What a Woman Gets (7 page)

He cocked an eyebrow at her. Funny how her father's eyebrow-cocking only instilled dread but this guy's . . . That wasn't dread flooding her insides.

Or her thighs.

What was
wrong
with her? She had some big-time PR snafus to fix and she was lusting over the guy who cleaned her toilets because he was hot?

Oh, God. She
was
that shallow.

Still, she took the business card he handed her. “It doesn't have your name on it.” Just the logo and the contact info. Plain, functional. Which was nothing like the guy standing in front of her.

The guy shrugged. “I'll have to get Mac on that. I guess it should, though, so people can request people specifically.”

She'd request him specifically.

“Right. I mean, how else will people know who you are?” Damn, she still needed to find out his name.

He cocked his head. “You don't know my name.”

“What? Of course I do. You introduced yourself yesterday.” She kept replaying the scene in her mind, but all she could remember were the tingles that had run through her as he'd stood in her living room while she'd prayed he was a stripper her friends had sent—the ones who'd all but abandoned her this week—and not the actual maid.

How wrong she'd been. And now she was paying for it.

“You
don't
know my name.”

“You're crazy.”

He crossed his arms, and, oh my, what that did to his shoulders. She wouldn't mind being wrapped in those.

“Okay prove me wrong. What is it?”

“What's what?”

“My name?”

Crap. She'd forgotten the question; why couldn't he? “You don't know? That could be a problem. You might want to get that checked out.”

“Funny.” He uncrossed his arms and put his fists on his hips.

Oh my, what that did to his washboard eight-pack—

“So what's my name?”

Dammit. She licked her lips. “Seriously, buddy, if you're not remembering your name, you might want to see a doctor.”

Liam took a step toward her. “You can't back out of this, Princess. You either know my name or you don't. I'm either important enough for you to remember or I'm not.”

“That's not really fair.” Because she'd
never
forget him. Maybe she wouldn't remember his name, but him? No, he was definitely memorable.

“And looking down your sculpted nose at us poor working slobs is?”

“My nose isn't sculpted. This is the nose I was born with.”

The arched eyebrow said he thought differently.

“It is.” She crossed her arms. “Just because most people in my social circle have nose jobs or boob jobs, don't assume I have as well.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I already know you didn't have a boob job.”

He had no business thinking about her breasts.

But, damn, her breasts liked that he did, her nipples hardening beneath the sports bra and flimsy painting shirt she was wearing.

Turn around, Cassidy
.
Walk away from the hot guy. Whose name you still don't know.

Oh God. She didn't know his name. How freaking shallow was she?

Cassidy took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She could admit she didn't remember. Lots of people had trouble with names. It didn't mean she was shallow. Plus, she'd had a lot going on these past twenty-four hours. She'd been nervous about lunch with Dad; that's why she couldn't remember his name. He'd probably only said it once and it'd probably been so fast that she really hadn't heard it.

Still, good manners dictated that she should own up to her memory loss. It could happen to anyone.

A key turned in the front door lock.

Maid guy's head swung around at the sound.

Cassidy's didn't. There was only one person who'd use the key without knocking.

Funny, she hadn't thought she'd be happy to see her father after last night, but if his arrival was going to save her from the embarrassment of having to admit she couldn't remember the maid's name, well then, there was a first time for everything.

“Who the hell are you?”

Dad's question, though well-timed, was as arrogant as Cassidy not knowing his name was shallow.

Maid guy, however, didn't seem intimidated. He stuck out his hand and met Dad on equal footing. “Liam Manley. Of Manley Maids.”

“Your company?”

Liam (!) shook his gorgeous head of hair. “My sister's. I'm just helping out.”

“You work for your sister?” There went Dad's damn eyebrow arching again. “Shouldn't that be the other way around?”

Cassidy wanted to shrivel up and die. How condescending could Dad be? She didn't want to see Liam squirm, but a morbid sense of something had her looking at him.

He looked like a Liam. Big and strong and strapping, like someone from the old country you could depend on to take care of you when the going got tough.

Now why the hell had she thought that?

“I don't really see my sister climbing hip roofs or installing insulation, but I'll mention it to her if she feels the need for a career change.” Liam ended the handshake and turned ninety degrees so her father got the side view.

She, lucky woman, got the front view.

“So, Cass, I guess I'll head into the bedroom to finish up in there. Give you two some privacy to discuss your, ah, issue.”

Cass?
Since when did he call her
Cass
? Since when did he call her
anything
? Well, except for Princess of course, but that'd been said with a healthy dose of sarcasm that she could do without.

Dad watched Liam head into her bedroom. Then he arched an eyebrow at her. “
Cass
? Don't tell me you've made the maid your boy-toy and that's his nickname for you.”

Dear God, her father could be crude. Which was really laughable considering he made every blonde twenty-something his bimbo. And even if she
had
made Liam her boy-toy—not that it'd be any of her father's business—
Cass
would be the last thing she'd let him call her. She hadn't let anyone call her that since, well . . . since Mom had left.

“I'm not dating Liam.”

Dad just arched his eyebrow again.

But this time, Cassidy wasn't going to squirm. His innuendo was ridiculous and, besides, she had another bone to pick with him.

“Why'd you tell a reporter I'm engaged?”

Her father sighed as if he couldn't be bothered to have this conversation. “That's what your frantic call to Deborah was about? Seriously, Cassidy, I do have a company to run. People are counting on me for their livelihood. To feed their families. I can't be at your beck and call over everything someone says about you. Haven't I told you that we
want
to be mentioned in the society pages?”

“But you don't want any word getting out about my painting.”

“That's different. We control the flow of information. Your hobby won't do a bit of good for my company.”

“But my faux-engagement to Burton will?”

“Of course.” Her father picked up one of the throw pillows and turned it about three inches to the left. Damn perfectionist. Just had to show her that what she'd done wasn't good enough for him. “Burton is a valued member of my executive team. A trusted member. He's worked hard to earn his place and he cares for you a great deal. He's the perfect man for you to marry.”

“You make it sound like a business deal.”

Dad looked out the large glass windows. “Love matches certainly don't work out well. Look at this country's divorce rate.”

He wasn't talking about the country. He was talking about him and Mom. He hadn't spoken about her since two years after she'd left. Which was about the time he'd starting looking at boarding schools . . .

“I am not going to marry Burton, Dad.”

He took a deep breath, stuck his hands in his pockets, and turned around. “Yes, you will.”

To say she was shocked would be an understatement. Cassidy had never, in a million years, thought he'd be so controlling as to tell her who she was going to marry and actually expect her to. Or go along with it.

“You can't be serious.”

“Oh, I'm serious. And with the announcement on the front of the society pages, it
will
happen.”

“No it will not.” She was not going to budge on this. He might have picked out her wardrobe, her house, even her name, but he was
not
going to pick out the man she was going to spend her life with.

“It will, Cassidy, and when you calm down you'll see it makes sense. Burton's the perfect man for you. You'll continue to live as you're accustomed and he'll work at Davenport Properties. It's all planned.”

“Really? By whom? Because I certainly wasn't consulted in this plan.”

“You'll do as I see fit, just as you've always done if you want to continue with the benefits of being my daughter.”

“Well maybe I don't want to.” She shocked even herself when she said that, but the look on Dad's face was priceless.

Too bad she couldn't sell it. Especially when he uttered his next statement.

“That's up to you. And it's a decision that needs to be made in the next thirty seconds.”

He tugged back his jacket sleeve and stared at the Rolex that was the model for Burton's. “Twenty-eight, twenty-seven.”

“Your intimidation tactics aren't going to work this time, Dad.”

He arched an eyebrow. “This isn't a tactic, Cassidy. You either play by my rules or you don't play at all. And that includes all the trappings that go with being my daughter.”

“Dad, this is ridiculous. We aren't living in the Dark Ages. I can choose who I want to marry.”

He looked back at his watch. “Fifteen, fourteen.”

He wasn't serious. He wasn't going to disown her just because she didn't want to marry Burton. He was just used to getting his own way. Plus, he needed her too much. It was a power play. Well, she'd been his daughter for twenty-nine years; she wasn't intimidated.

“Nine, eight.” He didn't even look up at her. “Seven, six.”

She crossed her arms. “I'm not giving in, Dad.”

“Four, three, two, one.” He tugged his sleeve down over his Rolex. “I expect you out of here in the next fifteen minutes. You will, of course, leave everything my money has purchased. Except the dog and what you're wearing. I can't turn my daughter out naked on the streets.”

“But you'll turn her out onto the streets just the same?” He was trying to scare her into doing what he wanted.

“Exactly. That's what you get when you think you know better. Prove it.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. “Aren't you going to get moving, Cassidy? I'm sure it will take you at least five minutes to pack the dog's things. Your things, however, won't take as long since I have paid for everything in this penthouse. Since I'm not without a heart, however, I will permit you to take your toiletries. But be quick about it. I now have to go to my real estate broker to put this place up for sale.”

“Sale?” Geez, he was really pulling out all the stops.

“Of course. I can't have an empty property sitting around costing me money. It'll help the other units sell.” He pulled out his cell phone. “Hurry up, Cassidy. I don't have all day. Let's make this quick and devoid of unnecessary emotion, shall we?”

“Dad, I'm not going anywhere.”

“Perhaps I haven't made myself clear.” He punched a button on his phone. “Deborah, I want a locksmith at the Davenport Towers penthouse. Yes, Cassidy's apartment. No, there's nothing wrong, it's just that Cassidy has decided she isn't going to be living here any longer. And call Shel once you've arranged for the locksmith. I want him out here with his photographer right away to get pictures of the place. The maid's here and should be finished within the hour. This place will be in perfect shape for the listing photos.”

Cassidy glanced at the phone. Holy shit. He really was talking to Deborah.

Oh my God. He
meant
it.

He was kicking her out.

No, that wasn't right. He wouldn't just toss his own flesh and blood out on her ass.

Though he
had
tossed Mom out if Deborah's recounting could be believed and Cassidy had no reason to think it couldn't. A few years ago, after Deborah's sister had died and Dad had been on safari in Africa where cell service had been spotty at best, Deborah had had some free time to accompany Cassidy on a site inspection for an upcoming event. One glass of wine at the bar had led to four, and a few stories about her father had come out. Mom had been part of that disclosure.

Mom had had an affair with Dad's head of security. Cassidy would like to say the affair was what had made her father a cold-hearted bastard, but the way he was barking orders at Deborah to arrange the locksmith, the broker, editors of various real estate and architectural magazines, even a spot on the local morning show wasn't something that'd happened because his wife had cheated on him.

“Cassidy, you're down to seven minutes. I suggest you get packed or you and your dog will be left with nothing.”

Yeah, her father had been born a bastard.

J
ESUS
,
are you all right?” Liam stared at the zombie-like creature that had woodenly walked into the bedroom. Cassidy looked as if she'd seen a ghost.

She stared up at him on the ladder but didn't say a word. Her green eyes that had sparkled in anger were dull and lifeless, and she was looking around as if she didn't recognize a thing.

“Cassidy?”

She didn't seem to hear him as she walked disjointedly toward her bathroom, grabbing a bag from her closet almost as an afterthought.

He practically jumped off the ladder and ran after her. She did not look good.

He found her tossing toiletries into the bag. Silly things like loofas and toilet paper and razors.

He slid the bag from her grasp. “Cassidy, honey, talk to me. What happened?” Her father had just arrived. Had something happened? Her mother maybe?

She picked up the scale and put it into the bag, then headed over to the basket of bath gels and stuff, aimlessly picking through them, but not with any real idea of what she was doing.

Liam took the scale out of her bag. He was pretty sure wherever she was packing to go would have a scale. And what did she need one for anyway? The woman was as thin as a socialite should be.

“Cassidy, what's going on? What are you doing?”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “I'm packing.”

“I get that, but for what?”

“The rest of my life, apparently.” A little laugh escaped.

A maniacal little laugh.

He took the basket of bath products she'd picked up out of her hands. “Explain.”

She looked at the basket as if she didn't know what it was, which was odd, since she'd been pawing through it as if every item was a crown jewel, then looked around the rest of the bathroom and made her way, shakily, over to the toilet lid to sit down.

“My father's evicting me.”

Liam set the basket down and wiggled a finger in his ear. “Come again?”

“My father. He's kicking me out.”

“Of here?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Isn't that what evicting means?”

“But why?”

Another laugh came out but this one wasn't really amused. More along the lines of a snort. “Because I'm not getting married.”

Oh. Liam got it. Daddy was putting his two-thousand-dollar-shod foot down. “If you don't marry that guy, he's making you leave?”

“You got it.”

“He can't do that.”

Cassidy's eyebrows went even higher. “Do you
know
who my father is? There isn't much he can't do.”

That was true. “So what's with the rush job?”

“Oh shit.” She jumped up. “I don't have time to talk. I've got to get my stuff and get out of here.” She grabbed the bag, plopped it into the sink in front of her medicine cabinet, shoveled those contents into it, then tossed in an assortment of hair appliances and brushes.

Jeez, she had a brush for every strand of hair.

Figured.

The front door slammed shut.

“What was that?”

Cassidy hefted the bag onto her shoulder. “Damn. That was my father. I have to make sure he didn't take Titania with him.” She almost fell when the bag slammed into the door frame as she tried to run out of the bathroom.

“Here, let me get that.” Liam winced as he slid the handles off her shoulder. Damn it. He didn't even like the woman; why the hell was he helping her?

“I've got it.” She tried to yank it from him.

“Go. Get your dog. I'm not carrying
it
out for you.”

She looked at her bag, then out to the living room, then at him. “Thank you.”

He almost said, “Sure thing, Princess,” but right now wasn't the time for sarcasm she wouldn't get. He was carrying her bag for her while she was being evicted from her penthouse apartment by the man who paid the bills. He ought to be gloating over this. One of
them
had just gotten a dose of reality.

Too bad none of those vacations she'd tried to glom on to earlier had paid off. She could've waited out Daddy's change of heart after teaching his little princess a lesson in style if her so-called friends hadn't bailed on her.

“Titania, no!”

Liam winced when he heard the crash. He had a feeling it was one of the crystal knick-knacks on the end table right where the carpet ended and the marble foyer began. Which meant at least five grand now in shards—that he was going to have to clean up.

“Titania, come here. I don't have time for this.”

Liam heard the cabinets in the kitchen slam and the plastic containers and assorted cans scatter all over the floor.

“Bad girl, Titania!”

“Oh please.” Liam walked in and hunkered down beside the little terror and scooped it up. “Look, mutt, chill. Your mom doesn't need you freaking out right now. She's got an agenda and you need to help out.”

The little yipper-snapper calmed down, thank God.

“Here, give her one of these.” Cassidy tossed him a cardboard canister covered in pink felt and rhinestones.

“Uh, I'm not sure, but I'm thinking rhinestones aren't good for her digestive tract.” God knew, they weren't good for his. He loathed rhinestones, and juggled the canister and the dog as if they were a game of
hot potato
.

“There are treats inside. She likes those.”

“I thought you weren't supposed to reward bad behavior?” He set the dog down. She was looking at him a little too interestedly as he peeled back the lid. For all its designer outside, the inside still smelled like liverwurst dog treats.

“She quieted down. I'm rewarding that.”

“No, you're encouraging her to bark so she'll get a treat when she quiets down. You don't just give these to her randomly throughout the day for being quiet, do you?”

“Really? Is that what you think is most important right now?” Cassidy stretched her arm to the back of the cabinet, her cheek smashed against the drawer above it. “I have a few more important things on my mind at the moment.” She grimaced and leaned into the cabinet some more. “Ah, there it is.”

“What's that?” It was some sort of pink plastic concoction with curled edges and, oh for Christ's sake, a tiara carved into the back of it like a throne. A dog throne.

“This is her bed.”

“And it was in the cabinet why?”

“My father wouldn't like it in the living room or my bedroom. It doesn't go with the décor.”

That was for damn sure. The thing looked as if it'd come right out of a Disney movie.

“Since he's making me leave, I figure it won't matter that Titania sleeps in it now.”

“If you say so.” Personally, he'd have nightmares if he had to sleep in something like that, but then, he wasn't a spoiled socialite's pampered accessory.

But it could be fun to be hers
.

He shut that thought down real quick—until she stood and brushed off her thighs.

Her bare thighs.

How had he missed that amid all the clutter falling from the cabinets?

Damn, Manley. Losing your edge.

Actually, that was a good thing. The last thing he needed to be noticing was Cassidy Davenport's legs.

Except when she leveraged herself on the counter to stand up, and her shirt managed to get caught under her hand and she gave him a quick flash of pink bra and cleavage and
that
was the last thing he needed to be noticing.

Especially with these damn pants that were way too tight to begin with for his liking. And then he had to stand up in them.

Luckily he still had her bag, so he covered his hard-on with it and scooped up the mutt.

“So do you have everything you need for now or are you going to pack up all the closets?”

An odd look crossed her face and he could have sworn her bottom lip trembled. But she regained her self-control quickly, and straightened her shoulders as she purposely closed the cabinet door.

“No, I'm done. This is all I need.” She looked around the kitchen, grabbed a bag from the pantry and dumped the cans of food and boxes of biscuits into it. “Oh, and her leash. I need that.”

“I got it.” Liam headed out to the closet in the living room.

She followed him, slinging the bag—a brown paper bag with twine handles—on her forearm and rearranging the drapey shirt so it covered some parts of her.

“Where's my iPad?” She walked to the sofa back table and rifled through the magazines there. “Did you move it to clean?”

“Last I saw it, it was there.”

“He took it. The bastard.”

Probably better not to point out that the bastard was the one who'd
bought
said iPad. He didn't feel like dealing with tears. The day had started out so promisingly; he didn't want to ruin the rest of it.

“So should I call you a cab or is your car here?” Anything to help the cause along of getting her out the door.

“My car's downstairs.” She held out her hand after she shoved her feet into a pair of sparkly flip-flops. “If you'll hand over the leash and my bag—and my dog—I'll get all of us down to it.”

He was tempted. Man, was he tempted. Get her out the door in one fell swoop. Problem was, she looked as if she was going to collapse before he could.

“I've got your stuff. You have your keys?” He didn't wait for her to nod, but headed to the door and held it open for her. “After you, Prin—Ms. Davenport.”

She stuck her nose in the air, perfect socialite behavior. “Don't call me that. I'm changing my name.”

He rolled his eyes after her. Worthless threat since it was that name that opened doors for her and would continue to, he was sure. Like the ones at the Ritz, or the Hyatt, or hell, especially her father's hotels.

Marco greeted them by name—including the dog. “Your father said you'd be down. Should I call you a cab?”

Cassidy looked at him absentmindedly. “A cab?”

“Yeah, you know, a yellow car?” Liam interjected. “Takes you where you want to go?” He hefted the pooch and stage-whispered in its ear, trying to diffuse the situation because Cassidy still didn't look so hot and there was no need to feed the gossip mill. Marco appeared to be a stand-up guy, but who knew what he'd do if the tabloids came calling for dirt with the right amount of payola. “Your mommy seems to have forgotten how us common people live.”

“That's a really nasty thing to say.”

Good, he'd gotten her Irish up. It worked. Anger was a much easier reaction to deal with than tears.

“Hey, babe, if the Jimmy Choo fits.”

“You think you're so funny, don't you? Acting all holier-than-thou because you were there when my father—” She glanced at Marco. “Uh, just now.”

Liam shrugged and handed the fluff-ball to her. “Just sayin.'”

“You can keep your comments to yourself.” She hiked the pooch and kissed the silly knot on its head. The thing licked her on the lips.

Yeah, the
lips
. Not a big deal, Liam was guessing. The pooch probably made regular trips to the doggy dentist.

The extremely fast and extremely quiet elevator made quick work of the twelve stories to street level, and Marco was the epitome of the not-seen-and-not-heard help as he held the door open for them. Liam would have tipped him, but since Cassidy made no move to, he figured good ol' Mitch's daughter either didn't have to or had an account that paid out handsomely at holiday time. He wasn't sure what the protocol was for this level of high life.

Liam was heading for the front door when Cassidy took a left toward another bank of elevators, fully expecting him to tag along, her flip-flops flopping furiously on the marble floor. It'd serve her right if he dropped her bag right there in the lobby for assuming he was her lackey, but—dammit—he felt sorry for her and didn't want to make a scene after the one she'd just had.

*   *   *

T
HE
second bank of elevators opened into a parking garage unlike any he'd ever seen before. It wasn't just
any
old parking garage. The floors looked like brick, the support columns were Ionic, and he wouldn't be surprised if there were cushioned benches in the shape of that stupid dog bed all over the place. The lap of luxury for luxury cars.

“Son of a bitch.”

Liam did a double take. One did not expect to hear such language from a socialite who'd gone to all the best finishing schools. Not that he knew which schools those were, but that'd been her claim to fame every time she was mentioned in the newspaper. He was fairly certain Cussing 101 wasn't on the curriculum.

“That supercilious, sanctimonious bastard.”

If it was a course, she'd get an A for delivery because the words sounded so incongruous coming from that angelic face.

And then he saw what she was looking at.