Chapter Seventeen

Michaela

 

Lincoln’s rescue surprised me—yet didn’t. But I appreciated the buffer for William Howell, the most condescending jackass I’d met in a long damn while. I almost giggled once we stepped outside the house, but didn’t want to give anything away in case we were watched.

Lincoln cut a fine figure in his suit. Was it the same he wore to the wedding? I wasn’t paying attention to the specifics of his clothing when I was trying to get him out of it.

That felt so long ago even though it was less than a week. My life was now marked as pre-Harry’s-death and post, and everything before seemed far away.

Especially being here among society.

The Thompsons were old money. I didn’t know what from. Thompson Manor was a huge old estate. The current residents were the third generation, the brick mansion commissioned by Mr. Thompson’s grandfather.

They were in their sixties like Harry was and Mrs. Thompson loved to throw parties.

I’d chosen the black dress because most of these people would expect me to be in mourning and I was prepared to hear I’m so sorry for your loss about fifty times over.

But it had a tastefully-low back to show I was a badass bitch who wasn’t meek. As much as I despised my mother’s lessons, I was happy to have that training now. Always be a lady, but with an edge that conveys your formidability.

The butler opened the door. “Good evening, miss. Sir. May I take your coats?”

I handed over mine, watching where it was hung, before continuing further into the house. Lincoln hadn’t brought an overcoat.

He led me through the grand foyer to the giant parlor where the party was taking place, a hand on my back. My spine lit up in awareness of his close presence. My mind had set him aside but my body tingled at any contact with him. Traitor.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked.

“A soda, thanks.”

He nodded and we continued to the bar. The bartender handed me a glass of lemon-lime pop while Lincoln ordered scotch to sip. You don’t wander parties like this empty-handed.

We went to find the hosts once we had the drinks.

Mrs. Thompson’s eyes lit up when she spotted him. “Lincoln Adams! So glad you could make it. And who is this lovely young woman?”

“Patricia Thompson, this is Michaela Simon.”

“Oh!” She extended her hand. “It’s good to see you, dear.” Then her eyes went sad. “So sorry to hear about Harry’s passing. He and Mr. Thompson used to play golf together.”

“Thank you. It was a surprise to me, as well. I miss him very much.”

“Well, if there’s anything we can do, just let us know,” Patricia added warmly. “Harry designed our dinner table.” She linked arms with me as she said, “Come, dear. There are so many people to introduce you to.”

I looked back to him for help. He shrugged and smiled a little as she dragged me off too quickly to be rescued, then mingled, keeping an eye on my whereabouts.

Why was I so aware of him? Every time my attention deviated from yet another introduction, my gaze found him immediately.

When I was beyond done, Lincoln came to the rescue. “Excuse me, ladies,” he cut in, flashing his most charming smile. “I need to borrow Miss Simon for a few minutes.”

They murmured their assent as he took me by the elbow and guided me away.

“Thanks for the assist. I was so bored,” I said with a pout.

“I noticed. You looked like you could use a little fresh air. How is it, now that we’ve been here a while?”

A wiggle of my flat hand. “Not too bad. For the most part, they’ve all been quite friendly. I remember a few names and faces, but it was so long ago I was last in town.”

Perhaps my assessment of Harry’s neighbors had been colored by my mother.

We walked out to the garden. The outdoor sound system was playing piano classics, the current being I’ve Got You Under My Skin.

I didn’t want that song to be on the nose, but—

The air didn’t feel cold to my bare arms and it had nothing to do with the heat in the house.

“Would you dance with me?”

Contemplating the offer, I looked for any hint of a motive on his face, then finally took his outstretched hand. “One dance.” I put my hands on his shoulders.

The skin on my back burned where his hand rest. I looked up at the clear sky, several stars visible without the city lights close by, before lowering my gaze to his face and returning his smile with a smaller one of my own.

“I think the women are plotting to set me up with their single sons, me being the newest heiress on the block.”

“Don’t fancy marrying a rich man?” Lincoln teased.

I vehemently shook my head. “That’s intentionally a very different world from how I’ve lived for the past ten years. Even with what I’ll have now, I won’t be living like this. The money only means I have freedom to do what I really want.”

He leaned closer. “And what is it you really want, Miss Simon?” Sotto voce again.

“To sing without worrying about the bills.”

He smiled. “A record deal?”

“No. It’s about connecting with an audience. Touching someone’s soul with words. The rush that comes with everyone feeling your vibe. I’ve never felt the need to be famous the world over like Jake.” Nor did I want the scrutiny that came with it. “I want to be able to take gigs I want to do versus ones that help pay the rent.”

“Knew from the moment I first heard you, you were very passionate about it.”

“Shows, huh?”

“Definitely,” he replied. “It’s in your voice and your eyes how much it means to you. Very beautiful eyes, by the way.”

“Mr. Adams, are you hitting on me?” I teased, my voice carrying a mock-wariness.

He twirled me out and back to him just as the song ended.

Met my eyes, green to blue. “If I was?”

“I’d say your chances aren’t great, but you could try.”

His hand went to his heart. “Ouch.”

“We should probably get back inside before they send a search party.”

“They can wait a few minutes still.” Lincoln found a nearby bench and encouraged me to sit. “Tell me about your singing career.”

That, I could smile about. “It took me at least a year all over L.A., but I’ve sung for weddings, parties, basically anything to build a resume.”

“Did you ever think about quitting before things got stable?”

“A few times, for a little while. Moira wouldn’t let me stay down too long. She’s been my rock through all of that. I owe her a lot, primarily for letting me keep a roof over my head.” I chuckled. “You paid your dues, too.”

“I did. Let’s say our goodbyes for the evening. I think we’ve stayed long enough.”

I gave him a grateful look at his suggestion.

We reentered the house. Found our host.

“We’re taking off, Mrs. Thompson,” he informed the hostess.

“Oh, so soon?”

“It was so nice of you to invite me, Patricia,” I added. “You have a lovely home.”

“Thank you, dear. Don’t hesitate to call. You have my number. Lincoln, drive safely.”

“Don’t I always?”

“I think your mother would have a different opinion.”

We stopped to get my coat, then waited for the valet to bring his car and were soon on the road.

“Uh, the house is that way?” I pointed out after we took the opposite turn

“I know. The night’s still fairly early so I was thinking about dinner.”

“At eight-thirty? There’s a place around here that serves that late?”

“Unless you’d rather go back to the house.”

“No, it’s fine. As long as you aren’t trying to kidnap me.”

He laughed. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

We pulled into an all-night diner some time later.

I sat in a booth across from him.

“This place actually reminds me of one near home. They make the best milkshakes.” My cell rang, cutting off whatever else I was going to say next. “Sorry. Hello? Oh, hey, Mo. I know, I meant to call you earlier but I had to go out. Can I call you back later? I’m at a restaurant. Okay, love you, too. Bye.” I turned off the phone and put it back in my purse, giving him an apologetic look for the interruption.

“Moira?”

“Yeah. She wants an update on how things are going. I was going to call her this afternoon but I had to go shopping for the party.”

A waitress arrived. We ordered burgers.

The conversation slowed a while in favor of eating.

Then he said, “It was very satisfying seeing Mr. Howell seethe all night instead of getting to show you off like some prize pony.”

I laughed, which made me cough and reach for my drink. “Not when I’m chewing, Lincoln.”

“Sorry. Much as I enjoyed the feel of my arms around you, I don’t want to use the Heimlich tonight.” The twinkle of humor in his eyes made the first half of that comment more benign. “What is his deal, anyway? You came to arrange a funeral.”

I dabbed some sauce from the corners of my mouth. “There’s Harry’s will.”

“Okay.”

I shook my head at the preposterousness of it. “He left me everything,” I whispered.

Lincoln leaned forward on his elbows, having removed his jacket when we arrived. “Everything-everything?”

“Most of it.”

Blinking a few times, he sat back. “Whoa.”

“Yeah.”

“I figured Harry would be kind, but—”

“Uh-huh. Howell is handling all the logistics of title transfers and crap, and then…”

He came forward again. “What are you going to do?”

I rubbed the center of my forehead that always tensed when I thought about this shit. “I don’t know. Home is home. The house is beautiful, but I don’t need an eight-thousand-square-foot mansion or twelve acres of anything. We didn’t have a lot of interests in common, so I don’t need the boat or the cars or the country club membership. I’m more concerned about Thomas and Abby losing their jobs.”

“Mom will be fine.”

I smiled gratefully at his conviction. “Thank you. It’s a lot and it’s so sudden. I’ve tried not to think about it. My head might explode.”

“We can’t have that. It’s so lovely right where it sits.”

“Charmer.” And an eye-roll at his flattery.

“Pfft. You know you’re beautiful. I have no need to pretend otherwise.”

I picked up my burger again, hiding my warming cheeks. With ten years since I flirted with an attractive man, I wasn’t used to the flattery or controlling my body’s reactions to it. Despite my firm resolve to not enter relationships, the chemistry with Lincoln was undeniable.

But I was grateful he’d toed the line of friendship tonight.

When I next looked at my watch, I was surprised to see it was eleven.

“Oh my gosh. I didn’t realize it was so late. It’s going to be midnight by the time we get back to the house.”

“Afraid of turning into a pumpkin?” he teased.

“It’s the carriage that turns back into a pumpkin. The girl goes back to wearing rags.”

“I stand corrected.”

“We should get back, though.”

“Why? And it didn’t take an hour to get here.”

“Your mom will be waiting on you.”

“Mom wanted me to go to the party.”

Oh. Figures. Of course Abby would try to hook us up. “I haven’t changed my mind, Lincoln,” I said softly.

Seriously.

“I know. I’m enjoying your company, you seem to be enjoying mine, and neither of us has to be at work this week. That’s all. No curfew.”

“I have liked hanging out tonight. But I’ve had a long day.”

He paid the check and opened the door for me as we walked out.

It was chillier than when we arrived, causing me to wrap my coat more tightly around my body. My toes were freezing by the time I slid into the sedan.

He noticed the shiver. “Would you like me to turn the heater on?”

“Please. For my feet.”

It took a few minutes for the car to warm up, and then it blew on my legs, quickly thawing the chill. I sighed in relief.

When we arrived at the house, he rushed-without-rushing around the car to open the door for me. I took the hand he offered to help me out of my seat, feeling weird about the show of gentlemanly manners. This wasn’t a date.

“So, was the night better than you expected?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I replied with a genuine smile. “It was.”

He kissed my hand. “Good.”

“Lincoln…”

“Your cheeks are rosy from the cold.” He followed the comment by brushing the backs of his fingers along my skin, the contrasting heat giving me goosebumps. Our eyes locked for a moment. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Michaela.”

The use of my name in that intimate tone threw me. He was back in his car and rolling off before I could react. Did he just make a date with me?

Confused, I walked into the house and locked the door for the night.

The doorbell ringing at 8:00AM was not welcome.