved than respect, but it wasn’t something he had ever said aloud.
“I’m ready to accept the consequences of the fact that my husband was your father.”
“You sure about that? The questions, the gossip and speculation.”
She lifted her cup of tea and sipped. “I don’t spend a lot of time in Atlanta these days. Aside from my charity work and attending board meetings, I spend most of my time here.”
“What about your reputation?”
She gave a wise woman’s smile. “You’re too young to know this, but upholding a reputation can be a strain at times.”
At that moment, he almost liked her. Almost. “Why didn’t you tell your husband about me?”
“I was young and terrified. Incredibly selfish. I couldn’t see past my fear. In some ways, vision improves with age.” She met his gaze. “What do you want from me?”
Part of him wanted to say nothing and let her simmer in her guilt for the rest of her life. But that wouldn’t serve his purpose, and Jack had learned through observation and experience that things turned out better for him when he let logic instead of emotion rule his choices. “I want a chance. You have a reputation for allowing different members of the board to vote your shares, depending on your mood. I imagine Marc Waterson or Alfredo Bellagio call you up and state their case and you decide which direction you’ll send your vote. I want a chance to win your vote.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “Fair enough. You have your chance.”
THERE WAS A DOMESTIC disturbance at the Bellagio estate and its name was Brooke Tarantino. The DD was currently in the bathroom suffering the effects of multiple lectures and a terrible hangover.
Before she’d left, Lillian had given Amelia her assignment. “Watch over her. Make sure she doesn’t hurt herself.” Amelia glanced at her watch. She hadn’t heard any moans or groans for a few minutes.
Amelia wasn’t exactly sure of the proper etiquette for watching over an heiress while she was in the bathroom. She knocked quietly on the door.
“Go away, Lillian!” Brooke yelled from the other side of the door. “If I get one more lecture from a Bellagio about what a disgrace I am, I’ll disgrace you all even more by jumping out the window.”
Whoooo, baby, Amelia thought. The DD was definitely alive. “Sorry,” Amelia said. “Not Lillian. Just checking to make sure you’re okay.”
Silence followed, then the door opened and Brooke, her auburn hair extensions matted on her head, mascara smudged beneath her eyes, her skin pale, stared at her. She looked Amelia up and down, her scowl softening only a millimeter. “Sorry, I thought you were Lillian.”
Amelia nodded. “Can I get you something to eat or drink?”
Brooke made a face. “I won’t be eating anytime soon.”
“Some cool bottled water, then? It might help you feel better. You’re probably dehydrated.”
Brooke nodded. “That sounds good.”
“If you wash your face and brush your teeth, that’ll help, too,” Amelia told her.
“Who are you? Some kind of Mary Poppins that’s been assigned to me, the devil child of the Bellagios?”
“I’m actually an employee of Bellagio on temporary assignment as Lillian’s assistant. She asked me to make sure you didn’t die.”
Brooke smiled. “Of course she did. Not good for the image for her great-niece to croak while under her care.” She gave Amelia another curious glance. “You look kinda junior league. In the market for a husband?”
“Not really.” Amelia wondered if she should be offended. My fiancé and I broke up recently.”
“Oh. Well, congratulations,” Brooke said. “I hear it’s always best to find out the guy’s a loser before you say ‘I do.’”
Amelia blinked. This was the first time she’d been congratulated for getting dumped. “I’ll get your water.”
“Thanks. I’ll wash my face, brush my teeth and put on my jammies.”
Amelia went downstairs to collect a couple of bottles of water from the refrigerator.
The housekeeper appeared and shot her a wary look. “I’ll fix something for her, but I’m not taking it up to her room. The last time she was here, she threw a tray at me.”
“She’s not hungry,” Amelia said, wondering about the tray incident, but almost afraid to ask.
“She wasn’t hungry that time, either. Said she was on a hunger strike because her father wouldn’t buy a resort in Mexico for a boy she met on spring break. She said it would contribute in a positive way to the global economy. And you know she left her fiancé at the altar. Very nice young man, too. If you ask me, she’s a nutcase.”
“Wow,” Amelia said and gave a vague nod. She knew all about the way Brooke had left Walker Gordon at the altar because Amelia had worked with Trina, Walker’s new fiancée. She’d gotten the impression that neither Walker nor Trina held a grudge against Brooke. Both were just thankful to have found each other.
After being dumped herself, Amelia felt a lot of sympathy for Walker, but he didn’t seem at all unhappy with how things had turned out. She carried the bottles of water upstairs and entered Brooke’s suite to find the socialite sprawled on her bed with the remote in her hand. With all the residual make-up scrubbed from her face and dressed in a nightshirt, she looked like a young teenager surrounded by stuffed animals.
“Here you go,” Amelia said, handing Brooke one of the waters.
“Have a seat,” Brooke said, patting the bed. “E! is replaying the top fifty worst red carpet moments. We can mock all the stars.”
Amelia hesitated.
“Oh, come on,” Brooke said. “Think of it as educational. You never know when your photo will be snapped for a gossip magazine.”
Amelia tentatively sank onto the bed. “I’m pretty sure that’s not something I’ll have to worry about anytime soon.”
Brooke chugged her water. “Well, I do. That’s why I’ve been sent here to retirementville,” she said with a scowl. “A hundred other females on the beach in Rio went topless, but that cameraman had to find me. Had to put my picture on the front of that Spanish gossip magazine. You know it’s a slow day when they put my boobs on the front page.”
Brooke glanced at Amelia and rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t tell me I just offended your delicate sensibilities because I went topless on a beach in South America.”
Brooke lived in such a different world from hers that Amelia didn’t know how to respond. She chose the rational approach since she suspected Brooke might suffer from a shortage in that area. “A, I haven’t been to a topless beach. B, I’m not sure I would go topless because I burn like the dickens.”
“Dickens,” Brooke echoed and smiled. “I like that. Dickens.” She turned her attention back to the television. “Oh, look. Now there’s a role model for all women who have been dumped,” she said, pointing to the starlet on the screen. “I heard she got dumped by her boyfriend and started dating a male model within two weeks. And the lesson is?”
Amelia had no idea. “Date male models?”
“No. If you’ve been dumped, always do the next cute guy you meet. It reestablishes the natural order of the universe.”
Amelia opened her mouth, but couldn’t think of a suitable reply.
Brooke chugged both bottles of water and offered various platitudes until, like a little kid who needed a nap, she hugged an extra pillow against her and fell asleep.
Amelia collected the empty water bottles, turned off the television and quietly left the room. After she ditched the plastic bottles, Lillian’s voice stopped her.
“Good evening, Amelia.”
“Good evening, Mrs. Bellagio,” she responded, turning toward her temporary boss.
“Did Brooke cause trouble this afternoon?”
“No, ma’am. She didn’t eat anything, but I did get her to drink some water. She watched some television and fell asleep.”
Lillian sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I just don’t know what we’re going to do with her. She doesn’t seem to grasp the responsibilities of being a Bellagio. When she became engaged, we were hoping she would settle down, but that just wasn’t to be.”
“She’s very personable,” Amelia said, feeling the need, for some undetermined reason, to say something positive about Brooke.
“She didn’t insult you?” Lillian asked in surprise.
Amelia supposed she could have been insulted by the topless comment or the junior league statement, but she’d been too busy trying to remain neutral. “She was friendly. She invited me to watch television with her.”
“I’m sure that was enriching,” Lillian said in a dry tone. “If she were just a little more levelheaded and practical, like you, I don’t think she would get into so much trouble.” Lillian studied Amelia for a long moment. “Perhaps if you could spend some time with her. Mentor her—”
“Mentor?” Amelia echoed, her self-protective instincts raging. “I don’t think I would be a good person for that. I’m not sure I could teach her anything. Plus, mentoring suggests that the mentee actually wants to learn something from the mentor. On top of that, Brooke is much more worldly than I am.”
“But that’s part of the problem. She needs a different perspective. She needs to be with different people, sensible people.”
“You fit that bill,” Amelia said. “You’re her great-aunt. You’re the perfect person for that.”
“In other circumstances. But Brooke thinks I’m an irrelevant old bag.”
“After our first meeting, I don’t think she views me as particularly relevant, either.”
“I’ll give you a bonus,” Lillian said.
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll give you a bonus if you’ll help Brooke.”
The woman was desperate. Amelia suspected that Lillian Bellagio was rarely desperate. Amelia also understood her own limitations. “Mrs. Bellagio, as much as I would like to help you, I absolutely do not want the future of my career at Bellagio affected or determined by Brooke Tarantino. I would be horrified if she did something on my clock that upset you or the rest of her family.”
“How about if you just take her to lunch a couple of times, spend an hour or so with her a few afternoons? I won’t hold you responsible for anything she does,” Lillian promised. “This will just be part of your duties and I’ll make sure you have extra time off. There, that’s much better, isn’t it? We can discuss it more thoroughly in the morning. Enjoy your evening, dear.”
Amelia caught a wisp of Lillian’s Chanel Number 5 as the woman whirled away. As she slowly walked toward her own suite, Amelia couldn’t help feeling a big fat knot of dread in her stomach.
