Mom, please listen.” Arianna tried to meet her mother’s eyes in the reflection of the tri-fold mirror. Her mom stood admiring her butt in jeans that were designed for a teenager, although the rear in question was perfectly sculpted from hours of private Pilates classes and a plastic surgeon’s expert knife.
Ari’s mom had agreed to meet, but her busy schedule only allowed for a shopping and lunch date. She’d swallowed down some excellent sashimi and was now suffering through shopping at Saks. Shopping couldn’t cheer her up today; not when she couldn’t afford anything. It was completely humiliating when a salesgirl had waved and showed her a darling pair of shoes. She’d had to say no. Her! Their best customer.
At least Lance wasn’t here to witness her humiliation. That would be the crowning touch on an already crappy day. He was at physical therapy but would be picking her up later, as it was Tony’s day off. She’d deemed the risk of shopping with her mother a calculated one, and she’d promised Lance not to ever be alone.
“Ari, I already told you no. It’s time for you to learn some responsibility,” her mother said.
She barely resisted rolling her eyes. “Like you, Mom?” She said it under breath, but her mom heard the muttered words and turned from the mirror, zipping up size twos with a sound like a battle cry. It was always like this when they got together, things ending with fighting words.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing, Mom. I’m having a crappy week. Ignore what I said.”
“No, I’m curious. What did you mean by your rude statement?” Stella pirouetted, examining her reflection in the three-hundred-dollar jeans, and harped on Ari’s lack of responsibility.
Ari hugged a pile of jeans closer to her chest. “I just meant that you’ve never had to work for your money, either.” She took a minuscule step back, dreading her mother’s reaction. Just because Stella Woden had never worked a day in her life didn’t give her daughter the right to disparage her. It had been a rude thing to say, but she couldn’t seem to find the words for an apology.
“Oh, you think holding a marriage together is easy, do you? Well, no wonder you’ve never had a lasting relationship.”
Ari reminded herself again that Mom was the trustee of her inheritance and had the authority to release or hold funds. Snorting with hysterics at her twice-divorced mother’s notion of familial bliss was not a smart move. She swallowed back the choice words on the tip of her tongue and refocused. “My love life isn’t the point here, Mom.”
“Well, what is your point?” Stella stepped away from the mirror and sorted through the piles of jeans to be tried on.
“I need a slight influx of cash to hold the upcoming art show. Remember? I sent you an invitation.” She tried not to let her desperation bleed into her tone. There was nothing her mother hated more than desperation.
“Oh, I remember,” her mother said vaguely. “So modern. A little tacky, don’t you think?”
“No. I like modern art.” Her hands tightened on the jeans in her grip, but she practiced her yoga breathing to keep herself calm.
“Well, what happened? Seems like poor planning to run out of money before the event. When the girls and I chair a benefit, that never happens to us.” Stella kept fingering the jeans, not even looking Ari in the eye. “You need to learn to live within your monthly stipend; otherwise, I worry you won’t be able to handle assuming control of the fund when you’re thirty.”
Like her mother was ever involved in the actual logistics of a big charity ball. She simply wrote the check, bought a dress, and got her name printed on the program. Some poor grunt did all the actual work.
Her mother needed to gain the slightest grip on reality and come down to earth with the rest of the mortals. Ari realized her days with Lance had affected her in unexpected ways. Although she’d always fought with her mother, she’d never seen her for a truly shallow, out-of-touch socialite before today.
“Dad happened. The FBI happened. That’s what.” For the first time in the conversation, she allowed her anger flag to unfurl and wave violently in the tempestuous storm of her temper. How could her mother spend her day calmly shopping when her daughter’s whole world was falling apart?
Stella stood up straight and pursed her lips. “Shh. Don’t talk about that here.”
Ari looked around the large dressing room. “Why not? Are the feds following you, too? Do you know something? Did you know what Dad was doing?” she gasped.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Your father never spoke about business matters with me. We rarely spoke about anything. That’s why we divorced.” She waved the topic of her first marriage aside with a well-manicured hand. “Why is the FBI following you around? Do you know something?”
Ari groaned. “Mom, didn’t you hear me at lunch. I told you, my gallery mortgage is in Dad’s name and the government is seizing it. I guess they’ll sell it or something to try to get some money for the victims. Either way, it means that I have no place to live and no place to have the art show. I need an advance on my monthly stipend to pay professional movers to move the artwork.”
“You can’t stay with me. My condo is in the disastrous demo stage. It’s like living in a Third World country.” Her mother released a dramatic sigh.
Ari leaned back against the beige plaster dressing room wall. Her mother had reaped the benefits of a second divorce with no prenup. She had no emotional, legal, or financial ties to Stanley Rose, her first husband, anymore. She kept busy by serving on the boards of charitable balls and redecorating her condo every few years, and didn’t have much sympathy for the real trials of a struggling business owner. “Mother, I honestly don’t care about your decorator, and I’m not asking to move in with you. For the last time, I’m asking for you to sign a simple paper releasing some of my trust fund a bit early.”
When her mother barely spared her a glance, Ari dropped the pile of maybe-jeans she’d been holding down onto the floor. “You know what? Forget it. I’ll figure this out on my own. Feel free to ignore my gallery invitation. I wouldn’t want to offend your sensibilities by forcing modern art on you.” She stomped out of the dressing room and headed toward the escalator.
It was two o’clock. Maybe Lance would already be outside with the car, although he’d indicated two thirty was more likely.
“Arianna, wait.” Her mother’s voice trailed behind her, but she’d been in between jean changes and would have to find her own clothes in the large pile before giving chase.
She ignored her mother’s pursuing call and brushed past racks of designer clothes toward escape. One flight up through the heavy perfume of the makeup section, and she burst through the glass doors out into the drizzly spring day. No Mini Cooper and no Lance. Damn it. She shuffled through her purse for her cell phone and pulled it out to call Lance.
It barely rang before Lance picked up. “Pulling into the parking lot,” he said.
“Oh, thank God.”
His laugh came through the speaker. “So this is a rescue call. Darn. I thought you missed me and were calling to hear my voice.”
She smiled. It was good to hear his voice, not that she would let him know how much. “Get over yourself, Brown, and get your butt here. I’m at the southern entrance.”
“See you in a second.”
“Arianna Rose.” Her mother’s voice was a harpy shriek behind her. Ari made a slow show of putting her cell phone back into her purse and turned to confront her mother, who had somehow managed to dress and purchase several pairs of jeans in the two minutes since she’d left the dressing room, from the look of the bulging shopping bag.
“Mom.”
The two women faced off in silence, each unwilling to make the first move or say something that would truly sever their tempestuous relationship.
Ari felt, rather than saw, her Mini Cooper slide up next to the sidewalk. A slam of the door told her Lance had exited and was walking toward her. Before she could greet Lance, her mother thrust her shopping bag and car keys into Lance’s grasp. “Please put the bags in my car when you go fetch it.”
“Mom, he’s not the valet,” Ari protested, but Lance grinned and winked at her as he accepted the heavy silver key ring.
“Which car, ma’am?” Then he turned and trotted off into the lot toward her mother’s gleaming Mercedes.
She turned, openmouthed, at her clueless parent. “Mom, I said he’s not a valet. That’s my b…friend. Lance. He’s a Secret Service agent.” She had no idea why she threw in that last bit of detail; it wasn’t like that career path even registered on her mother’s list of acceptable jobs.
Stella shrugged and sniffed her narrow sculpted nose. “First the FBI is following you. Now the Secret Service. Honestly, Arianna, what next? The CIA?”
Ari ignored her mother’s dig. “Was there something else you wanted to tell me? Did you change your mind about the money?”
Her mother faced her and took a breath. “I didn’t want to tell you in Saks, you never know who’s in the next dressing room. I…” Stella paused and looked more vulnerable than Ari had ever seen her post-Botox. “Your trust fund is mostly gone.”
“What?” She must’ve heard her mother wrong. It’d sounded like she’d said her trust fund was gone. But that couldn’t be possible. Could it?
“I kept the fund with your father’s investment firm. He may have been a terrible husband, but he was excellent at making money.”
“But…but…” Ari wanted to throw up.
“I didn’t know. No one did.” Stella patted her arm. “I’m sorry, Arianna. You still have some bonds and real estate, but anything more liquid is gone.”
Ari stumbled over to the concrete bench, not even feeling the hot sun burning on her bottom as she collapsed onto it. “I can’t believe it. I’m a victim, too.” Hysterical laughter bubbled up, mixing with the threat of sobs. What was she going to do? “How have you been paying my monthly stipend if the money’s gone?”
Her mother sat next to her. “I wrote you checks out of my own money. I didn’t want to tell you, but I’m not going to be able to continue. This renovation is costing more than anticipated. I can give you a little to pay for movers.”
She sighed at her mother’s version of parental protection. In this instance it had hurt far more than helped. “What am I going to do?” Her head sank into the comforting cradle of her hands and she closed her eyes. At that moment, Lance drove up in the Mercedes. “Mom, do me a favor, will you? Don’t try to protect me with ignorance. I would’ve made different choices if I had known about my trust fund.” She honestly tried to keep the censure out of her voice, but some crept through.
“I did what I thought best, Arianna.” Her face suddenly brightened. “I know. Why don’t you attend the Literacy Gala tonight in my place?”
“A party, Mom? How will that help?”
“Plenty of wealth will be in that room tonight. People you know. Perhaps you could ask someone for a loan.” She leaned over to kiss Ari’s cheek, then headed for her car.
Ari pondered this idea while her mother opted for her usual dramatic exit, entering her car with a slammed door, gunning the engine, hopping a curb, and narrowly missing another parked car on her way to the lot exit.
Ari and Lance stood on the sidewalk staring after the departed Mercedes for long minutes. Finally she turned to him. “Did she at least tip you?”
He laughed. “Nope. The rich ones always stiff you. They don’t understand how tips supplement the lousy hourly rate.”
She snorted. “Yeah, she doesn’t know diddly about that. Also, I told her you were a friend, not the valet. I guess she figured she didn’t need to tip.” She smiled a watery smile at him.
“What did she say? I’m going to guess from the look on your face that it didn’t go well.”
“You could say that. Do I look like I spent a week in Kabul with no body armor? ’Cause that’s how I feel.” She numbly slid in to the passenger seat of the car and leaned back into the headrest with her eyes shut tight.
“That bad, huh?”
“Worse. Well, maybe not worse. I am alive, with only emotional scars.”
“I figured. You didn’t even make a peep that I got in the driver’s seat.”
She smiled a tiny bit and shrugged. “I’m getting used to it, and though I’d never go on record with this, maybe, just maybe, you’re a slightly better driver.” She raised her hand in the air to cut off any boasts he was about to make. “Shut it. Don’t fish for compliments or rub my nose in it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Lance said dryly and started up the engine. “What did your mother say? Will she release the funds?”
Ari opened her eyes to stare out the window at the passing shops on Wisconsin Avenue. “My mom will not release my trust fund, because there’s nothing left to release.”
“What?” Lance turned to face her, managing to keep steady in his lane of traffic. “What happened to the money? Did your mother spend it? I didn’t think that was allowed.”
Ari fiddled with the window, lowering and raising it repeatedly, watching dust motes flit through the crack into the car. “She didn’t spend it, but she had it invested with my dad’s company.”
“Shit.”
“You said it.” She went back to playing with the window. “What am I going to do? That money was my safety net. Now I have no money and soon no place to live.”
Lance slowed, then stopped at a red light. His hand covered her knee. “What about the art gallery? Is it financially sound?”
“It varies by month. Most months I was able to sell enough art to write a check to my dad to cover the mortgage, but my living expenses were covered by the trust fund.”
“I’m sorry, Ari. I am.”
She nodded. “That’s why this show is important to me. If I sell enough to become a major player in the art scene, it will help the gallery go into the black.”
Lance took a breath and stayed focused on her, even though the light had turned and cars behind them honked. “You’re not ready to hear this yet, but I’ll say it anyway. Having fallback money was nice, but you’re better off without it. Now you can be on your own, counting on yourself without anyone looking over your shoulder or questioning your decisions.”
She leaned over to touch the steering wheel and pointed at the green light. Lance may have meant well, but he was right, she wasn’t ready to hear it now. “You’re only saying that because the money came from my father.”
He frowned and started to drive. “That’s not why I said it, but yeah, living on stolen money is not a good thing.”
“Pull over.” Without looking to the next lane, she tugged on the steering wheel to move the car to the curb.
Lance yanked in the opposite direction, saving them from sideswiping a minivan. “Don’t overreact, Ari.”
“Don’t be such a government suit, Lance.” She turned her back to him best as she could in her tiny car. What had possessed her to buy such a tiny thing? With a bigger car she could’ve climbed into the backseat even in moving traffic to avoid Lance’s commentary. She knew she was behaving badly, but was it wrong to want silence or a simple listening ear?
“Stop taking your frustration with your mother out on me. You’re acting like a spoiled child.” He calmly continued driving.
She turned back to him in a fury and let her angry words flow, ignoring the warning bell in her brain that told her Lance was dead-on accurate. “So now the truth comes out.”
“What truth?”
“You think I’m a spoiled brat, no better than my thieving, conniving father.” Her voice was so shrill and harsh, she half expected the front windshield to shatter from the sound. “Why did you even sleep with me? Did the government put you up to it? Are they hoping I get chatty during pillow talk and spill my father’s whereabouts?”
At last her angry words cracked Lance’s calm façade. He jerked the steering wheel over to the right, cutting off a car, and stopped with a heart-pounding lurch at the curb. She braced herself for the tongue lashing she was sure Lance would deliver, but he sat silently holding the steering wheel and staring straight ahead out the glass. He managed to hold on to his temper when she would’ve snapped. Had, in fact, snapped.
A swirling mix of emotion filled her: annoyance and frustration at her mother, fury at her father, and concern for Lance. She sat in silence waiting for Lance to yell, to speak, to do anything other than stare out the window and hold the steering wheel so tightly, she feared it would break. Finally, he turned to face her.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Ari. Do I hate that your trust fund came from your father’s crimes? Hell, yes, but that’s not why I think you’re better off without it.” He paused as though having an internal struggle over what to say next. “I was trying to tell you that if you go for it on your own, make your own money, then you have only yourself to answer to. It’s a great feeling.”
Ari studied him curiously. She guessed the blanks in his explanation were closely tied to his own experience of shedding his parents’ money and expectations and forging his own path in the Secret Service, but since he’d never admitted to being from a wealthy family, she couldn’t admit she knew.
“Maybe,” she said, shrugging. She wasn’t ready to apologize yet, but he’d given her something to mull over. Perhaps her mother’s idea wasn’t such a bad one. She could make a lot of useful contacts at the charity benefit tonight. All she needed was a dress and a date. “You can drive again. I promise I’ll stop ranting.”
He didn’t restart the car, but instead sat stiffly in the driver’s seat staring out the windshield. “Lance? You okay?” she asked.
It took another minute before he spoke. “Ari, there’s something I haven’t told you.”
“What’s that?” There was one big thing he hadn’t told her yet, and it was all about his wealthy family. She assumed that was what he was about to say, but she held her tongue, letting him guide the big reveal.
Lance swiveled in the driver’s seat, and her stomach did a happy flip-flop as she was struck again by his handsome face. He didn’t have a Hollywood prettiness. He was all male and compelling. “Ari, when I said you’ll be happier when you make your own money, I wasn’t hypothesizing. I was speaking from experience.”
“Oh?” Burgeoning excitement built in her. This was it. His big confession. He looked so agonized, she needed to comfort him, and stroked a palm down his right arm.
“My family has money,” he blurted. “A lot.”
She kept silent, waiting for him to share more. And really, what was there to say to his statement? His familial wealth really didn’t matter to her all that much. It was simply one more facet to Lance.
“I didn’t tell you before because people change when they know who my family is. They treat me differently.”
“I know what that’s like,” Ari muttered.
He smiled faintly. “I bet you do.”
“It’s been eye-opening,” she said, “interacting with people who fawned over me when I was wealthy investment guru Stanley Rose’s daughter. And when the shit hit the fan, I learned who my true friends are.”
He nodded. “That’s why I tend to wait before telling people. But I also have two strikes against me. If the wealthy thing doesn’t affect people’s opinion, the Secret Service thing makes an impression. It’s like I’m the head narc.”
“Is that why you broke off your engagement?” she asked.
“No. I wasn’t an agent at the time.”
“No, I meant because of your wealth.”
“Yeah. I overheard her talking to a friend about landing the richest guy in school. Like she’d gone fishing and caught the big one.” He made a wry face. “Irony is, she probably would’ve dumped me after I refused to go into the family business and applied to be an agent. It wouldn’t have fit her dream life.”
“Well, then, I have a confession.”
He raised a questioning brow at her. “I’m almost scared to find out.”
She laughed, surprised she was able to find humor at all this afternoon. One would’ve thought her mother had bled anything funny out of her. “I knew,” she said simply.
“Knew what?”
“I already knew that your family owns MarketFresh. You probably have more money than my father stole.”
“When did you find out?” He suddenly looked guarded, and it wasn’t a look she liked on him. She hadn’t seen it since the night they’d met.
“I wheedled it out of Valerie the other day.” She saw him doing the mental calculations and adding up the fact they’d already slept together before she knew he had money. He visibly relaxed. “Who started the business? Your father?” she asked, curious about his family history.
“No. It was my grandfather who turned a local neighborhood market into a regional grocery chain, my father took it to the entire nation, and my sister took it even bigger.”
He met Arianna’s questioning gaze fearlessly.
“Where do you fit in that picture?” she asked.
“My father groomed me to take over the company, but I fought him every step of the way.”
“You wanted to be a Secret Service agent.”
He nodded. “I spent a few weeks with Nana in eighth grade, visited the White House, found my calling, and never looked back.” He gave her a wry look. “I can’t believe you knew about my family already. Why didn’t you say something?”
She shrugged. “There was nothing to say. Your family’s wealth doesn’t affect my feelings for you.”
He didn’t say anything, but she could tell she’d have to prove her claim. He’d been burned one too many times. Boy, they were a pair. He thought most women were after his family’s money and she didn’t know if she could ever fully trust a man after the number her father did on her psyche. If her own father could steal her money and throw her to the wolves of the media, it meant any man could do the same. They sat in silence, because words weren’t enough to build trust. It took time. It took action.
Speaking of action…
She turned to Lance again. “Do you have a tuxedo?”
“What?” A tuxedo? Why was she asking that? He was still reeling from the fact that Ari had known about his family and said nothing. Now she wanted to know if he owned a tuxedo. He did, in fact, have a custom Armani tuxedo. It was practically a required uniform for the son of the MarketFresh Browns.
He pulled back into traffic and concentrated on weaving his way around a stopped delivery van that was blocking a lane.
Ari’s comments had rattled him badly. Might she be one of the few women in the world who didn’t give a shit about his family’s wealth? He’d spilled the secret, fully expecting the result would be a request for money. He’d both dreaded and wished for it, because the minute Ari asked to borrow money, he’d assuage the guilt he felt over spying on her for the feds. Yep, call him king of the self-defeating behaviors. He knew it, but hadn’t figured out a way to change. Old habits die hard.
“Do you have a tuxedo?” Ari repeated, gazing at him curiously from the passenger seat.
His fingers flexed involuntarily on the leather wheel, and he glanced away from traffic for a second to toss her a wry look. “Of course I have a tuxedo. Why do I need one?”
“We’re going out tonight.”
His gut cramped. Any place that required a tuxedo was guaranteed to get him recognized as a MarketFresh Brown. It’d be the first time in public with Arianna in which he was Lance Brown, not Secret Service agent Lance. “I don’t think so. We don’t have any leads on your little stalker problem. What if he follows you tonight? You ready to potentially get shit thrown on you again, only this time in public?”
She snorted. “Lance, we’re talking about a charity benefit with the who’s who of Washington. There’ll be more security there than at the local precinct.” She smiled. “Hey, maybe you’ll know someone.”
“Maybe.” Of course he’d know people there. “Are you talking about the security people or the attendees? Because I’ll probably know both.”
She smiled. “That’s right. You really straddle a lot of worlds, don’t you?”
“I do, and it’s not always fun when the worlds collide. I don’t really want to go to any charity benefit. I go to a lot of those for my job, but I get paid to attend. Scanning the crowd for threats is a hell of a lot more fun than schmoozing.”
Her fingertips trailed softly down his forearm. “Please come. I’ll feel much braver if you’re there. Pretty please,” she wheedled.
He couldn’t really say no when she touched him and begged. “Fine.” He was starting to think there was nothing he’d say no to if she was doing the asking.
Sure, he’d told Sullivan he’d keep an eye on Arianna to shorten his medical leave time, but now he was with her for entirely different reasons. He stayed because he was starting to like Arianna Rose; like her much more than any Secret Service agent had the right to like the daughter of a wanted fugitive. Jesus, he had to keep his head in the game and stay focused if he wanted to get back to work in the next few weeks, but it was difficult. She’d kind of rocked his world when she’d confessed to knowing about his wealth, and claimed it didn’t affect her feelings for him. He’d had other women claim the same, but he hadn’t believed them the way he believed Arianna.
“Will your dad be at the benefit?” she asked unexpectedly.
His foot hit the brake overly enthusiastically and they lurched forward. “My dad? What makes you ask that?”
“I just remembered you had dinner with him last night and brunch this morning. I assumed he might be in town for tonight’s gala.”
“I have no idea.” He kept driving, staring straight ahead.
“He didn’t tell you why he was in town? Where did you go for dinner?”
He gritted his teeth and said nothing.
“Lance, are you okay? Why’d you get so tense all of a sudden?”
“I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh. If you’re so fine, tell me about dinner last night with your father, or is that some sort of state secret?”
“What about it?” Maybe he should confess the truth about his role spying on her. It would be an easier conversation than talking about his parents, and then he could stop feeling guilty.
“Um, I don’t know. Tell me anything. Throw me a bone; I’m trying to take my mind off my own financial woes.” Arianna’s impatience with his closed-off attitude bled through her tone. “Can you at least tell me where you ate?”
“The Palm.”
“And?”
“And what?” What else could he tell her? That they’d each had a steak while sitting in his father’s favorite booth under a signed caricature of Ronald Reagan?
“What did you eat? What did you talk about?”
“Jesus, you’re such a girl. What do you think happened? We shared a side salad and a small steak, drank apple martinis and braided each other’s hair.”
“Really?”
“No. We each had a sixteen-ounce strip steak, a baked potato, and said nothing more than ‘pass the salt.’ That’s what men do.”
“But he’s your dad.”
He speared her with a long, piercing look. “And when’s the last time you and your father had a heart-to-heart?”
“Point taken.” Ari slid lower in her seat. “I had a visual of you and your dad talking politics, sports, women…like on a sitcom or something.”
“Well, you of all people know that’s purely Hollywood bullshit. The only thing we talked about was my job. As usual.” Lance clamped his lips shut; he’d already said too much. Ari didn’t need to know that his father saw his temporary leave of absence from work as a great thing and an opportunity to part ways with the Service and go into the private sector.
She brightened. “Oh, he must be proud of you for saving the president’s life.”
“Something like that.” He bristled, then calmed at the feel of her soft hand on his arm.
“Lance, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I can tell it’s a sore subject. I’ll drop it.”
Great, now he’d acted like a total shit who kicked a cheerleader. To make amends, he could get them home, put on a tux, and drive them to the gala as she’d asked.