What a Girl Wants (9 page)

“Is everything okay, Dad? You sound strange.”

“Everything is fine.” He hated that word.

“Did you call for a reason?”

“No,” he lied. “I was just thinking about you and wanted to say hi.”

“Oh. That’s nice.”

“You don’t have to sound surprised,” he grumbled. “I’m not an ogre.”

“Well, you don’t usually just call. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Do I have to be unwell to care for your well-being?”

“Maybe.” Belle laughed. Then someone else’s voice sounded over the line, muffled in the background. “Dad, I’ve got to go. The magenta Lycra for the fall line isn’t the right shade.”

“Go ahead, honey.”

“Love you, Dad! Tell Mom to call me.”

She hung up before he could reply. Not that he’d be able to tell her that her mom didn’t appear to be talking to him.

Because he was on a roll not connecting with the women in his family, he decided to call Ariana, too.

“Your henchman has already harassed me today on your behalf,” she said when she answered the phone. “So if that’s why you’re calling, you’re being redundant.”

He sat up. “You talked to Sebastian?”

“Yeah. Great guy,” she said in a fake cheery voice. “Thanks for siccing him on me. What do you have planned next? Sending over someone to infect me with Ebola?”

Ariana had always been such a dramatic girl. “If you give Sebastian a chance, you might be surprised by what you could accomplish.”

“I know. What I’ve accomplished isn’t good enough.”

What she’d done so far, on her own initiative and capital, was nothing short of amazing. He frowned. “I never said that.”

“Not verbally, but you have with your actions. I have to go, Dad. I have a client in five minutes and I have to prep for her.” Before he could reply, she said, “Talk to you later,” and hung up.

Exhaling, he tapped his phone on the table and tried to figure out when he’d alienated himself from the women in his life.

‡

L
ooking for the woman in the picture made Ariana certain of one thing: She’d make a terrible private investigator.

Maybe if she started over fresh. She opened another browser window and tried over again, this time with the company that her dad worked for before he left to start his own. She copied all the female names she found associated with it into a document and then searched for photos of them online. The problem was that the names were all common and yielded a million results.

“This isn’t working,” she declared, drooping in her seat. She made a face at her laptop. Was it too much to ask for the woman to have an uncommon name? Like when she put Sebastian Tate in the search box, the one she wanted showed up first.

She sat up and typed his name, just to prove it.

This time, she clicked on his official bio. She scanned it, shocked by everything he’d accomplished, all the awards he’d received, and the ad campaigns that he’d worked on.

Not just worked on, she realized, reading more.
Spearheaded
was the word often used. It turned out that Sebastian was every bit a world conqueror as her dad.

Depressing thought. No wonder he didn’t understand her desire to keep Dew Me intimate.

Her stomach rumbled as she closed the laptop. She knew there was no food in the refrigerator, so she put on a hoodie and went out to get a juice from across the street.

As she crossed the street, her eye caught the gold neon
PSYCHIC
sign across from George’s garage. She stood in the middle of the street, staring. Maybe Esme could help.

A car honked at her to move. Jumping onto the sidewalk, she continued to stare. Before she could change her mind, she hurried back to her apartment, got the photo, and went to Esme’s.

Esme was at the door before Ariana rang the bell, as though she knew she was going to have company. The woman smiled warmly, looking like she was genuinely pleased to see her.

“I was wondering when you’d stop by,” she said, holding the door open wider. “Come in.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, looking around. Not much of a foyer. Nothing on the walls, no runner on the stairs. It surprised her.

“I’m upstairs,” Esme said, as though reading her mind. She bound up the stairs, stopping halfway to wave at Ariana. “Come on up.”

What had she gotten herself into? She walked up the stairs slower, wondering if she could extricate herself.

But when she reached the top, she stopped, stunned by how homey it appeared. Bohemian, sure, with all the colorful rugs and pillows, but homey nonetheless. There weren’t any crystal balls, tarot cards, or freaky Rasputin paintings in sight.

“My bedroom and kitchen are down the hall,” Esme said proudly. She gestured to two low chairs and a small side table near the front window. “I use this as my office. Have a seat.”

“It’s really nice up here,” she said as she sat down, hoping she didn’t sound as shocked as she felt.

Esme lit up. “It is, isn’t it? I’m lucky. Do you know Dolores, who owns the house? She lives downstairs.”

“The old woman with the huge old car?”

“Her yacht, as she calls it.” Esme laughed. “Dolores has the best stories. So tell me why you’re here. Is it because of Sebastian?”

The sudden getting down to business startled her, but not as much as Esme asking about Sebastian. “Do you know him?”

“We’ve met, of course.”

Of course. She shook her head. “I didn’t come here to talk about him.”

“Oh.”

Esme’s expression became so disappointed that Ariana felt bad. But she reminded herself of the objective and pulled the picture out of her pocket. “I’m looking for this woman.”

Leaning forward, Esme barely glanced at the picture before shaking her head and pushing her seat back. “Don’t.”

“Don’t?” She raised her brow. “Don’t what?”

“Look for this woman.” Esme pointed at the photo.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a distraction from the things that matter. Because some things are better left untouched.” Esme crossed her arms, looking cross. “Because I said so.”

She raised her brow. “Really?”

“One of those arguments was bound to work.” The woman shrugged. Then she leaned forward, her gaze intense. “Seriously, though, I have a bad feeling about this. Nothing good can come from it.”

Ariana tucked the photo away, afraid it was going to go up in flames. “Did you see something?”

Esme shook her head. “I only see love.”

“Love comes in lots of different forms,” she pointed out as she stood up.

“It does.” Esme stood, too, her mouth set into a stubborn line. “But it’s always obvious.”

What she didn’t say echoed loudly in the silence—that there wasn’t any obvious love in the photo.

*

The yoga instructor padded out of the room and turned off the lights to let them lie in meditative peace for as long as they wanted.

Ariana stretched on her mat, eyes closed, mostly because she couldn’t move any of her limbs. Somehow she managed to roll out of savasana onto her side to face her mom. “He tried to kill us.”

Chuckling, Lillian rolled up to sitting. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“Only because he’s pretty to look at,” she whispered.

Her mom got a playful gleam in her eye. “Why do you think I drive all this way for the class?”

“And here I thought you came to workout with me,” she joked.

“That’s just a side benefit, sweetheart.” She rolled up her mat and rose fluidly. “Juice?”

“Yeah.” Ariana got to her feet and followed her mom to the cubby that held their flip-flops and hoodies. They chatted as they went next door to the juice shop. Once they got their juices, they sat at one of the café tables outside the shop.

“Have you talked to your dad?” Lillian asked as she propped her yoga mat by her chair.

She looked up at the peculiar tone in her mom’s voice. “Why do I feel like you’re asking for a specific reason?”

“He’s acting strange.”

“He’s been acting strange since he retired.”

“Yes, but this is different.” Lillian’s brow furrowed as she untwisted the cap on her juice. “He asked me to lunch. What do you think that means?”

“That he’s hungry?” she offered.

Her mom shook her head. “He hasn’t asked to have lunch with me in I don’t know how long.”

“Maybe he’s trying to change that,” she said, attempting to channel calmness. Except that this was about her parents, so calmness was impossible, not to mention that her dad trying to change was alarming.

“Maybe,” her mom said without sounding like she meant it. She forced a smile. “What do you have going on, sweetheart?”

“Not much,” she evaded, toying with the straw in her juice. She wanted to talk to her mom about the picture. Rick had left a message out of the blue, wanting her to call him. He said he’d had thoughts on the woman in the picture. But Esme’s warning rang loud in her mind, and she didn’t know what to do.

Except she didn’t want to upset her mom, so she picked a safer subject. “How’s your art?”

Her mom perked up. “Did I tell you there’s a gallery that’s interested in including my work in an upcoming show?”

“That’s super, Mom.”

“That reminds me, I need to email the gallery manager pictures of the paintings I think will work.” She stood and gathered her things. “I’ll walk you home.”

“But it’s so far,” Ariana joked, picking up her yoga mat. She turned to cross the street, slowing when she saw Sebastian leaning against the entrance, typing into his phone.

He looked up and smiled when he saw her.

Her heart beat harder with anticipation, and that made her walk even slower.

“Is that man waiting for you, sweetheart?” her mom asked in a low, curious voice.

“Unfortunately.” Before her mother could say anything more Ariana walked up to him, digging into her purse for her keys. “You know loitering is against the law.”

“I’m less loitering and more lingering.” He faced Lillian. “We haven’t met. I’m Sebastian Tate.”

Her mother gave her a quizzical look as she shook his hand. “Lillian Warren, Ariana’s mother.”

“Edward’s a lucky man,” Sebastian said, sounding like he genuinely meant it.

Lillian looked surprised. “You know my husband?”

“Dad hired Sebastian to harass me,” Ariana said, looking up from her search.

Sebastian smiled. “The harassment is purely a perk.”

“Interesting.” Her mother turned to her with a
you’ve been holding out on me
look. But then Lillian faced Sebastian. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to be going. It was nice meeting you. Perhaps I’ll see you again?”

Ariana rolled her eyes. “Subtle much, Mom?”

Sebastian chuckled. “If Ariana has her way, I’ll be a mere faded memory in time.”

“And what if you have your way?” her mom asked.

Ariana kissed her mom’s cheek. “Well, it’s been real. See you soon.”

Her mom winked at Sebastian as she turned to head toward her car. “I look forward to seeing if you get your way or not.”

“Me, too,” he replied jauntily.

Ariana waited until her mom was out of sight before facing him. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you about your business.” He took her yoga mat from her arm.

She began searching for her keys again. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“You’re selling yourself short, Ariana.”

When he said her name . . . She closed her eyes and suppressed the delicious shiver it caused. Then she opened her eyes and held her purse up. “I can’t find my keys.”

“You want me to break in for you?”

“You’d do that?” she asked, intrigued.

“Depends.” He studied the door and its lock. “Would you have me arrested?”

No suggestive remarks about handcuffs, she ordered herself.

“Why are you frowning?” he asked.

“No reason.” She turned and walked down the steps.

He followed her. “Where are we going?”

“Next door.” She hurried into George’s garage, Sebastian at her heels.

George stood next to a car with a clipboard in her hand, writing. When they entered, she looked up with a scowl that turned into a smile as soon as she saw Sebastian. “Hey, I looked over the ideas you sent me.”

Ariana turned to face Sebastian. She must have looked surprised because he shrugged and said, “You asked me to help George with her business. We’ve been getting to know each other.”