Uncovered (19 page)

“And
that’s why you were closer to your stepfather?” I blurted out.

“Yes,
but I wouldn’t tell Margaret that. My stepfather had—” He paused, as if
considering what to say next, then ran his palm from side to side across his somewhat
scruffy chin. “—
commitment
issues that only made my mother colder after
his death.”

This
wasn’t the first time I’d heard of my father’s infidelities. I’d found that
picture of him with Margaret that was dated during his marriage to my mom. And
then, the stepmonster herself had exposed she and my dad were an item before
Mom had sauntered into the picture and married him.

Still,
it stung because I wanted to believe the absolute best about both my parents.

Observing
my silence, Oliver asked, “You think I sound like a spoiled rich boy for
feeling that way about Margaret, don’t you?”

Maybe
if his mother were anyone else other than the woman I’d recently discovered had
bent me over and screwed me with no lube, I might, but I shook my head. “You
know your story better than anyone else.”

“What
about
your
mother?”

I
thought of the beautiful model I’d shared fifteen years with, and my shoulders
touched my ears. “She was—
is
—wonderful.” I glared at the candle in the
center of the table until the flame blurred my vision. I was hardly aware of
our drinks reaching the table, but then Oliver’s hand rubbed against mine.

“Do you
know what you want to order?”

Ignoring
his concerned expression, I looked down at the menu and back at him. “What are
you having?”

“The
barramundi.”

Tilting
my chin up to the waitress, I nodded. “Can I get that too, please?”

“Yes
ma’am. Please let me know if you need anything else,” she said with a genuine
version of the accommodating smile I offered my boss everyday.

As soon
as she left, Oliver resumed his focus on me. “I want to know you,” he said.
“Not just every inch of your body—I want to know
you
. And the longer it
takes me to learn, the better.”

I tried
not to hold my breath, to keep my tone even, but I failed miserably when I
asked, “Are you asking to see me on a regular basis?”

“I’m
already seeing you.” He drank from the craft beer he’d ordered, swallowing
hard, licking his lips to draw my attention to them. “Give me something, Lizzie.”

“What
do you want to know?” I touched my chest, shocked at how quickly my heart was
beating. “My favorite movie is
The Princess Bride
, I’m obsessed with TV
series, and I want to work in fashion.”

He
shook his head. “I already know all that, beautiful. Something new.” Before I
was able to attempt to feed him some of Lizzie’s past, his phone rang. Sliding
away from the table, he looked at me apologetically. “I’ve got to take this,
but I’ll be right back.”

While I
awaited his return, I fished my own phone from my purse to send Pen a message.
Spotting a text from her already sitting in my inbox, I grinned.

Where
are you, woman?!? I’m home and you’re nowhere to be found. Are you with Mr.
Sex-In-A-Business-Suit? If you are, don’t forget what I said!

As if I could. I was about to respond,
but then a hand covered mine. Dropping my phone into my lap, I lifted my eyes
to take in the sight of Oliver, but my gaze connected with the short,
good-looking man standing beside the table. He was older than me by at least
twenty years—maybe mid-forties—with dark hair and eyes and a disbelieving
expression.

 Anxiously, I slid a strand of hair
behind my ear. “I’m sorry, can I—”

“God, if I’d known you were
living in Los Angeles now,” he murmured with a suggestive smile that drained
the blood from my face even before he put a name to me. “It’s so good to see
you again, Alice.”

Alice
.

Not Lizzie or Gemma, but Alice.

Hearing that name instantly
brought to mind the day three years ago when I’d picked a pseudonym for my job—because
no escort used her real name. Pen and I were having dinner with friends at the
Hard Rock, and when I quietly told her about my plan to make the transition
from PSO to half-naked concierge, she’d joked about me going down the rabbit
hole. Up until five months ago, the name had stuck.

Staring back at one of my
former clients, I fought to maintain my composure. I couldn’t remember him,
which was probably a good thing and meant he wasn’t a raging lunatic.

“It’s … nice to see you again,
too.” I peeked around him, keeping an eye out for Oliver. As much as I wanted
this man to go away, I also knew going about it the wrong way could put an end
to my date if I somehow offended him. “How’ve you been?”

“Same as before. I’ve relocated
to L.A. for the next few months while we finish a new development.”

I bobbed my head, hoping I
resembled the good-listener the agencies always advertised me as. “Hopefully
there won’t be any hiccups.” I looked past him once again.

When I returned my focus on him,
he’d wrinkled his forehead. “I promise I’m not being rude! It’s just that … I’m
here with someone tonight.”

His dark eyes widening in
comprehension, he reached into the back pocket of his slacks. “I completely
understand. You’re a gorgeous girl, so I know you must be busy.” Mortified, I
watched as he dug a business card from his wallet. My hand shook as I accepted
it, and I wished to God the restaurant floor would open up and swallow me under
Rodeo Drive.

“Give me a call when you’re
available.”

While I had no intention of
ever contacting him, I knew that it was better to let him believe I was still
in the industry. I folded the card and clutched it in my fist. “I’ll let you
know.”

“See you soon, Alice,” he said,
turning on his heel. He nearly bumped into my date on the way back to the table
he was sharing with a few other men who were most likely business partners.
When he gestured to me, and they all looked over, the flush creeping up my face
flamed higher.

I hoped Oliver hadn’t heard a
word of what was said.

Hesitantly taking his seat
across from me, Oliver turned a scowled to my former client’s table, looking
like he was seconds away from storming over there. “Did I miss something?” he
asked irritably.

“No.”

“He wasn’t harassing you, was
he? I saw him giving you a card and I know the owner of this—”

“No!” I practically shouted.
“He’s a … modeling scout. He wanted to know if I was interested in some commercial
work.” That explanation sounded incredibly cocky, but after thinking of my mom
several minutes ago, it was the first thing that came to mind that made any
sense.

“I told him how awkward I was
behind the camera, but he insisted I take his card,” I added calmly, fidgeting
with my fork’s prongs.

It was just one more lie to
keep up with on top of all the others, and my head spun when I realized just
how fragile the house of cards I’d built had become.

Oliver stayed hushed for a few
moments, tracing his index finger around his half-full beer glass. Eventually,
he lifted his light blue eyes and offered me a slight smile. “Everyone wants
you, beautiful, but you’re mine.”

“Yours?” I laughed because it
was the only thing I could do not to choke. “A little possessive, are we?”

“A little.”

Through the rest of dinner, I
couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being stared at from across the
restaurant. And every few minutes, Oliver threw a curious glare of his own in the
direction of my former client.

Opting to skip dessert, Oliver
seemed like he was in a rush to leave. As soon as the valet brought his black Viper
to the front of the building and we were safely hidden behind the protection of
several tinted windows, he bumped my knees apart.

“Scratch what I said earlier,”
he growled, and I started to frown, but that expression quickly changed to one
of unconcealed pleasure when the backs of his fingers caressed my center
through my panties. “When it comes to you, I’m slowly discovering I’m more than
just a
little
possessive.”

Falling back on Oliver’s mattress, I pulled the
dark green sheets over my breasts the following Wednesday night, struggling to
catch my breath.

“Good God, we can’t do this
anymore,” I groaned.

We’d spent most of the evening
tangled up together, but with Margaret scheduled to call me from Paris the next
morning, I couldn’t afford to stay awake any longer. To say I was disappointed
about that was an understatement. Being around Oliver helped me shove my
problems out of my head, and I welcomed that temporary distraction.

Grinning widely, he flipped
over on his stomach, moving his lips along the column of my throat. “Quitter.”
But he kissed my shoulder, his scruffy face tickling my skin.

“I’m serious, Oliver. It’s—” I lifted
my head to view the clock on the other side of his bed. “—one thirty in the
morning. Your mother is calling me at nine on the dot, and if I’m not there to
pick up the phone, she’ll start harassing Carl and probably Dora, too.”

And the last thing I wanted was
for Margaret to bring me up to Dora. I’d successfully avoided the HR director,
and her requests to sign me up for a company credit card thus far.

“Poor Isadora.” He shook his
head in mock remorse. “No wonder she’s so uptight. But, I can always tell
Easton to forward your calls to your cell.”

“No, don’t do that. Margaret’s
bitchy-sense would automatically pick up on it.”

When he chuckled, I sighed and
started to shimmy off the bed. He closed his fingers around my wrist. “Stay the
night.” When I pressed my lips into a fine line, he rolled onto his back,
giving me a full frontal view of his nudity, and my mouth went dry. Smirking at
the look on my face, he held his hands up in surrender.

“I’m a gentleman, Lizzie, and I
promise to let you sleep.”

“I—” But the unmistakable chime
of his doorbell stopped my words, and I chewed on my lower lip. “Company at one
thirty? I’m guessing it’s not the pizza guy.”

He rolled off the bed, rubbing
his hand over his face. “Shit, it might be important—” Pointing at me as he
walked to his dresser, he warned, “Don’t leave, Lizzie.”

Admiring his body as he put on
a pair of sweats, I shifted beneath his Egyptian cotton sheets. “I’m surprised
you’re not tying me to the bed,” I countered.

“Maybe when I get back.”

Letting his words wash over me,
I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of Jack White’s rendition of “Love
Is Blindness” playing quietly on the music intercom system. There was a good chance
it would lull me to sleep before he came back to the bedroom, which was
probably the reason he’d turned on music before we climbed into bed.

He wanted me to spend the
night.

And knowing that he wanted me
here warmed me in a way I knew was toxic.

I hummed the chorus of the
song, stopping at the part I was unfamiliar with. As soon as I went quiet, I
heard the distinctive sound of a female voice coming through the crack Oliver
had left in the door.

What the hell?

Scowling, I got out of bed,
quickly dressing in my underwear and the clothes I wore over here—Joe’s skinny
jeans, a black tank top, and a plaid roll sleeve shirt. I edged closer to the entrance
and pressed my ear to it.

I heard high-pitched laughter,
and I cringed. A few seconds later, the woman with Oliver spoke, and her words
squashed down my anger before it could rise to the surface.

“No sane man turns down a piece
of ass in the middle of the night, Ollie,” Finley Scott stated. “You can deny
whatever you want, but we’ve been together before, and it was—”

I hummed, running my tongue
over my teeth to drown out whatever she was about to say about their former sex
life.

At one thirty in the damn morning.

Quietly, I opened the door and
stepped into the hallway. I crept toward the sound of their hushed voices,
following it to the family room.

Peeking around the corner, I
saw Finley standing close to the stone fireplace with her hands on her slim
hips and her head tilted back to glare up at the tray ceiling. Oliver leaned
against the wall closest to the entranceway. Even beneath the recessed
lighting, I could see that the muscles in his neck were taut.

He crossed his arms over his
bare chest—the same chest I’d branded with my fingernails not even twenty
minutes ago. “I’d hate to drag you out, Fin, but you’re really pushing your
fucking luck,” he told her tightly. “Go back to Margaret’s. Go to bed.”

“I drove all the way here to
see you,” she hissed, lowering her gaze from the ceiling. “Doesn’t that mean
anything to you?”

“No. It doesn’t. I can deal
with many things, Fin, but cheating isn’t one of them. We’re going on three
years apart now, and I’m tired of doing this shit every time you come to town.”

She sauntered over to him, but
he held her away by her thin shoulders. “You have no clue what I’ve been
through!”

He sneered. “Go back to
Margaret’s.”

“I’m not going
anywhere
.”

Although I absolutely wanted to
hear the rest of this conversation, I realized it wasn’t a good idea. It wasn’t
like he’d invited her to his place—thank goodness—but nothing good ever came
from listening in on things like this. Then I realized something else.

With Finley in the middle of a
quarrel with Oliver, I had been blessed with a chance to take a look inside her
car.

Dragging my attention away from
Oliver and his ex, I crept in the other direction to the backdoor, and as I
slipped outside, I could hear the argument progress to yelling. Walking as fast
as I could without shoes, I reached the front of the house where I found
Finley’s shiny red Jaguar parked in front of the garage bay where I’d left my
Mini Cooper earlier tonight.

God, I hoped she hadn’t locked
the door.

I pulled off my plaid shirt and
wrapped it around my hand. Pulling the door handle, I winced—fully prepared to
take off in a sprint if the alarm went off.

To my surprise, the sleek door
swung open, and I leaned into the tan leather interior, inhaling the scent of
new car.

Since I didn’t have time to
scan what I found, I grabbed every piece of paper inside Finley’s dashboard.
Shoving them into my shirt, I closed the dashboard and the car door. Surprised
at how easy that had been, and feeling a little bad ass, I was halfway across
the driveway and heading to the back of the house when I heard her hiss my name.

“
Lizzie
?”

Freezing, I thanked all the
higher powers she hadn’t walked outside a few seconds earlier. I smoothed my
hands over the paperwork hidden beneath my shirt, dragged in a breath, and
turned around to look at the flushed woman standing several feet away.

“It’s so nice to see you again,
Finley,” I drawled, echoing what she said to me every time we came in contact.

“What are you doing here?” she
seethed, stalking across the walkway, her hazel eyes wandering to my bed hair.
She glanced behind her, and I followed her stare to Oliver. He stood in the
doorway, somehow looking like sex incarnate even though he was scowling. “Why
is
she
here?”

Giving up on my plan to sneak
in through the back way, I walked barefoot toward the front door, offering her
a tiny smile as I passed by. “I came to run an errand for Margaret,” I explained
a little too sarcastically, and I knew I’d probably pay for that.

Tomorrow morning, Margaret
would be all over me.

Finley’s lips parted, and she
pinged her eyes from Oliver to me. “You’re with
her
now? Is this the
reason you’ve been so … strange?”

It was wrong of me to feel so
much pleasure at hearing her say that, but that was the exact emotion that
rushed through my body. Ignoring the voice in the back of my head that told me
I was stupid for feeling anything for a man I’d have to say goodbye to sooner
or later, I hugged myself close. The pages beneath my shirt crackled under my
arms.

Neither confirming nor denying
our involvement, Oliver gave his ex an icy smile that would have made even
Margaret Manning-Emerson tremble. “
Goodnight,
Finley.”

When I passed the stone pillars
on either side of his veranda, I heard Finley say evenly from behind me, “You
probably think this is funny.”

“No.” Halting a few inches from
Oliver, I twisted to see her beside her Jaguar with her hands balled into
fists. “But I’m sorry if you think I do.”

She opened her door and threw
her purse inside. “What was it you told me your father always said to you?” Don’t
say apologize for things you’re not really sorry for?” Her nostrils flared.
“Well, take your own advice.”

A few seconds after the front
door closed behind Oliver and me, her tires squealed, signaling her departure
from his home. His expression blank, he moved toward me, but I pressed my hand
to his chest. I didn’t want him to feel what I’d stuffed down my shirt.

Didn’t want to come up with
another lie this late.

He raced the back of his finger
along the side of my face. “What were you doing outside?”

“I was checking my car for an
extra phone charger,” I said breathlessly. “I promise I wasn’t leaving.” Before
he had a chance to form a response, I stood on my toes and kissed him. “I’m
going to shower and then I’m coming back to bed. And we will actually get some
sleep.”

Exhaling, he nodded. From his
tight expression, it was apparent he was still irritated from Finley’s visit.
“Don’t take too long, Lizzie.”

The moment I locked myself in
the bathroom with the massive body-jet shower, I plucked the papers from my
shirt. As I sat on tile shower bench and leafed through receipts and other
frivolous documents, I felt a sharp stab of remorse.

What if I was being suspicious
of Finley for absolutely no reason?

“What if—” I started, but then
I saw something on the page in my hand that made me blink. It was a bill of
sale from Jaguar for Finley’s car, but she wasn’t the purchaser.  

The stepmonster was.

Turning to the following
page—the temporary vehicle registration—I found Margaret’s name once more.

“What the fuck is going on here?”
I murmured, holding the papers side-by-side, studying them closely. Why on
earth would Margaret buy Finley a car?

Oliver rapped on the door a few
times, and my heart collided against my ribcage. “Is everything alright?”

Gathering the paperwork into a stack,
I found myself bobbing my head even though nobody could see me. “Everything is
… fine.” I folded the pages inside my plaid shirt and tucked the sleeves to
hold everything in.

Then, I stepped into the
shower, my thoughts all over the place. 

*

I made it through security and into my office
the next morning with a couple minutes to spare. A few seconds after I’d
powered on my iMac and lowered my butt to my rolling chair, the phone on my
desk rang.

Before I could murmur a
greeting, Margaret’s voice boomed in my ear, going a mile a minute. I sucked on
the inside of my bottom lip and waited for the verbal lashing that was bound to
happen due to Finley telling her about last night.

To my bewilderment, though, I
quickly realized she was more interested in chatting about early Christmas
shopping than my affiliation with her son.

“I like to mail out gifts to my
favorite editors and colleagues a few weeks in advance, and I don’t have time
to deal with any of that this year. I’ve sent you an email with what I need you
to pick up and who you’ll be mailing what to.”

“Do you want me to work on it
after Thanksgiving next week?”

She blew a breath into the
receiver, and I could just imagine the look of sheer frustration pulling at her
thin lips at this very moment. “If I wanted you to do it
after
I
returned from France, I would have asked you then. Do you understand?”

Tapping my fingers on the
checkerboard paperweight, I held the phone away from my mouth so she wouldn’t
hear me grit my teeth. It was only a matter of time before I blew up.

Margaret had certainly given me
plenty of fuel for a meltdown.

“I’ll get started on the
shopping tomorrow,” I promised, my pulse speeding as I clicked on her email and
glanced over the list that would probably print out to two pages. Certain
brands jumped out to me like Hermès and Givenchy, and I wondered how many
thousands of dollars Margaret’s Christmas shopping would add up to. “Where can
I find all the addresses?”

“Most of them should be in your
Rolodex, but my assistant from last year was so flighty, you might need to do
your own research.” Not bothering to cover the receiver, she barked a command
to whatever poor soul was assisting her in Paris before returning to me.

“What’s the status on that
final transcription? I checked my box for it this morning, but it wasn’t there.
You didn’t forget, did you?”