Love Is the Drug (2 page)

Jason rolled his eyes and shook his head but replied, “Thanks, Dad. It will.”

“I wonder how that sweet little Julie is handling all this. I saw her on the news earlier and she didn’t look good. Real pale and fragile. Like she was barely holding it together.”

“Julie? Who’s Julie?”

“Julie Del Mar. Connie’s little sister. You remember her. Ya’ll met in the elevator lobby that afternoon as you and Connie were leaving on your dinner date.”

“It wasn’t a date, Dad. You make it sound like there was romance involved. It was a business meeting. And yeah, I vaguely remember meeting the kid. She was dark-headed. Skinny. Had kind of straight long hair and scraggly bangs, as I recall. How old was she, fifteen, sixteen?”

“Seventeen. And full of spit and vinegar. But real quiet, ya know? Not loud, like Connie. I liked her. She must’ve asked me a hundred questions about how to start a business. I remember, I was just walking to the elevator to leave for the day when she came up to me and introduced herself.” Jason’s dad chuckled. “By the time she was finished saying her name and what her relationship to Connie was, she was as red as my Christmas long johns.” He sighed and Jason could imagine him shaking his head in that way he did. “What a gal.”

“
Well, I’m sorry for her. It sounds like she’s nothing like her sister.”

“No, she’s not. Got a good head on her shoulders, that one. But she’s young and I’m worried now that she’s got no one older and wiser to watch out for her, advise her. I just hope the media barracudas don’t go in for the kill.”

“
Connie had money. Her lawyers are probably looking out for Julie’s—and their—best interest.”

“Yeah, it’s not much, but you’re probably right. I hope you’re right, at least.”

Jason leaned down and picked up the contracts from the floor. “Dad, I think it’s a good idea for me to lay low for a while. Just until the initial media feeding frenzy dies down.”

“Hold on! I’ve got just the solution. Go up to Buffalo Pass and bid on some land I’ve had my eye on. It’s going on the block in a coupla weeks and it’s the perfect spot for that fishing resort you and I have been jawin’ about building for years. Whatcha say?”

Jason tried straightening the papers as best he could with one hand.
“Buffalo Pass?
Never heard of it.”

“It’s up near the Dallas/Ft. Worth area. Beautiful country. Lots of oak, lots of mesquite. I’m hoping we can get it for somewhere in the million- dollar range, but it’s worth more.” His tone held a trace of sarcasm as he continued, “I want to buy it before some developer for a fast food chain or a box store gets it.”

“Hey. Bite your tongue.”

Jason’s dad crowed. “Gotcha!” All at once, a clamber of bumps and bangs blasted through the receiver, followed instantly by the sound of shuffling and a muffled,
“Shit.”

Jason’s heart leapt out of his chest and he jumped to his feet. “HELLO? DAD? YOU ALL RIGHT?” He was halfway to the door before his dad answered.

“
Sorry. You still there? I dropped the phone.”

“Yeah,”—he took in a deep breath—“I’m still here.” As he plopped back onto the couch, he said, “Now, about this property. I don’t know if my going up there is such a good idea. What if the media follow me? I was thinking I’d just stay here in Houston, close to home, for the next few weeks. You know, stock up on food and water and pretend it’s the aftermath of a catastrophic event. Jason lifted a brow. “Which it is, now that I think about it.”

“Well, they haven’t aired anything about that fiasco five years ago yet. If you get out of town now, they won’t know where you are. And by the time they figure it out, the story of Connie’s death is going to be two weeks old. That’s stale news in the world of journalism. Especially
tabloid
journalism.”

Jason rested his head back and looked up at the custom track lighting that ran the length of his twelve-foot ceilings. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.” He sat forward. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

“Great!”

“Just give me directions because I’d bet my antique drafting table that it’s not on the GPS. I bet even
Google Maps
doesn’t have a satellite image of it. ‘Course my ’67 Vette doesn’t have a GPS anyway, and I’d better get that car out of storage and use it. That way I can keep my BMW in my high rise’s parking garage.”

“Good idea. Maybe you’ll finally meet a female up there that can appreciate that machine for what it is: The jewel in the crown of General Motors’ automobile empire. That’ll be the gal to marry. Mark my words.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Not that old saw again. And the only reason I own that car now is because you refused to take it when I bought it for you.”

Jason heard the grin in his dad’s voice when he said, “Yep, she’s cherry. Marina blue with white interior. Just like the one I had in high school. But I’m not in the market for a mate—”

“Neither am I.”

“—
I bagged the only babe I ever wanted to be with when I married your mom.”

The kink tightened in Jason’s neck again. “Yeah, Mom was a real ace.”

After a moment of strained silence, Jason’s dad cleared his throat. “You’d better take down the directions now, I don’t want to email anything. Those tabloid reporters don’t think twice about legalities when they’re on the trail of a story.”

Jason felt the tension in his muscles subside. “And how would you know that?”

“I heard it on
Inside Edition.
”

“Isn’t that a tabloid news show?”

“Yeah. So?”

Jason shook his head and smiled. “Nothing.” He retrieved his pen and notepad from the cocktail table. “Now—about those directions.”

After getting the route to the place out in the boonies of Northeast Texas, Jason hung up, shoved the contracts back into the packet, and left it, along with a note for his assistant, on his dining room table. Then he packed his bags. Light. He had no intention of staying one minute longer than was necessary.

Hell.

Please don’t let it be a dry county. With no women and no nightlife.

He could just see it now: Even if there was a bar, its clientele was probably made up of crusty old farts and their plump, matronly wives.

Fun.

* * *

At eleven-forty-five on the morning of the auction, Jason pushed the disconnect button on his cell and grabbed the keys off the table next to the door of the small, furnished bungalow he’d rented.

The bidding would be starting in fifteen minutes. He was cutting it close, but it couldn't be helped. Their new client—the one he and Paul had promised impeccable service to win the bid—had insisted on a conference call this morning to go over the designs Jason had presented to them several weeks ago. They had questions and concerns that only he, the architect, could answer. And unfortunately, the call had taken longer than he'd anticipated.

Luckily, the auction property was only about ten minutes from here, so he’d still be there in plenty of time to make a quick scope of his competitors and gauge what it might take to outbid them.

Then, after he clinched the deal on the property, he’d be able to pack up and get back into the swing of things in Houston.

And it wouldn’t be a moment too soon as far as he was concerned. Because this town was almost as bad as he’d envisioned, except the demographic wasn’t quite as bleak. It had about the same ratio of young to old, male to female, as most places he’d been. There were just a lot
fewer
of them.

Just as he was turning the knob on the front door, the bell rang.
Shit!
He swung the door wide.

“Hi ya, Sugar.”

Nora Lee Blum. The husband hunting divorcée. Fucking fabulous.

Jason closed the door a couple of inches. “Listen—”

But Nora Lee squeezed her rounded tail end and silicone tits through the crack and sashayed across the living room in red sling-back stilettos straight from
Frederick’s
.

Jason’s brain froze. He couldn’t help it; his eyes riveted on her skintight white mini skirted ass and
Invader Instinct
took over.

“Which way’s your kitchen?” she tossed over her shoulder. “Oh. Here it is. Why, Sugar, this is downright gloomy. You need to open those blinds and let a little light in.”

Her Texas lilt broke through his momentary sex fog. She was clearly gunning to stay awhile, if the casserole in her hand was any indication. He looked at his watch and stormed toward the kitchen. “Nora Lee, I’ve got somewhere I have to be.” He jerked the dish out of her hand, dumped it on the table, and then hustled her back toward the front door.

“That needs to go into the fridge! It’s got eggs in it.” She wrestled out of his hold, whipped around him and grabbed it up before hurrying over to settle it on the shelf in the refrigerator. When she turned to face him, she reclined against the door of the appliance and swept her black bug-eyed sunglasses up onto her spiky Texas-Aggie maroon hair, thrusting her man-hand sized mams out at him at the same time.

Jason got a real good look then at the taut nipples that were standing out in succulent relief under the red polka-dot design of her blouse. His mouth watered and his heart began to pound. And if it weren’t for the fact that she was looking for something permanent, not a little afternoon delight, he’d have seriously considered the invitation—for a later time, of course.

After
the auction.

“Gotta go, Nora Lee.” He yanked her forward and propelled her in front of him toward the door.

“But—Maybe I could go with you? We could get to know each other a little better?”

Jason opened the door and pushed her through it. He was probably rougher than he should have been, but he could
not
miss that auction.

“This is business. You’d be too much of a distraction.”

That seemed to mollify her. And God only knew, he hadn’t been lying. That sexy bod of hers
was
a distraction. But one he couldn’t afford to indulge himself in.

He managed to get her in her car. “See you later,” he lied.

He stood with his arms akimbo and tapped his foot as he waited for her to pull out of the drive. She took her time. Normally, her kind of flash attracted him, but there was just something too predatory in her demeanor.

It set his teeth on edge. She was in avid pursuit of a husband. Something that Jason was so far from wanting to be at this time in his life that the mere thought of getting shackled gave him acute symptoms of claustrophobia.

When Nora Lee was out of the way of his car, Jason jumped into his Corvette and screeched out of the driveway.

* * *

Minutes later, Jason gunned the engine, making the red speedometer needle swing and sway a second before zipping up to a stop at the 110 mph mark.

The wind whipped at his hair, sending some of it between his sunglass lens and his eyelid. He felt a sharp poke and then his eyeball began to sting and water.

Damn!
He did
not
have time for this shit. Not after the morning he’d had.

He yanked at the stray strand and rubbed his tormented eye as best he could while keeping his sights on the road ahead.

He was going dangerously fast. Even for him. He knew it. But he
had
to get to that auction and obtain that property. He had to do this for his dad. He could not fuck up.

At least this old farm-to-market road was deserted this time of day.

The double-wide whitewashed metal gate of the auction property came into view just then and he pumped the brake pedal to slow the car.

At the entrance, he turned the steering wheel to the right then touched the gas again to go up the long white chalk gravel road that led to the property and the auction site.

The farmhouse that sat at the end of the road came into view. Jason slowed to a near stop and turned to the right where about twenty other cars were parked, positioning his own next to a fully restored fire engine red 1950 Chevy Pickup. He glanced at it with envy in the second it took to hurl his long legs out of the low, compact sports car and leap out.

He strode toward the people gathered around the front porch and his gut sank. It was all over. The people were milling around, talking to each other and a trash can near the auctioneer’s podium was filling quickly with brochures.

Crap!
Jason’s shoulders slumped. His jaw tightened as he shook his head in total disgust at himself.

He absolutely could not—
would
not—let this property go without a fight. The thought of telling his dad that he’d screwed up their dream—somehow screwed up his dad’s life again—made his stomach churn like a nervous baseball rookie rotating his bat.

Jason straightened, took a deep breath and quickly scanned the area until he found what he was looking for.

A man and woman were seated opposite each other at an oblong fold-up table not far from where he stood. There was a white banner hanging from the end with the name of the auction house in large blue letters across the front of it.