Holding the Dream (8 page)

“I have an appointment to view it tonight, as it happens.”

“Good. That's good.” She jangled her keys in her pocket before pulling them out. “Well, I hope you like it.”

“I'll let you know.” He closed a hand over hers on the door handle. When her gaze flew suspiciously to his, he smiled. “My daddy taught me to open doors for ladies. Consider it a southern thing.”

She shrugged, slid into the car. “Well, 'bye.”

“I'll be in touch.”

She wanted to ask what that was supposed to mean, but he was already walking toward his own car. Besides, she had a pretty good idea.

“It's outrageous. It's insulting.”

In a rare show of temper, Laura stormed around the solarium. Thirty minutes before, Kate had interrupted homework time, and Laura had shifted from solving the mysteries of punctuation and multiplication tables with her daughters to the shock of hearing Kate's story.

Watching her friend, Kate was glad she'd had the presence of mind to ask to speak to Laura privately. The flash in the gray eyes, the angry flush staining those cool ivory cheeks, and the wild gestures might have frightened the children.

“I don't want you to be upset,” Kate began.

“You don't want me to be upset?” Laura rounded on her, the curling swing of chin-length bronze hair flying, the soft, pretty mouth pulled back into a snarl. “Then what exactly should I be when my sister gets plugged between the eyes?”

Oh, yeah, Kate thought, this definitely would have given the girls a jolt. If she hadn't been so miserable, she would have laughed. Laura the Cool had metamorphosed into Laura
the Enraged. Despite being five two, she looked capable of going ten rounds with the champ.

“Don't want me to be upset!” Laura repeated, her small, almost fairylike frame revving high as she stalked around the lush glass-walled room. “Well, I'm not upset. I'm past upset and heading beyond pissed. How dare they? How dare those pinheaded idiots think for one minute, for one instant, that you'd steal money?”

She slapped at the swaying fronds of a potted palm. “When I think how many times the Bittles have been guests in this house, it makes my blood boil. Treating you like a common criminal. Escorting you out of the building. I'm surprised they didn't bring out the cuffs and the SWAT team.” Sun pouring through the glass walls glinted fiercely in her eyes. “Bastards, idiot bastards.”

She pounced, all five feet two inches of raging fury, on the slim white phone beside the padded chaise. “We're calling Josh. We're suing them.”

“Hold it. No, hold it, Laura.” Torn between tears and laughter, Kate slapped a hand over her friend's. For the life of her, Kate couldn't remember why she'd hesitated to come here, to Templeton House. This was exactly what she'd needed to snap her back. “I can't tell you how much I appreciate the tirade, but—”

“You haven't begun to see a tirade.”

“I've got nothing to sue them about. The evidence—”

“I don't give a fuck about evidence.” At Kate's bubble of laughter, her eyes narrowed. “Just what the hell are you laughing at?”

“I'll never get used to hearing you say ‘fuck.' It's just not natural.” But she swallowed because the laugh had come perilously close to hysteria. “And seeing you storm around this elegant room with all the hibiscus and ferns is quite a show.” She caught her breath. “I didn't come here to send you on a rampage, though it's doing wonders for my bruised ego.”

“This isn't about ego.” Laura struggled to get a grip on her temper. She lost it rarely because it was a powerful thing,
a dangerous thing. “It's about defamation of character, loss of income. We're not going to let them get away with this, Kate. We've got a lawyer in the family, and we're going to use him.”

There was no use in pointing out that Josh wasn't a litigator. She certainly wouldn't have told Laura that the very thought of pursuing the matter, particularly through the legal system, had her feeling nauseated again. Instead, she struggled to keep it light.

“Maybe we could have him tack on loss of consortium, just for kicks. I always liked that one.”

“How can you joke?”

“Because you've made me feel so much better.” Suddenly she felt like crying again, and hugged Laura tight instead. “I knew in my heart you'd stand behind me, but in my head, in my gut . . . I was just so shattered. Oh, God.” She eased away to press a hand to her stomach. “I'm going to start again.”

“Oh, Kate. Oh, honey, I'm so sorry.” Gently now, Laura slipped a hand around her waist. “Let's sit down. We'll get some tea, some wine, some chocolate, and figure this out.”

Kate sniffed back the tears, nodded. “Tea's good. Alcohol hasn't been agreeing with me lately.” She managed a smile. “Chocolate never fails.”

“Okay. Just sit right here.” Normally she would have gone to the kitchen herself, but she didn't want to leave Kate alone. Instead she crossed the glossy fieldstone floor to the intercom by the doorway—the system Peter had insisted they install to summon the servants. After a few murmured instructions, she came back to Kate and sat down.

“I feel so useless,” Kate said. “So stripped. I don't think I appreciated, really, how Margo must have felt last year when she had the rug pulled out from under her.”

“You were there for her. Just like Margo and I, and everyone, will be here for you. Anyone who knows you won't believe you did anything wrong.”

“Even one who doesn't,” she murmured, thinking of Byron. “Still, plenty will believe it. It's going to get out, I can
promise you that. I'm used to defending myself,” she continued. “Skinny girls with more brains than charm tend to hide through high school, or fight through it.”

“And you always fought.”

“I'm out of practice.” She closed her eyes and leaned back. The room smelled like a garden, she thought. Peaceful, calm. She badly needed to find calm again. “I don't know what I'm going to do, Laura. It's probably the first time in my life I don't have a plan.” She opened her eyes again, met the concern in Laura's. “I know it's going to sound foolish, but everything I am and wanted to be was tied up in my career. I was good at it. More than good. I needed to be. I chose Bittle because it was an old, established firm, there was plenty of room and opportunity for advancement, because it was close to home. I liked the people there—and I don't like that many people. I felt comfortable and appreciated.”

“You'd feel comfortable and appreciated at Templeton,” Laura said quietly and took her hand. “You know there's no question that you could have a position there tomorrow. Mom and Dad wanted you in the organization.”

With a taint on her, she thought, that stretched back a generation. No, that she would not ask. “They've done enough for me.”

“Kate, that's ridiculous.”

“Not to me. I can't go crawling to them now. I'd hate myself.” It was the only thing she felt capable of standing firm on. Maybe it was pride, but it was all she had left. “It's going to be hard enough to call them and tell them about this.”

“You know exactly what their reaction will be, but I'll do it if you like.”

Would they remember? Kate wondered. Just for an instant, remember? And doubt. That she had to face as well. Alone. “No, I'll call them in the morning.” She ran a hand over her slim navy skirt and tried to be practical. “I've got a little time to weigh my options. Money isn't an immediate problem. I've got some set aside, and there's the income, meager though it
is, from the shop.” Her hand jerked. “Oh, God. Oh, my God, is this going to affect the shop?”

“Of course not. Don't worry.”

“Don't worry?” Kate sprang up. Her stomach began doing flip-flops again. “ ‘Pretenses' third partner suspected of embezzlement.' ‘CPA skimming client accounts.' ‘Former Templeton ward under investigation.'”

She squeezed her eyes shut, terrified of what that investigation might uncover. Blood will tell. Think of now, she ordered herself. One step at a time.

“Jesus, Laura, it never occurred to me until this second. I could ruin it. A lot of my clients shop there.”

“Just stop it. You're innocent. I wouldn't be surprised if a great many of your clients dismiss this whole business as nonsense.”

“People have a funny attitude about their money, Laura, and about the people they hire to handle it for them.”

“That may be, but you're going to start handling mine. Don't even think about arguing,” Laura said before Kate could open her mouth. “I don't have a lot to work with since Peter scalped me in the divorce, but I expect you to fix that. And it's about time you started pulling your weight at the shop. Margo and I are adequate bookkeepers, but—”

“That's a matter of opinion.”

Pleased, Laura cocked a brow. “Well, then, you'd better get busy protecting our investment. You were too busy before, but now you've got time on your hands.”

“So it seems.”

“And by putting in some time behind the counter as well, you can take some of the pressure off Margo and me.”

Kate's mouth fell open. “You expect me to clerk? Regularly? Damn it, Laura, I'm not a saleswoman.”

“Neither was Margo,” Laura said placidly. “And neither was I. Circumstances change. Bend or break, Kate.”

She wanted to remind Laura that she had an MBA from Harvard. She'd graduated with honors a full year early. She'd been within a breath of a partnership at one of the most
respected firms in the area, had handled millions of dollars a year in accounts.

She closed her mouth again because none of it was worth a damn at the moment. “I don't know an Armani from . . . anything.”

“You'll learn.”

It was self-indulgent, but she pouted anyway. “I don't even like jewelry.”

“The customers do.”

“I don't understand why people need to clutter up their house with dust catchers.”

Laura smiled. If Kate was arguing, she thought, she was coming around. “That's easy. To keep us in business.”

“Good point,” Kate conceded. “I haven't done too badly the few Saturdays I've been able to help out. It's just dealing with people, day after day.”

“You'll learn to live with it. We really need you on the books. We didn't push it before because we didn't want to pressure you. Actually Margo did, but I talked her out of it.”

One of the many wounds she'd been planning to lick healed over. “Really?”

“No offense, Kate, but we've been open about ten months. Margo and I decided after about ten days that we really hate accounting. We hate spreadsheets. We hate percentages. We hate figuring the sales tax we have to send off every month.”

Laura let out a sigh, lowered her voice. “I shouldn't tell you, she asked me not to, but . . .”

“What?”

“Well, Margo. . . We didn't think we could add to our overhead with a full-time bookkeeper, not yet anyway. So Margo's been looking into taking classes.”

“Classes.” Kate blinked. “Accounting classes? Margo? Jesus Christ.”

“And business management, and computers.” Laura winced. “Now, with the baby coming along, it seems like a lot to handle. I'm fairly computer-literate,” she added, hoping to press her point. “I have to be, working conventions and
special events at the hotel. But retail's a different matter entirely.” Knowing the value of timing, she waited a beat, let it sink in. “I just don't see how I could squeeze any classes in myself, between working at Templeton, the shop, the girls.”

“Of course not. You should have told me you were having that rough a time. I'd have picked up the ball.”

“You've been cross-eyed with work for six months. It didn't seem fair.”

“Fair? Hell, it's business. I'll come in first thing in the morning and take a good look at the books.”

Laura managed to keep her smile pleasant rather than smug as Ann Sullivan wheeled in a tea cart. “The girls have finished their homework,” Ann began. “I brought extra cups and plates so they could join you. I thought you might enjoy a little tea party.”

“Thank you, Annie.”

“Miss Kate, it's good to see—” Her smile of greeting faded the minute she looked into Kate's swollen, red-rimmed eyes. “What's the matter, darling?”

“Oh, Annie.” Kate caught the hand Ann had lifted to her cheek, soothed herself with it. “My life's a mess.”

“I'll get the girls,” Laura said, rising. “And another cup,” she added, nodding at Ann. “We'll have our tea party, and work on straightening it out.”

Because Kate had always been the awkward one, and the feisty one, she held a special place in Ann's heart. After pouring two cups, selecting two chocolate-frosted cakes, Ann sat down and draped an arm around Kate's shoulder.

“Now, you drink your tea and eat some sweets and tell Annie all about it.”

Sighing, Kate burrowed. Dorothy from Kansas was right, she decided. There really was no place like home.
 

“I don't like the way she keeps talking about software.” Behind the counter of Pretenses, Margo muttered into Laura's ear. “The only software I want to know about is cashmere.”

“We don't have to know,” Laura muttered right back.
“Because she knows. Think about all the Sunday evenings we sweated over the books.”

“Right.” But Margo pouted. “Actually, I thought I was getting pretty good at it. The way she talks, it's like I was brain-dead.”

“Want to go into the back room and help her out?”

“No.” That was definite. Margo scanned a browsing customer, calculated nine more seconds before the next subtle sales pitch. “But I don't like the way she's taking this whole mess. No way our Kate walks away from a fight.”

“She's hurt, shaken.” Though Laura was worried over it herself. “This is just recovery time.”

“It better be. I'm not going to be able to hold Josh back from storming into Bittle much longer.” A martial light glowed in her Mediterranean blue eyes. “I'm not going to be able to hold myself back, for that matter. Creeps, jerks.”

She continued to mutter as she approached the customer, but her face underwent a metamorphosis. Easy, sophisticated beauty. “That's a gorgeous lamp, isn't it? It belonged to Christie Brinkley.” Margo trailed a finger down the mother-of-pearl shade. “Confidentially, it was a gift from Billy, and she didn't want to keep it around any longer.”