At Any Price (Gaming The System) (15 page)

Yep, her mother had definitely been peeking through the blinds.

“Ah, being a
chismosa?
” I said, teasing her with the Spanish word for a gossipmonger.

“Always. So give me the
chisme,
” she said, leaning forward and pinning me down with her large, dark eyes.

“He’s just some guy I know,” I said, shrugging it off and twisting to set the heavy book down on a side table made from a wooden telephone cable spool.

She looked askance. “In a town car with a driver?”

Shit. How was I going to explain
that?
I took a deep breath, deciding to go on the offensive. “Alejandra Carmen Arias. Are you grilling me?”

“If that’s what it takes. Are you dating him?”

I sliced a glance at her and then away, shrugging. I was keenly aware that I was the worst liar ever. But better she think we were dating than know what was really going on. Alex went to mass with her mom every week and I was pretty sure she wouldn’t approve—feminist ideals or no. “Kind of.”

“Mom said he was really good looking.”

I suppressed a grin. “I’m glad she approves.” Just how long had she been peeking at us through those blinds?

“Come on, Mia! Spill! You are killing me.”

I stood up and bushed off my jeans. “Not yet. But soon, okay? I don’t want to jinx anything.” I hoped that threw her off. Alex had a bit of a superstitious streak in her. Before she could ask me another question I went to the door and motioned her out with me. Who was I to turn down a free, guaranteed delicious dinner? “Can you do my hair for Friday night? I have a date and I want to wear it up.”

Mischief sparkled in her dark eyes. “I’ll do it if you tell me his name.”

I grabbed her hand and shook it. “Deal. Now let’s go eat. I’m starving.”

Chapter Seven

The week dragged on and I muddled through hospital shifts and blog posts and studying a little more grudgingly than I had before. The dream of Amsterdam was a distant memory, like the glitter falling off a cheap knockoff souvenir brought back as a memento of an otherworldly vacation. I’d only been out of the country for forty-eight hours, including travel—but I knew I wanted to go back, and very soon.

I continued taking the birth control pills and bought a few back copies of
Cosmo
to read up on their “great sex” articles, all the while realizing how ridiculous it was to use pop culture as sex education. Until the trip to Holland, I’d never been concerned with having to please a partner. But now, I was determined to make him feel as good as he had made me feel in those few moments when we had been kissing and touching.

Two days before the dinner party, a box arrived from the Netherlands. I opened it up to find all three gowns that were hanging in the wardrobe in my room in Amsterdam. I gasped. The card inside said only,
Wear one of these Friday.

Since he’d already seen me in the breathtaking black, I chose the long crème-colored one. It had a halter top that looped around my neck and it, too, was backless. This dress, though long, felt like it exposed me more and I couldn’t explain why. It was an extremely feminine dress, with a full, creased skirt of gauzy material—the kind that Marilyn Monroe wore when her dress famously blew upward over the air grate in
Some Like it Hot.

There were also matching shoes for this dress and the selection of lingerie. Since a bra was again not possible, I selected a tiny pair of lace white panties and left everything else in the box.

My landlady, Lupe, came up with Alex and together they tried to pry my secrets out of me while they worked my hair into an elegant updo.

At one point Alex whispered to me that her sister had seen my mystery guy too, and labeled him “totally yummy.”

I agreed with her. I had tasted him. And he was, indeed, delectable. But there was a dark edge that I had no idea how to describe. Like the bitter cocoa powder sprinkled on the outside of a rich chocolate truffle. Perhaps it just brought nuance to his flavor. Or maybe it threatened to ruin an otherwise scrumptious dish.

As the week had worn on, I couldn’t stop thinking about that bullying story. For it to have been so severe, so brutal as to merit a lawsuit, multiple arrests and a couple of write-ups in the paper made it serious in the extreme. My heart went out to him. I was unable to even imagine what that must have been like.

Except I could. After my assault, I’d feared the possibility of being bullied if I stood up and spoke out for myself. I’d never found the courage to do it.

I examined myself in the mirror, avoiding my own eyes and that whispered word at the back of my thoughts that sounded a lot like
coward.

With the dress, the updo and the careful application of makeup, I’d spent more time on my appearance that night than I usually spent getting ready for three days in a row combined. I studied myself in the cracked full-length mirror on the back of my front door for the full effect. I looked like an old-time movie star. I twirled around again and again, watching the skirt spin up around my hips and giggling like a little girl.

I almost fell over when someone knocked. Adam’s driver stood at the door. And he walked me to the town car, opening the door. It was four thirty in the afternoon and in spite of that, the 55 freeway was clear going southbound. We sped down the carpool lane and I watched the relentless parade of expensive hotels, billboards and mile-high palm trees speed by. The northbound side of the freeway was, of course another story, as it always was at this time of day. Cars were packed end-to-end and moving inches at a time.

I was grateful that wasn’t us, because I didn’t want to be late for the big night. I watched carefully as the driver headed straight down the freeway until its very end. So my guess about Adam living in Balboa was right—either on the island itself or the equally impressive peninsula.

A thin finger of land stretching across the harbor, encapsulating the opulent Newport Bay, Balboa housed the county’s glitziest homes and their wealthy inhabitants. I wondered why the driver was heading down the peninsula instead of approaching the island from the north, where there was a bridge. From this side, he would have to take the tiny ferry across to Balboa Island and there was often a long line at this time of day.

But blocks before the turn-off for the ferry, the driver hung a left and headed toward the bay. I was now completely perplexed as to where his house was, unless he lived in the middle of the bay.

And then the driver parked on a tiny street near a small walkway that led to what appeared to be the smallest island I had ever seen.

“Where are we?”

“We’re going over the bridge to Bay Island, Miss. I’ll take you. But we have to park and walk across the bridge. There are no cars allowed on Bay Island.”

It was a tiny island, sitting smack dab in the Newport Back Bay. I’d been down in this area many times but had never noticed it. This area was a popular tourist destination in the summer and Mom often drove the two hours down to soak up the sun and ambiance when the heat of Anza grew too much for the both of us.

Who even knew this place was here? There was no more densely populated area in all of Orange County than the Newport Bay, with houses crowded along the shores like soldiers lined up for inspection. Nevertheless, in the middle of it all was a private island.

The briny smell and clean ocean breeze hit me first, when I stepped out of the town car. I glanced toward the late afternoon sun, still hours from setting, my heart pounding faster with each step I took over that bridge.

Bay Island was like no other place I could imagine. About twenty houses ringed the sandy shores, central tennis courts and a private park. The island even had its own caretaker. The driver keyed in at the gate and led me to one of the golf carts waiting nearby. I wondered why we didn’t just walk. How far away could his house truly be on this tiny speck of land?

But of course, it was the one furthest from the gate, with its own little corner beach and lawn. And it was one of the biggest homes. As we approached, I mentally sized it up, wondering how many bazillions it must have cost him.

All this for one single guy. I thought about what Heath had learned during his investigations. Adam had had no romantic relationships. Why? It was true he was driven and worked long hours. Perhaps he just didn’t make the time for anything else? But why work so hard without having the time to truly enjoy it all? And why not find someone to share it with?

Maybe he saw no need for a relationship or had no desire for it? It couldn’t have been for lack of women wanting him. Not only was he ridiculously rich, but he was ridiculously hot. And I had no way to judge, but I imagined he was good in bed—maybe even phenomenal. Or maybe that was just my hope. But then, I had no basis for comparison, so how would I know?

He greeted me at the door, dressed in a camel-colored dinner jacket with skinny black tie and matching black trousers. He was arrestingly handsome, and welcomed me with a kiss on the cheek.

“You look gorgeous,” he whispered against my temple as the driver receded with the golf cart to fetch the other guests.

“I didn’t want to make a bad impression on your friends, being a north-county bumpkin and all. Best not mention my phone number starts with a 714 area code,” I said, instantly knowing how lame that sounded because what did it matter what sort of impression I made on his friends? They’d never see me again after Adam and I went to bed later that night.

A shiver of excitement slithered down my spine and bumps appeared over my arms at just the thought of it. Adam’s eyes narrowed as if he noticed, but he did not comment on it. He proceeded to show me around—briefly, because a full tour would have taken at least an hour.

The house was arranged around a wide central hall with rooms opening off to the sides and a mezzanine wrapping around three of the four sides of the floor above. Overhead, a giant skylight let the sun in and the room was bright and airy, emphasized with white furniture. I’d stepped into another dream.

If I lived here, with my own beach and view of the bay, I’d never jump on a plane to Amsterdam or St. Lucia or anywhere else. I’d be grateful for this, my own little cove of paradise, and too scared that it would vanish while I was gone.

Adam watched me with an amused smile as I looked around, commenting on this feature or that. I couldn’t get over the private beach and he murmured, for he was standing very close, that maybe we could enjoy it later that evening. Alone.

My pulse raced. “But we’ll be on the yacht, by then.” And, because I had only just remembered, I glanced down toward the bay and saw an empty slip with a little electric Duffy boat bobbing forlornly beside it.

“Yes, about that,” he said, just as the guests were arriving at the front door. “We’ll have to postpone our trip in the yacht. I had to put it in for a minor repair.”

I opened my mouth, about to question him when he stepped forward and received the other couples—there were six people in all—and welcomed them. One couple was considerably older than Adam—thirties and forties. One of the men I recognized as Adam’s lawyer from our first meeting.

He had the light of recognition in his eyes and he darted a strange look at Adam. Heat crawled up my neck. I knew what was going through his mind. Why’d you bring your prostitute here?

I wondered who Adam usually invited with him to parties. If he hadn’t been in long-term relationships, then who was his “plus one”?

Adam stood at my side making introductions. The blond guy, Jordan Fawkes, was Adam’s CFO and apparently ignorant of our arrangement or masked his reactions very well. He stood beside a woman who looked like she could be a Victoria’s Secret model. She wore makeup from her hairline down to her cleavage and her body was flawless. Her dress was so tight it left little to the imagination. I half expected her to start strutting like she was moving down a catwalk. She was, however, very kind and greeted me with a smile, complimenting my dress.

One of the other women present was a pretty blonde who looked like she was in her midthirties. Her husband seemed a lot older than her. She smiled widely for Adam, kissing him on both cheeks. Creepily enough, her husband was leering over her shoulder—at me! His eyes scoured me from head to toe and rested on my cleavage, staring at me like I was a steak and he was four weeks into a hunger strike.

I’d gotten those looks before and brushed them aside without much thought. I’d always figured they were some men’s way of making a power play without ever having to say a word or touch a thing. I lifted my chin haughtily and jerked my head away. He wasn’t worth another thought.

I also noticed the way his wife attended to Adam’s every word and move. She’d been introduced to me as Lindsay Walker, a very old friend. Actually, Adam’s exact words were, “We’re friends from way back.” But the way she kept touching Adam suggested more. She cast a perfunctory—almost dismissive—glance at me when we were introduced and then proceeded to chat him up, reaching out occasionally to touch his shoulder, or his elbow.

In truth, I was bored the entire evening. I had nothing in common with these people and they were all very much a part of the scene here in Newport Beach. And I was very much
not.
I was easily the youngest one there, aside from Ms. Victoria’s Secret. I’d guess that Adam was amongst the youngest as well. A few asked what I did and when I told them I was a hospital orderly and a hopeful med student, they made a little more small talk and then drifted away.

I really didn’t care about the brush-offs. It was a relief, actually. That way I didn’t feel obligated to them to try and entertain them. When we ate—around a beautifully appointed glass table on the covered porch overlooking the harbor—I was at the opposite end from Adam and his “old friend.” Lindsay had entered before most of the others and hastily switched dinner cards—I’d watched while she did it, shocked at her audacity—so that she’d be sitting next to Adam. She wasn’t old enough to be a cougar, but she was clearly quite a few years older than him. I began to suspect they had a history as I watched them over dinner.