Party Crashers (11 page)

“Hallo,” the woman purred, stepping between the men. They stopped mid-conversation. LeMon seemed perturbed by the interruption, and took the opportunity to drink deeply from his cocktail. Carlotta directed her attention—and accent—to the unknown man. “I’m Betty, and this is my friend Linda, and we wanted to say congratulations on your nomination.”

The plump man raked his gaze over Betty and interest flared in his eyes. He switched his drink to his left hand—the one with the wedding ring—and shook Carlotta’s hand with his right. “Thank you. I’m Kyle Coffee. This here is Roger LeMon.” His speech was slightly slurred, and he seemed to be well on his way to being toasted.

“How do you do, Roger?” Carlotta said. “Do both of you gentlemen work in the industry?”

“I’m in television production,” Kyle offered. “My buddy Roger is a money man.”

Carlotta smiled. “Ah. Sounds like a most fortuitous friendship. You work together?”

“No,” Kyle Coffee said with an exaggerated wink. “I guess you could say we
play
together, wouldn’t you, Roger?”

LeMon hesitated, then gave a little laugh and turned to look at Jolie.

She fought the clawing urge to run. The relief that he didn’t seem to recognize her gave way to the heebie-jeebies from his lascivious stare. He wet his thin lips, then said to Carlotta, “So, does your friend have that same cute accent?”

Carlotta gave Jolie a questioning look. “Who, Linda? Well—”

“No,” Jolie said softly, but emphasized the Georgia drawl she’d been raised with and had worked hard to dispel. “That is, I have a cute accent, but it’s closer to home.”

They all laughed and Roger moved a few inches closer. The hand in his pocket began to jingle change and his neck loosened with what she assumed was his “hey, chickie baby” stance. “Nice outfit,” he said, looking at her boobs.

“Thanks.” Her mind raced, searching for a line of questioning that might lead somewhere helpful. “Where do you live…Roger?”

He took another drink, as if he were debating on what—or perhaps whether—to tell her. “In Buckhead,” he said finally. “You?”

“Vinings,” she said, glad that her real-estate training had made her so familiar with the metro area. “I just moved to town. What did your friend mean when he said you were a money man?” She managed a flirtatious smile. “You don’t
launder
money, do you?”

Kyle Coffee belly-laughed, blowing his flammable breath all over them. Roger joined in, slightly less amused, a half beat later. “No. I’m an investment broker. What do you do…um—”

“Linda,” she supplied. “I’m an attorney.”

Kyle elbowed Roger. “Maybe she’s a divorce attorney.” He laughed again, scorching the air.

Roger’s thick, dark eyebrows came together. “Maybe you’ve had a little too much to drink, Kyle.”

When the silence began to grow tense, Jolie asked, “So, Roger, do you come to these events to network for clients?”

He shook his head. “No, I come for the same reason that most everyone else is here: to kill time.” He lifted his glass for another drink and winced as he swallowed. “Besides, almost everyone here is already a client of mine.”

She glanced around to humor him. “I guess that means you deal only with high rollers.”

He shrugged. “Well, not to brag, but my minimum investment for new clients is seven figures.”

The man was so bragging. But with those requirements and Gary’s wrecked finances, Gary certainly wasn’t a
client
of LeMon’s. “Do you have a business card?” she asked.

He extended his drink for her to hold, and she took it, feeling a little smarmy just by association. She had the feeling that Roger LeMon was used to people doing what he wanted, especially women. And while some women might find his arrogance attractive, she was repulsed. She watched as unobtrusively as she could as he removed his wallet. On his left ring finger was a gold band—a band he hadn’t been wearing two nights ago. He made a show of opening his wallet, which boasted a thick stack of bills, then withdrew a business card and tucked the wallet back into his pocket.

Jolie glanced at Carlotta, who had noticed the wad of money and seemed to be deep in thought as she sipped her gin and tonic. Unease tickled Jolie’s spine, but she cut back to Roger and offered him a beguiling smile as he handed her his business card.

Feeling bold, she asked, “Is there a private number on your card?”

He pursed his mouth and stared at her cleavage again, then pulled a pen out of his jacket and clicked the end with
purpose…and a gleam in his eye. He turned over the card and wrote something on it, then reached forward to tuck the card in a small breast pocket on her jumpsuit (proportioned, she presumed, especially for small breasts). “Call me soon.”

He stroked her breast as he pulled out his finger and she swallowed against the revulsion that rose in her throat. His hands were long and slender, his nails manicured. The edge of a small black tattoo on his wrist peeked out from beneath his shirt cuff. His smile was cocky as he returned his pen to an inside pocket. Her hands itched to throw the two drinks she held in his face.

“Don’t look now, Roger,” Kyle Coffee said with an elbow nudge. “Here comes history.”

Both men looked over Jolie’s shoulder and fixed smiles on their faces at whoever was approaching.

Jolie turned around to greet the arrivals, and nearly choked. Beck Underwood and his sister stood there, both of them giving Roger wary glances. It suddenly hit her that Beck had mentioned his sister had once dated Roger. Jolie ducked her head and frantically glanced around for an escape route, but found herself hemmed in between Roger and a gigantic sago palm tree. Desperate, she held up her wineglass to obscure her face.

“Hi, Della,” LeMon said, dipping his chin.

“Hello, Roger,” Della replied, her voice surprisingly tentative for an heiress, although based on the dark circles beneath her eyes, the woman looked a little under the weather.

“Hey, Beck,” LeMon said a little too loudly. “Long time, no see. I hear you’ve been living with natives, or something like that.”

“Or something like that,” Beck said coolly.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jolie saw Roger’s hand twitch as he suddenly realized he didn’t have a drink—Jolie was still holding his glass. When he reached for it, Jolie felt all eyes land on her, and she dreaded looking up. When she did, newly shorn Beck Underwood, exquisite in a black suit, white shirt, and silvery tie, was studying her, then “Betty.” Jolie averted her gaze and hoped like heck he didn’t put two and two together and get two—namely, her and Carlotta.

“We came over to congratulate Kyle,” his sister said, extending her hand and a smile to the inebriated man. “Dad couldn’t be here tonight, but he can’t say enough about your work on the
Yesterdays
series.”

Kyle Coffee must have realized the significance of the Underwoods’ presence because he visibly tried to gather himself. “Thank you,” he said, shaking hands with Della, then Beck. “Good to see you b–back, B–Beck,” he ventured, but the alliteration was too much for his sloshy tongue to handle and he giggled nervously. “Uh…meet our new friends,” he said to cover his gaffe.

Jolie was caught.

“Della and Beck Underwood, this is Betty and…and…
Linda
!” Kyle said, proud of himself for remembering.

Carlotta nodded graciously. “Hallo.”

“Oh, you’re from England,” Della Underwood said. “What part?”

“London,” Carlotta said without missing a beat.

“What part of London?” Beck Underwood asked mildly.

Jolie’s heart began to trip overtime. He was on to them.

“Liverpool Street,” Carlotta said triumphantly.

“Ah. Near the station, or in the city?”

Carlotta’s smile faltered for a split second. “Er, near the station…of course.”

He nodded, then he looked at Jolie and his eyes danced with mischief. “Linda—it
is
Linda, right?”

She nodded, feeling like an idiot.

“Are you from London also?”

“N–no,” she stammered in her resurrected Southern accent.

“Linda is an attorney from Vinings,” Carlotta offered, trying to be helpful.

“
Is
she?” Beck asked, his eyebrows lifted.

“Beck Underwood,” a woman’s voice said behind them. “I
knew
our paths would cross again.”

They all turned, and Jolie’s intestines twisted at the sight of the blonde gliding their way dressed in shocking pink. Sammy “Sold” Sanders.

This night just kept getting better.

W
atching Sammy Sanders introduce herself around the circle was painful because the woman personified every stereotype that had plagued the real-estate business for decades: cheesy smile, fake boobs, and an elbow-wagging handshake straight out of Realty 101. Jolie decided to take her chances climbing over the palm tree, but came up short when Roger LeMon hooked his arm in hers.

“You’re not
leaving
…?” It was more of a statement than a question. He glanced toward Della Underwood for a split second, and it hit Jolie like a thunderbolt that he wanted to make the woman jealous. Her flash of anger dissipated when she considered the ramifications—and complications—of unresolved feelings between Roger and Della. A memory stirred…something Beck had said when she’d asked about his return to Atlanta.
“My sister was going through some things I wanted to be here for.”

A love affair gone bad?

By the time Jolie had processed the new possibilities,
Sammy was standing in front of her. “I’m Sammy,” she said, grabbing Jolie’s hand for a pump that would have brought up water from the Sahara.

“Linda,” Jolie murmured.

“Hey, Linda just moved here,” Kyle Coffee boomed. “Maybe
she
needs a house.”

Sammy went from seven hundred and fifty watts to one thousand. “Really?”

“No…no,” Jolie said as quickly as her acquired drawl would allow. “I don’t need a house.”

Sammy’s face fell, then she squinted. “Have we met before?”

Jolie’s heart skipped a beat, then resumed. “No. Like he said, I’m new in town.”

“Linda is an attorney,” Carlotta and Beck said in unison.

Everyone stared. Carlotta cleared her throat and added, “She lives in Vinings.”

Sammy turned back to Jolie. “It’s just that…you remind me of somebody…I can’t put my finger on it.”

Carlotta couldn’t know that Sammy was her former boss, but Jolie suspected that her friend could see the panic on her face.

“Oh, you know what they say,” Carlotta said with a laugh. “Everyone has a twin somewhere.”

Next to her, Roger LeMon’s head jerked toward Carlotta. Jolie winced inwardly when she realized that Carlotta had inadvertently echoed LeMon’s response from two nights ago when she’d said she recognized him from a photo with Gary. Had he just made the connection?

His head pivoted back to her and Jolie saw suspicion flash through his eyes. She maintained a wide-eyed expression for his sake and for Sammy’s. Then Sammy
glanced down at Jolie’s shoes and she snapped her fingers. “Did you get those shoes at Neiman’s?”

Jolie felt her smile waver, but she managed a nod.

“Were you shopping there this week? Monday maybe?”

Jolie managed another nod.

“I’ll bet that’s it,” Sammy said with a big smile. “I probably saw you in the shoe department.”

Beck’s burst of dry laughter got everyone’s attention. He lifted his big shoulders in a casual shrug. “Eventually, you see everyone in Atlanta in the shoe department at Neiman’s.”

“So true,” Carlotta said, jumping on the “save Jolie” bandwagon. Everyone laughed politely, but Roger LeMon kept staring at her. Jolie squirmed and her mind raced for a reason to excuse herself as the sudden lull in the conversation dragged on.

“Linda,” Carlotta sang, “I hate to be a damp rag, but we did promise Hannah that we would meet her.”

“Right,” Jolie agreed in relief.

“It was nice to meet everyone,” Carlotta said, backing away and bowing, leaving Jolie to wonder if bowing was still in vogue in England.

Afraid that Sammy would recognize her voice, Jolie nodded her agreement, sending a smile all around. Kyle Coffee waved good-naturedly and Sammy had refocused her fawning self on Beck Underwood, pressing a cream-colored postcard into his hand. Roger LeMon continued to watch Jolie through narrowed eyes with such dark intensity that if he were somehow involved in this mess, she could understand why Gary had sounded so terrified. She tried to smile, but LeMon’s face remained immobile.

Her numb feet weren’t responding well—she stumbled
past Beck Underwood and he reached out to steady her with his arm. The warmth and strength of his fingers against her bare skin sent a jolt of awareness through her. When she looked into his brown eyes, she saw questions there. She was grateful that despite his obvious bewilderment, he hadn’t given them away.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“You’re welcome,” he said, holding her arm a few seconds longer than necessary before releasing her.

She blamed her heightened senses on the constant stream of adrenaline her body had been pumping throughout the evening, and turned to walk away as fast as her deadened feet would take her. Next to her, she could sense that Carlotta was ready to burst out of her skin. They had barely gotten out of earshot when Carlotta squealed. “Oh, my God, that was so exciting!”

Jolie exhaled. “That isn’t a word I would’ve used.”

“Did you find out anything from Roger LeMon?”

“Maybe…I don’t know.” She touched her thumping head. “This entire thing could be a dead end. Maybe I’m looking for a bigger connection than what’s there.”

“Are you going to call him?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure, but I think he recognized us toward the end.”

Carlotta touched her temple. “Because of what I said about having a twin? I’m
so
sorry. That just popped out.” She winced. “If I’ve blown our cover, I’ll never forgive myself.”

Jolie decided not to make her feel worse by telling her about the phone conversation she’d overheard the other night, and that if LeMon thought they were trying to pull one over on him, he might be incensed…to the point of being dangerous.

“It’s okay,” Jolie said. “I could be wrong about him recognizing us.”

“Beck Underwood saw right through us.” Carlotta elbowed Jolie. “But then again, the man seems to have radar where you’re concerned.”

Jolie’s cheeks warmed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He has a
thing
for you.”

“No, he doesn’t, and if he did, I’m not interested.” Not interested in being a novelty for a man who moved easily in circles she had to crash.

Carlotta pressed her lips together. “Are you still hung up on your boyfriend?” She made a rueful noise. “Of course you are, I didn’t mean to be crass. You don’t even know for sure if the man is dead or alive.”

“R–right.” Jolie drained the remaining inch of white wine in her glass. “Did you find out anything about Kyle Coffee?”

“Other than he can’t hold his liquor? The only thing I noticed that was odd was that he and LeMon have the same tattoo.”

Jolie frowned. “The one on LeMon’s wrist? I noticed it, but I couldn’t make out what it was.”

“Kyle had one in the same place, but I could see his because the slob had lost a cuff link. It was some kind of crest…Maybe a college fraternity thing?”

Jolie splayed her hand. “It could mean nothing.”

“Did your boyfriend have one?”

“No.”

“Hmm. Well, you’re right—it could be nothing. I gathered that you knew Realtor Barbie from somewhere?”

Jolie rolled her eyes. “Sammy is my ex-boss.”

Carlotta made a face. “Did she fire you?”

“No. I quit.”

Carlotta raised her eyebrows, then grinned, revealing her retouched smile. “I like you, Jolie Goodman. You’ve got chutzpah.”

Warm surprise suffused Jolie’s chest, and she conceded a little thrill to be accepted by someone like Carlotta, who was such an interesting character herself.

They climbed a short set of carpeted stairs to another bar area where they swapped two more tickets for fresh drinks. “This is my limit,” Jolie murmured, already feeling a little light-headed. On the other hand, the guilt of consuming free drinks seemed to dissipate with each one, Jolie noted, sipping the crisp chardonnay.

Carlotta stopped a waiter and whipped out her British accent. “Pardon me, could you direct me to the smoking area?”

“There’s smoking outside only,” he said apologetically, and pointed. “Down this hall and to the right, out the doors onto a covered patio.”

She thanked the man, then pulled out her neon-yellow cell phone. “I’ll tell Hannah where to meet us.”

While Carlotta talked on the tiny phone, Jolie realized the raised floor gave her a good vantage for spying. She slid a glance in the direction where they’d been standing earlier. Only Kyle Coffee remained, talking to a new group of people, none of whom she recognized. She picked out Beck and Della Underwood a few yards away, shaking hands with more nominees. Beck was hard to miss because he was at least a half head taller than most of the men in the room. His hand hovered at his sister’s waist protectively and Jolie experienced a stab of envy over their closeness. If she ever became a mother, she would want more than one child to make sure they had siblings
to grow up with and comfort and companionship after she and their father had passed on.

Why those domestic thoughts were whirling through her head now, she couldn’t fathom. She had to get through this chaos surrounding Gary before she could move on with her life. But as she watched Beck move, undeniable attraction curled in her stomach. She liked the way he carried his body—with the grace of a natural athlete. It was, she realized, easier to observe him from a distance. When the man was in her proximity, in her personal space, his presence played havoc with her senses.

She wondered if he’d stepped in tonight for his powerful father, and if he’d minded. Was he the prodigal son returning home to pull his weight in the family conglomerate after whiling away a few years in paradise? Had he been summoned home?

His noise about finding a house notwithstanding, would he stay in Atlanta, or be off on another adventure when things became too staid? That kind of freedom frightened Jolie, it was too…uncertain. She needed boundaries to be able to organize and guide her life, a measuring stick against which to gauge her progress—a by-product of her blue-collar parents, she was sure. She supposed it would be different if one were raised without financial limitations, which probably explained why money married money…being rich was as much a state of mind as it was a state of bank account.

As she watched, a beautiful redhead engaged Beck in conversation. The woman was perfect in every way: perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect figure, perfect clothes, perfect carriage. She angled her body toward Beck in an unmistakable invitation, and he didn’t turn away. He was, after all, a man. A rich man who was accustomed to having
beautiful women throw themselves at him. Jolie’s cheeks flamed that she had even briefly entertained the idea that he might be interested in her.

He laughed at something the woman said, revealing even white teeth, then he glanced around the room and before she could look away, looked up and caught her staring at him. Great. He lifted his chin slightly and a smile played on his mouth before he turned his head to respond to something else the redhead said.

Jolie looked away before she could make an even bigger fool out of herself. Undoubtedly, the man already thought she was certifiable—why not behave like a stalker too?

Keeping an eye peeled for Roger LeMon, she scanned the crowd methodically, thinking she should have watched where he’d gone. A few seconds later, she chastised herself. Just because LeMon gave her the creeps and lied—possibly—about knowing Gary didn’t mean he was a criminal monster. He simply could be a run-of-the-mill chauvinistic jerk.

The wisecrack that Kyle Coffee had made about a divorce attorney—had he been hinting that he himself could use one, or Roger? Neither man, in her opinion, presented himself as being prime husband material. Is that what Della Underwood had decided, or had Roger LeMon ended their relationship?

Carlotta snapped her phone closed and stashed it in her bag. “Hannah will meet us outside in a few minutes. Want to come?”

“Sure. Carlotta…what do you know about Della Underwood?”

Carlotta pursed her mouth. “Actually, Della and I went to the same private high school for a while.”

“Were you friends?”

“No. She was a year ahead of me, and she hung with a very exclusive crowd. Her mother has always been sickly, so she began making appearances with her old man when she was still in high school.” Carlotta laughed. “I was wildly jealous of her, we all were.”

It was hard to imagine that Carlotta would be jealous of anyone.

“After high school, Della was a social diva—a real party girl, but she had a lot of style, you know? Classy. Dated senators’ sons, professional athletes, was always in the social column.” She paused and lifted her shoulders in a slow shrug. “Then…I don’t know, she just sort of dropped off the scene. There were rumors that she was in drug rehab, that she’d had a nervous breakdown, that she’d had a baby—but none of those things were ever verified. She started making appearances again, but she was like this scared little animal, like…like she’d been wounded.”

“What year was that?”

Carlotta squinted. “Ninety-four, ninety-five.”

“What do you think happened?”

Carlotta spoke behind her hand. “Personally, I always wondered if maybe Mrs. Underwood was a mental case, and if maybe Della inherited something.” She shrugged. “But that’s only speculation on my part.”

“She’s never been married?”

“No.”

“Beck mentioned at the museum the other night that she used to date Roger LeMon.”

Carlotta frowned. “Really? I don’t remember that. Not that I’m an expert on the Underwoods.”

Jolie wet her lips. “Has Beck?”

“Has Beck what?”

Her cheeks tingled. “Ever been married?”

A sly smile curved Carlotta’s mouth. “Not unless he got married while he was in exile.”

“What do you mean, ‘in exile’?”

“Beck worked for his dad, but it was well known that they didn’t always get along. Beck was a rebel, a real champion of the working man,” she said, her voice heavy with sarcasm. “If you ask me, leading pickets against his dad’s companies had more to do with making his old man crazy than with sympathy for the lowly masses, but regardless, Daddy Underwood sent him packing.”

Admiration bloomed in Jolie’s chest. Despite her best intentions, she stole another glance in Beck’s direction and saw that he had been cornered by a reporter and camera crew. Of course anyone covering award nominations for broadcasters and journalists would want to talk to the successor to the largest broadcasting company in the Southeast. A spotlight haloed his wide torso as he spoke into the extended microphone. His body language didn’t read like a rebel…He looked thoughtful and distinguished, like someone on the verge of taking over the reins of a company he would most likely inherit. A crowd had gathered around him, and from the expressions on their faces, it was apparent that men wanted to be him, and women wanted to be with him.