When Empires Fall (43 page)

Quinn smiled, her hand reaching for his free one under the table, sensing his unease and weariness. He set his beer aside and tilted his head to look at her, his dark eyes meeting hers silently, his expression unreadable.

He wished there was some way he could express to her just how much it meant to him to have her there, holding his hand. But he simply didn’t know how.

Beside her sat Lynette, and next to her Linc, who was brimming with adrenaline, jumpy nerves and anticipation, almost to the point of being electric to the touch. Lynette thought briefly of reaching out to comfort him, but thought against it, knowing now would not be the time. Everyone would be watching them tonight, and watching her as well. More than likely the reporters were already noting that it was she, the only daughter of Senator Shaw, sitting beside the Vasser playboy as his date. Imagining the headlines made her feel a little sick, so she pushed the thought away and focused instead on Marshall, who had just made his way onto the stage.

The band slowly eased to silence as Marshall reached for the microphone. He was dressed in an impeccable suit of solid black, with a demure black vest and tie to match. On his lapel was a pin, a golden
V
that had been his grandfather’s. He wore it as both a symbol and a tribute.

“Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, we are so delighted you all could make it,” he began, his smile a bit solemn beneath his thick mustache and his normally cheerful blue eyes respectfully grim. “When we first planned this event, we wanted to honor my mother and my grandmother, Stella and Fern Vasser, both who died tragically of this awful cancer many years ago. We wanted to raise money in their name, and hopefully assist the Cancer Society in its research to combat this disease and save as many lives as can be saved. All of you, as you know, by simply appearing here tonight are doing your part in ensuring breast cancer, and other cancers like it, remain a strong initiative amongst those of us who have had to watch loved ones lose the tragic battle that comes with it. So I thank you, on behalf of my family and families across the world, for giving what you can in the name of life.”

The crowd applauded politely as Grant, Linc, and Madison carefully scanned the sea of faces, gauging reactions, moods, intentions. As of that moment, everything appeared as it should be, but all three of them knew better than to feel relieved just yet.

Marshall continued as the applause died down, his tone slightly more solemn, traces of his grief now edging through his composure. “Now, as many of you have likely heard, our family has recently lost one of our own…my father, Cyrus. Some of you knew him well, while the majority of you may have never had the pleasure. But while his death may signal the end of an era within the Vasser family, it reminds us all just how precious life is, and all we have been given. We stand before you tonight, united and strong under our principles, and we will persevere through this tragic loss. We thank all of you for standing with us, and it is my sincerest hope that you will remain beside us as we go forward, pursuing our destiny as hoteliers and as friends.” He paused then as a staff member approached him with a half filled champagne flute, and as he accepted it he raised it with a generous and companionable smile. “A toast, to my father, Cyrus Vasser.
Santé
.”

As the crowd lifted their glasses and repeated the cheers, Linc’s eyes continued to scan the room. When he noticed the entrance doors to the ballroom open and his father step in, looking disheveled despite the expensive Armani suit he wore, his eyes narrowed angrily. But when the tall, leggy brunette in a skin tight black dress riding high on her thighs stepped in beside him, Linc’s hand tightened so hard on his champagne flute that it may have shattered into dust had Lynette not released his hand from it.

“What’s the matter?” she whispered, her brow furrowed with concern and her lake blue eyes alarmed.

Linc, keeping his gaze on his father, merely grumbled out a barely audible “be back” as he rose to his feet.

Quinn and Grant noticed the exchange, but it was Grant who spotted his father and immediately knew the reason Linc was outraged. Without a word, he left the table and followed his brother, keeping a few steps behind him as Linc skirted the outside edge of the room and made his way to the entrance doors. The second he reached his father and his date, he shoved them right back out through the doors and into the hallway.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” Linc growled, his hands clenched into fists around the lapels of his father’s suit jacket, his face mere inches from the older man’s.

Win’s face went ghostly pale at the look in his son’s eyes, and the second his other son came through the doors and shut them discreetly behind him, Win saw his chance and took it.

“Grant, get him off me!”

Grant didn’t, however, and simply stood, his arms crossed over his chest and disapproval etched clearly in his expression. Beside him, Jorja Hale hovered dispassionately, her heavily painted eyes bored.

“I think you have some questions to answer before we allow you inside, dad,” Grant said evenly, keeping his voice down just in case those inside could hear. As he stepped forward, Linc released their father but kept within punching distance, just in case he had the urge.

“What? I’m not even invited to my own family’s fundraiser?” Win choked out, angry now at the hostile reception he had not expected to receive from his own sons. “I thought we were moving past all that old shit between us.”

“Unbelievable,” Linc spat, throwing up his hands in frustration. “You just don’t listen, do you?” When Win said nothing, Linc turned his attention to Jorja, whose lips curved into a sly smirk as he stalked towards her, his hands in fists at his sides. “Did you do this on purpose? Did the two of you come here together tonight just to rub your affair in my face? To embarrass me in front of hundreds of people?”

“Not at all, honey,” Jorja purred, reaching out to run a finger down the front of his suit jacket. “We ran into each other just this morning and thought it’d be nice to drop by tonight. I assumed my invite had just been lost in the mail or something.”

“It wasn’t lost because you weren’t invited,” Linc said through gritted teeth, tucking his hands deep into the pockets of his slacks in an effort to avoid using them to throttle her. What a headline that would make, he thought bitterly. “Hotel Playboy Strangles Hollywood Slut Ex-Girlfriend On Eve Of Family Event.” Just peachy.

“It’s too late to send them away now, Linc. Everyone inside has seen them.” Grant pointed out, his demeanor much more controlled than his brother’s and his temper kept dutifully under wraps. They could not afford the mistake of showing weakness tonight, and unfortunately Win was the family’s weakest link. But he was there, as was Jorja Hale, who without a doubt had been instantly recognized by everyone inside, including the reporters. Ergo, they had no choice but to allow them back inside.

Linc scowled and eyed his brother, but he nodded. “You’re right. I don’t like it, but I know that you’re right.”

Grant turned then to his father, his eyes hard and his voice level and direct.

“Dad, you and Jorja will remain low key for the remainder of the evening, and refrain from speaking about the murder or about Cyrus. Do not give the press any reason to make a story out of you again. Am I making myself clear?”

“Crystal, Grant.” Win nodded, reaching for Jorja then as she slinked over to slide under his arm. She winked once at Linc, who grimaced in disgust.

Before the four of them could quietly make their way back inside the ballroom, a man came through the elevator and made his presence instantly known.

“Don’t tell me I missed all the fun.” Wyatt grinned as he stalked towards the Vasser men, his arms spread out in greeting. He wore a tailored gunmetal gray suit with a black vest and tie, his trademark fedora perched at an angle on his head. “I came all this way for a good time, and I expect to get my money’s worth.”

“Sweet Jesus,” Linc swore, his face lighting up with a grin as he went straight to Wyatt for a back slapping hug. “What the hell, Bailey, you lose my number or something?”

“Been busy, my friend.” Wyatt pulled away, his hands on Linc’s shoulders companionably as he looked his old friend up and down. “Life’s been good to you, Linc.”

“It’s been something, that’s for damn sure,” Linc said as he patted Wyatt’s shoulder and stepped back, giving him room to greet the others. He went to Win first, embracing the older man with relish. He nodded and tipped his hat politely in Jorja’s direction, then turned to Grant.

The oldest Vasser brother stood firm and resolute, disapproval clear in his eyes. Unlike Linc, he had never really cared for Wyatt Bailey or for what he had done to Madison. And now that he knew that Wyatt had been privy all along to the truth about his grandfather, he felt even less inclined to trust him. “I don’t recall you being on the guest list, Wyatt.”

“Good to see you too, Grant.” Wyatt nodded, having already known he would encounter an obstacle here. “I was in town and Win forwarded an invitation to me.”

“It was not his invitation to extend,” Grant responded coolly, his eyes hardening to a rich, dark amber that had in the past successfully intimidated lesser men. Unfortunately for him, Wyatt knew the game and was well versed in its rules.

With a stance that appeared casual, he tucked his hands into the pockets of his dark gray slacks and smirked. “Would you really send away a loyal supporter of the Vasser family who parted with a sizeable sum of money just to attend this event? Even I don’t think you’re that stupid, Grant.”

For a moment, Grant said nothing, carefully considering Wyatt’s words and digesting them. If Wyatt had indeed donated to the fundraiser, which would only take a few moments to confirm, then he was entitled to attend. Even he didn’t have the power to turn him away, nor did he want to risk the bad publicity likely to come from it if Wyatt talked with the press.

But Madison was inside, and he did not trust that Wyatt was here for any other reason than to see her. Just what he had in mind, Grant couldn’t be sure, but what he did know was that Madison was likely to tear the idiot’s heart out before the evening was done.

With that thought, his lips curved into a slow, deliberate smirk. “You’re the one who’s stupid if you think she’ll let you out of there alive. But be my guest.” He bowed his head ever so slightly, his eyes on Wyatt’s in direct challenge, vague traces of humor in his expression. Then he turned his attention to the others. “Gentlemen, Ms. Hale. Shall we go back inside?”

Marshall was just wrapping up his speech as they trailed back into the ballroom, Win and Jorja taking a seat at one of the back tables and Grant, Linc and Wyatt making their way to the front.

Back at the table, Madison was watching Marshall closely, noting the tone he used as he discussed standing for conviction, rising above criticism and judgment, taking life’s hardest tests and surviving. It was an excellent speech, she had to admit. One she had helped him write herself. It was meant to convey that the Vasser family was going to remain strong and unified. And while Marshall made sure not to mention the tabloid or the murder, it was implied that the family was moving past the scandal and prepared to go on, sturdier than ever.

Little did anyone know that the scandal was on the brink of becoming a cold, hard fact that the family would no longer be able to ignore. It was sure to be a test; a savage and severely demoralizing test that she couldn’t stop any more than she could stop a moving train.

She had briefly noticed Linc and Grant leave to deal with her father and that whore Jorja Hale, but she hadn’t worried herself with it. When they returned silently to their seats, she kept her eyes on Marshall, keeping her attention dutifully focused.

But suddenly the chair beside her that was to be Marshall’s was pulled out, and someone lowered themselves into it. Someone wearing Giorgio Armani cologne, a scent she would have recognized anywhere.

Her hackles rose instantly even as her breath froze to bitter ice in her throat, her hands tightening on the napkin she held in her lap. And when she felt his hand casually brush her shoulder, felt the heat from his skin as his face hovered next to hers, she nearly whirled around to strike him. Instead, she remained composed and disinterested, knowing it was likely to frustrate him the most.

But inside, hidden from view, her heart jolted and panged, then sighed with relief at his touch.

“
Bonjour, ma belle,
” Wyatt murmured into her ear, his own heart galloping wildly in his chest just at the sight of her, diamonds layered like forbidden treasure over the smooth, ivory skin of her neck. But he kept his demeanor lax, calm, controlled. If she knew, even now, how much she affected him, she would surely use it against him. She certainly had in the past.

At that same moment Marshall finished speaking and the crowd began to applaud, so she took the brief moment to soothe her wracked nerves from his sudden assault to her system. As the applause slowed and the music began once more, she tilted her head over her shoulder to eye her ex-lover with a cool, level stare.

“My, my, aren’t we daring.” She all but purred the words, her sultry voice rolling over them like smooth water in the darkest of nights. It took all he had to remember how to breathe.

“You look stunning. But then again, you always did, even then.” He reached out to trail a hand slowly down her neck, caressing over her shoulder and sliding smoothly down her arm. The brief flicker of fury in her eyes told him he was treading on very testy waters. But, then again, he’d known the risks when he’d decided to show up. “I’m sorry to hear about Cyrus. Well, not too sorry.” He added with a dark smirk, his eyes sharpening with an old, long held distaste.