What a Woman Gets (21 page)

C
ASSIDY
was in his bedroom. His closet to be specific. On all fours, if one was getting technical, with her butt covered in stretchy nylon shorts that hiked up over the curve of her cheeks, wiggling as she backed out.

Liam shook his head and raised his eyes heavenward. Seriously? He was a good person. Nice to little old ladies and small children. Helped princesses-in-distress. Walked the occasional purse-candy dog. Why was he subjected to this torture? What in God's name was she doing in his bedroom in his closet? Honestly, he'd put up with the dust if it meant getting her out of here.

“Come on, Titania! You can't stay in here. God only knows what you could get into in here.” Cassidy was inching backward on her knees, dragging the little moptop from its hips while the thing held on to . . . one of his boots. So that's where it'd gotten to.

The dog was trying to pull her legs free while stretching her pink claws down toward the carpet, apparently trying to get a toehold so she wouldn't have to give up her prize, little muzzled growls accompanying every shake of her head as the boot jerked after it.

“Titania, no! That's not yours. Give me that.” Cassidy sat back on her legs, let go of one of the dog's, but Titania seized the opportunity, hitting the carpet running and managing to undo the past few seconds of forward—backward?—progress.

Cassidy huffed, propped herself back up on all fours, and crawled back into the closet.

He ought to get out now. While he could.

But he needed his truck, so he had to talk to her. “Cassidy.”

Her butt stilled. “Liam?”

“Unless you were expecting some other guy?”

She backed out a lot quicker, this time without the dog. “I wasn't expecting anyone.”

“I live here.”

If her father could see her now. If the fiancé-wannabe could see her—

Liam didn't want to think about the guy her father had chosen for her to marry.

She got to her feet. “I'm sorry I'm in here, but Titania ran back when I let her out of her pen and I was just trying to get her out. I know it's an opposite sides violation.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Wearing my T-shirt is, too.”

“Um . . .” She flipped her hair off her neck in a sexy move that he had a feeling was designed purposely to get his attention off the question, but which wasn't going to work on him. And the kicker was, he didn't think she even realized she was doing it. So far, he hadn't seen the disingenuous Cassidy he'd expected when he'd first walked into her condo.

Matter of fact, he hadn't seen
any
of the Cassidy he'd expected.

“I'm sorry. It was on the shelf in the laundry room and I only have one decent outfit left. If you can call it that.”

“You
can
do laundry, you know. I have a perfectly good washer and dryer.”

She winced and looked at Titania, who was sitting there, her little tail wagging and bit of leather hanging from the corner of her mouth, looking up at the two of them as if she had a secret.

Liam had a sudden flash of what that secret was. “You don't know how to do laundry, do you?”

“No.”

He shouldn't be surprised. The Davenports of the world would have someone do their laundry. “Come on. Get your stuff. I'll show you.”

“You don't have to.”

“Why? Because you're going to hand them over to your father's butler?”

“Valet.”

“Excuse me?”

“His valet. Hendricks. He takes care of the clothing and linens.”

“Of course he does.” Liam didn't even bother hiding his sarcasm.

Cassidy sighed. “That sounded pretentious, didn't it?”

Liam headed out of his room—the last place he needed her to be—and prayed she was following him. “Pretentious? No. Unrealistic to the average working man, which I happen to be? Yes. People don't have butlers and valets.”

“You might be surprised how many do.”

“Sweetheart, nothing's surprising me these days.”

He was lying, of course. She was surprising him. Every time he turned around.

Like now, for instance. He turned around and she was right behind him. Close enough that his quick turn hadn't stopped her forward momentum and the next thing he knew, he had Cassidy Davenport plastered up against him.

Her hands were grasping his biceps, her hair was tickling his nose, her scent was taking his legs out, and the rest of her was doing insane things to his insides.

“Liam—”

He practically shoved her into her room. “Stay away from me, Cassidy.” Granted that was a little harsh, but he couldn't help his reaction. He wanted her so badly he couldn't bear her touch
and
keep his sanity. It was one or the other and he was kind of attached to his sanity.

“You're the one who stopped moving. I was just going to get my laundry. Which
you
ordered me to do, if you remember.”

“I didn't order you.”

“‘Come on. Get your stuff. I'll show you.' That's not an order?”

He exhaled. “Okay, so I might have been a bit harsh. The thing is, you do something to me. And I don't want it. I don't like it.”

“Bullshit.”

“I—what?”

“Bullshit. Isn't that what you said to me when I kissed you? You said I knew why I'd done it; well, I say the same thing. You
do
want it. You
do
like it. But for some reason you don't want to pursue it.”

“We aren't doing this.”

“I gathered that.”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. “Look, I am not going to be your boy-toy. Your downtown dude to rub in your father's face.”

“My—?” She stared at him for a few heartbeats too long and he almost caved. “My
downtown dude
? Did you really just say that?”

“You can't deny it.”

“I most certainly can. I am
not
interested in you.”

“I was there for that kiss.”

“So you're hot.” She shrugged as she turned away, and Liam wanted to kiss that disinterested look right off her face. “That's not news. I'm sure you've kissed your share of women.”

Right this minute he couldn't think of a damn one. Cassidy's Irish was up, and it was a mighty fine look on her.

She picked up the T-shirt she'd been wearing yesterday and tossed it onto her bed. “I told you, it was a spur-of-the moment thing. And just now? The only reason I touched you, the only reason I was even
close
enough to touch you, is because you stopped walking. I was on my way to get my laundry for this little impromptu home ec. class of yours and you stopped.” She grabbed the denim shorts that he remembered all too well off the chair. “Maybe you
did
want it and just needed a convenient excuse so you wouldn't have to shoulder the blame for taking it.”

“You're crazy.”

“I must be to stay here.” She balled up the shorts.

“You don't have to.”

“You're right.” She raised her arm to toss the shorts onto the bed. “I don't.”

He arched an eyebrow.

She chucked the shorts onto the bed underhanded, then raked her hair off her forehead. “Look, Liam. The place is big, but it's not that big. Even with the opposite sides rule, we're going to run into each other. So can we make a pact to not automatically assume that the other one is putting the moves on? That it was an accident and means nothing? Please? Despite what you think, that kiss was one of gratitude. I wasn't coming on to you. It just happened.”

His ego didn't like the logical explanation, but for the sake of their living arrangement, he was going to accept it. “That's fine. Ready for your lesson?”

It depended on what lesson he wanted to give her . . .

Cassidy exhaled. So much for the pact. “Sure.”

She sighed as she hiked the laundry basket onto her hip and followed him to the laundry room. There
was
something to be said for living in Dad's world, but hey, if she was cleaning toilets, she surely couldn't complain about cleaning clothes.

Actually, after Liam got done explaining about separating the clothing and different water temperatures and pre-treatments and bleach and drying temps and speeds, yes, she could complain about it. She should have given her dry cleaner a bigger tip during the holidays.

“So, any questions?” Liam asked, shutting the lid to the washer as the machine kicked on.

“Not about laundry, no. Thanks for showing me how to do it. But I
am
wondering what you're doing here. I thought you were working at my old place today.”

“I am. But I got a call that the toolbox I ordered for my truck bed is in and I want to get it installed. So I thought I'd drop you wherever you need to be today first, since you can't drive Mac's van, and then I'll go take care of the truck.”

“I know how to drive a van. Just because I've never worked a washing machine doesn't mean I don't know how to do other things. I'm surprised you trusted me with your truck if you don't think I can drive a v—”

He put a finger on her lips. “I meant that you're not insured to drive Mac's van, so you can't get behind the wheel. I'm sure you're fully competent to drive it.” He took the finger away. “So where do you need to go?”

“Actually, nowhere. I'd planned to stay in and clean.”

“All right. If you need anything, give me a call. I'll be out all day but can swing by if you need me. And I have dinner plans tonight, so I won't be back until late.”

She wanted to ask with whom but it was none of her business. “That's fine. I'll be painting your grandmother's table. I brought it back here to work on during my downtime. You know, like during loads of laundry?” She was going for teasing and after a couple of seconds, Liam got it.

His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, a look guaranteed to knock the socks right off of her. Well, if she'd been wearing any.

This no-contact thing was going to be harder to adjust to than getting tossed out of her home.

L
IAM
was atop a fourteen-foot ladder cleaning the glass transom over the French doors in Cassidy's old bedroom when he heard Mitchell Davenport enter the condo. Crap. He didn't remember anything about not having to be here today.

Liam dug out his phone and brought up the calendar app. Nothing there. He checked his messages. Nothing there either. Hopefully Davenport wasn't planning to show the place because cleaning supplies were all over the dining room table.

Liam quickly finished the transom he'd been working on—the last one would have to wait. He climbed down the ladder and collapsed it so it rested in front of the doors, then headed toward the dining room to gather his stuff.

“Burton, calm down,” Davenport said as he pulled the cord to open the curtains on one of the million-dollar views the guy was known for, standing there as if he were king of all he surveyed. “Cassidy can play out her little tantrum for as long as she likes, but she'll be back.”

Liam plastered himself against the wall. Either Davenport hadn't seen the cleaning supplies or he didn't care that Liam could hear him. And given that the vacuum cleaner was in the center of the living room where Titania's pen had been, Liam was going for the latter. Davenport was the kind of guy who had butlers and valets and cleaning people and maybe even someone to wipe his nose for him, so he'd probably gotten used to talking in front of “the help.” Paid them good money to
not
listen to conversations, too.

But this was one Liam wanted to hear.

“Yes, I know it's been over a week. She must have found some friend of hers willing to take her in and they're holed up somewhere. I would have thought I'd have heard from her after the
Herald
ran the story, and this whole childish adventure would be over with by now. She's really screwing up my plans.”

He'd probably been the one to leak the story in the first place. Talk about a shitty thing to do to his daughter; trying to make her look like a spoiled, self-centered, air-headed brat in front of everyone she knew. Nationally, too, because Liam had seen a glimpse of it on one of the celebrity news programs before he'd turned off the TV in his bedroom last night.

“No, she isn't out of the country. I have her passport.” Davenport swiped a finger along the sofa back table and looked at it. Liam was surprised there was no white glove in attendance. “She'll make it to the dinner, Burton. She's not going to let me down.”

But he could let her down? Jesus. This guy was a piece of work.

“I've already cut off all her cards and her phone. Her jewelry is in my vault, and all my bankers know they're to contact me if she shows up. You know Cassidy; she can't live for a week without her credit cards. She'll come crawling back soon. Might even be today.” Davenport skirted the vacuum cleaner as if it were a bomb. “I do know my daughter, Burton. And you'd better learn how her mind works if you're going to marry her. She's not stupid, just emotional. Takes after her mother.”

No one but Liam would ever know that the look that crossed Davenport's face at the mention of his ex-wife wasn't anger, but . . . pain.

“You'll have to keep her on an even keel. I've suggested medication, but she refuses to take it. Said it made her head fuzzy.” Davenport snorted. “I should've had her nanny crush it into her breakfast every morning. Hell, I should have done that with my wife.”

Liam wanted to shake the man until his head got screwed on right. Drugging his wife and kid? The man had more than just obsessive greed and self-aggrandizement going against him. Father of the Year he was not. No wonder Cassidy wanted nothing from him. Liam didn't even want his business, but that wasn't his call to make. And since Mac needed the income from this contract, he'd keep his mouth shut and provide the kind of service Davenport—and Mac—were expecting from him. But, God, he'd love to punch the guy's lights out.

“No, if she shows up, let her sweat it. No need to propose right away. She's going to learn to appreciate what my money can do for her.” Davenport picked up a crystal knickknack off the end table and looked at it. He puffed on it, brushed it against his coat lapel, then set it back down.

Pretentious SOB. Liam had polished every facet of that thing, knowing the guy would be anal about it. There wasn't a smudge to be had; he was sure of it. Seemed that nothing was good enough for Mitchell Davenport.

Poor Cassidy. Liam had known the guy was a hard-ass when it came to business, but what must it have been like growing up with him for a father? And without a mother to mitigate the emotional damage.

Liam glanced back at the bedroom. At the bed frame where he'd found that bracelet and picture. He needed to give them to her. Maybe they did mean something to her after all, and seeing how dismissive Davenport was of her feelings, Liam could see why she'd kept them hidden.

“Yes, yes, Burton. Of course you'll get your bonus regardless of when she shows up. Can't have my future son-in-law driving a mid-class sedan much longer. You have to look the part. Now, did my lawyers contact you about the name change? Can't have Davenport Properties without a Davenport, can we?” He inspected the mantle, too. Liam ground his teeth.

“We'll make it official the day you marry her.” Davenport fiddled with the knot of his tie. “I'm sure Cassidy will be thrilled not to have to change her name. After all, Davenport does open doors.”

Liam wanted to puke at the play on the company's slogan. “A Davenport Property Opens Doors.” It was all about the lifestyle. All about the appearance to this guy. Everything. Including his own child. Bastard didn't know how lucky he was to still
have
a daughter. What Liam and his brothers and sister wouldn't
do
to have had all these years with their parents, yet this bastard was playing with his family as if they were part of a contract negotiation.

“I'm telling you, Burton, I know my daughter. She'll come back. She's not stupid, just stubborn.”

No, Davenport was the stupid one. The guy didn't have a clue what it meant to have his daughter out of his life. He still thought it was about money.

Liam got it. As he hadn't before. She
wasn't
like Rachel. Cassidy wanted her father's love and acceptance and all his money couldn't buy it for her, whereas Rachel would've taken the platinum credit card and run—off to Monte Carlo or L.A. or somewhere equally as expensive.

“She had a tantrum. She does that every so often. A bit high-strung like her mother. But one doesn't just buy one's daughter off the way one can with an ex-wife, so I have to put up with these moods of hers.”

Liam bit his tongue. Literally bit it, because figuratively doing so wouldn't stop him from saying what he wanted to say. The guy was completely missing the
Father
gene and
Human
was in question as well.

“She'll come back, Burton. She always does. Her
kind
always does.”

If it weren't the exact same thing Liam had said about her himself, he'd take offense at the man's smug condescension.

Now, he just found his own conclusions about Cassidy condescending. And wrong.

“Cassidy's used to the best in this world.” Davenport rearranged a picture frame on the top of the baby grand. “It's all she's known. Her friends can't hope to compete with what I can give her. Not many people can.”

The guy just didn't shut up. Good God, the hubris. What would take Davenport down a few hundred pegs?

What Liam wouldn't do to get the chance.

But . . . why? Why was he so mad on Cassidy's behalf when he'd thought the same things about her?

Maybe that was it. Maybe he was mad at himself. For being wrong. For judging her. For not taking her at face value. He always gave people a chance, but he'd seen the high-rise, had heard all the press coverage about her, and, hell, had
Rachel
for a template for these sorts of relationships . . . It was no wonder he'd jumped to those conclusions, but that didn't mean he had to like it about himself. He'd always prided himself on giving people that chance. On giving them a break, but he'd judged her. Wrongly.

“Oh, she started with these little fits of temper about a year ago and they've become quite the chore. This time she'll learn who holds the cards, and if she wants to continue wearing the high-end designer clothing and shoes she loves, if she wants to vacation at the most beautiful resorts in the world and eat at the most famous restaurants and have the best seats and meet celebrities, she'll get herself under control and come home. Or she'll have to learn how the other half lives.”

As a representative of the so-called
other half
, Liam wanted to walk in there and tell this pompous ass that the other half wasn't doing so bad. Wouldn't the guy shit if he knew that, right this minute, Cassidy
was
living like the so-called other half and doing a damn good job of it?

But it wasn't Liam's place to enlighten him, so he snuck into the dining room and tucked everything back into the Manley Maids tool tote, plunked a baseball cap onto his head, shoved the mop, dust mop, blind cleaner, and extension rod under his arm, picked up the tool box with his other hand, and swung around—

And smacked Davenport across his midsection.

There was more than a small measure of satisfaction in that, but still, there was Mac's contract to worry about.

“I'm sorry. I didn't see you standing there—”

Davenport held up his hand. “Hang on a second, Burton.” He hit the
MUTE
button on his phone. “What are you doing here?”

“Cleaning.”

“Weren't you here last week?”

“Yes, but dust comes back. Since you're selling the place, I thought you'd want it to be in tip-top shape.”

Davenport arched an eyebrow and studied him, his lips pursed. “How much of my conversation have you overheard?”

“What? Me? Eavesdrop? I'm sorry, sir, but that wouldn't be professional.” Firmly entrenching himself in the
peon
category of Davenport's estimation, Liam added that “sir.” Gran always said he could get more flies with honey; Liam was sure the same applied to rats. Besides, it was Cassidy's right to tell the guy where to shove his condescension.

“Hmmm.” Davenport clicked his tongue, then reached into his interior jacket pocket and pulled out—

His wallet.

Oh this was rich.

“Burton, let me call you back.” Davenport slid the phone into his pants pocket, then flipped the wallet open and withdrew a hundred-dollar bill. “I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't say anything to anyone.” He flicked his wrist, presenting the cash in one fluid motion, as if he'd done it dozens of times before. “A nice dinner, perhaps, to take your mind off my little problem?”

Liam should have cleaned out Cassidy's closets. Taken everything. This ass, with his pious condescension in wanting to teach his daughter a lesson, deserved to be shorted a few thousand dollars by losing her wardrobe. The hundred was nothing to him.

But Liam took it anyway, though not for the reason Davenport would think. Cassidy could use this. It wasn't as if he had any intention of telling people what he'd just heard;
he
was trying to forget he'd heard it.

For the first time in his life, he was feeling
sorry
for a spoiled little rich girl—who maybe wasn't so spoiled, and who was definitely nowhere near as rich as he and his siblings were when it came to what was important in life: having someone who loved them enough to take them in.

Not kick them out.