Enchanted Heart (8 page)

“I've never seen the boy with a bad-looking woman,” Jimmy said. “As a matter of fact, I wouldn't mind . . .”

“Jimmy, please.” Virginia reached for her drink and took a liberal but dainty sip.

Uncle Jimmy, watching the proceedings, stroked his chin.

“Since you can't be a good steward of your”—she paused, then cleared her throat—“of your birthright, some things must change. And the best way to get your attention is to cut off the purse strings. As of this week, your allowance it cut off.”

“You can't do that!”

But even as he said it, Lance vaguely recalled some clause he'd been told about. He well knew the provisions of his grandfather's will. He'd gotten a million dollars on his twenty-first birthday. And another million when he'd turned twenty-five; two million in carrots to entice him toward the big prize. The remaining millions were held in trust earning fat interest compounded frequently and waiting for Lance to mature.

So close. Thirty was so close. But Virginia had apparently decided that a stick would work better than the carrots.

He lived on the salary he'd drawn while working for Heart Federated and a generous allowance, neither of which would keep him long—not with the mortgage on his penthouse suite, two luxury cars and his appetite for clothes and women.

“That money is mine.”

“Not yet it isn't.”

“You can't . . .”

Virginia snapped up a hand and Lance fell quiet, biting back the angry words that threatened to erupt. “There is a clause,” she said.

“You can't do this.”

“But I can, Lance. I can. And, I will if . . .”

He whirled around and almost collided with Penelope who was entering with a tray of drinks. “Sorry,” he said as he steadied her arm. A moment later, his attention was back on Virginia. “If what?”

She leaned back in her chair regarding him with what appeared to be open disdain. “If you don't show me some evidence that you're doing something tangible with your life. Whoring around is . . .”

“My legacy?”

She rose up as if to slap him, but Jimmy moved between the two. “That's enough, Lance. Go sit down.”

Lance's nostrils flared, but he said nothing else.

“Ginny, just tell him what you have in mind.”

Jimmy accepted a Bloody Mary from the maid who placed refills before Lance's and Virginia's places at the table. They both ignored them. Jimmy took a fortifying sip and pressed close to Lance as he passed by. “True, what you said. But show some respect,” he murmured. “This needs more vodka,” he called to Penelope's disappearing back.

Lance glanced from his uncle to his grandmother. The two usually worked in cahoots, so he didn't quite know what to make of the good cop/bad cop routine. Both of them starred in the role of heavy so often they'd perfected the parts.

“And I suppose you have something in mind,” Lance said.

Virginia lifted one elegant brow. “Actually, I don't. I'll leave that to your judgment—the lack or merit thereof should tell me all I need to know.”

“I have good judgment.”

She sniffed. “Your track record doesn't indicate it. It's the total package that counts, Lance. You look good on paper, but you know and I know it's all window dressing. You don't have what it takes to be a true Heart.”

He wouldn't take the bait this time. “But I am. And that's what pisses you off so much.”

With that Lance turned on his heel and stalked from the day room.

Virginia reached for her Bloody Mary. “Goddamn it to hell.”

Jimmy just chuckled as he watched her stare after Lance. “I wonder if he knows.”

She took a long, deep drink and studied her brother-in-law. “Why do you defend him?”

Jimmy just smiled.

“Somebody's gotta look out for blood.”

She scowled at him. Virginia didn't like to face the truth where Lance was concerned, but the truth was the truth. No getting around it. Jimmy decided to just wait and see how this round played out.

 

 

He would have kicked the tire, but he didn't want to scuff his shoes. So Lance, beside himself, settled for cursing a blue streak. His first thought was to call Cole. But that's what she'd expect him to do—run to Cole.

He
would
tell Cole about Virginia's threat, but not to get his uncle's advice. Lance had his own idea of how to deal with his grandmother. Cole could, however, tell him if Virginia truly had the authority to do what she threatened. He suspected she did.

Lance spied a branch of his bank. Swinging across two lanes of traffic on Mercury Boulevard, he swerved to avoid hitting a white Volvo. The woman gave him the finger. Lance waved and zipped the Jaguar into the parking lot.

Fifteen minutes later, he felt a little better about his financial situation. He'd never paid much attention to money. He'd had no reason to. But now, with his grandmother putting the screws to him, he needed some idea of what, exactly, he had going on. While standing in line, he put a call in to his broker and one to his accountant.

If nothing else, the meeting with his grandmother had again focused his thinking on the plans he had for his life. Just because his relatives weren't privy to them didn't mean Lance didn't have goals. He'd always dreamed of owning a consulting firm. Lance knew style. He knew what looked good on him. And he knew what looked good on other people. With an image consulting firm he could offer his expertise to business owners, small and large, to early career professionals looking to make a mark on the world and an impression on their managers and firms. He'd dated a makeup artist once and was stunned at the way an appearance could be altered with just a few bottles and tubes of cosmetics and a couple of basic props.

Without realizing it, Lance found himself in Ghent in front of Guilty Pleasures. He assessed the shop with the experienced eye of a retailer. The store definitely had curb appeal. A portico with columns matching the succulent French vanilla of the interior invited customers to enter a place removed from the hustle and bustle of the everyday work world.

Lance drove by once again, this time considering the business from the perspective of a potential investor. Despite his preoccupation while in college and grad school, he'd managed to retain some basic business knowledge. He wasn't stupid. And his time with Heart Federated had taught him a thing or two.

He wondered if the facade of Guilty Pleasures put people off. It was fancier than most of the nearby businesses. Would the average person just walking down the street on Colley Avenue drift into the store or would she be intimidated by the upscale exterior in the chicly casual neighborhood?

Most of the businesses—restaurants, book and video stores, specialty shops and coffeehouses and a theater—were casual spots. Dining al fresco was the norm. And the Starbucks on the corner had a parklike setting right outside its front door.

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he made a U-turn and drove back up the business district, this time hunting for a parking space.

“That's not good,” he murmured when he couldn't readily find one.

On-street parking seemed to be at a premium. Making a right, he cut down the side street nearest Guilty Pleasures and found a decent-sized lot behind the store.

This section of Colley Avenue had obviously been developed with the surrounding neighborhood in mind. The houses and apartment buildings were close together, but green space was also plentiful.

Detouring around a sidewalk construction zone, it took Lance about two minutes to get to the front of the shop. He noted no back entrance. Good for avoiding crime, not necessarily best for customer convenience.

Yellow and purple pansies, left over from the winter, bloomed in two large urns at the front of the store. It was warm enough for summer flowers, maybe geraniums, to be planted and blooming. Lance wondered if it was oversight or deliberate. Did Vivienne use a landscaper or did she do that work herself? She hardly seemed the type to be digging around in the dirt. So Lance came to one possible conclusion: Guilty Pleasures was pinching pennies.

It that were, indeed, the case, he needed to know why. Was it deliberate economizing or did she put all of her resources into the well-appointed interior? Then again, maybe the landscaper just hadn't come by yet.

When he walked into the shop, he was again struck by the sensuality of the place. It hadn't just been the fog of sexual desire clouding his mind. The store maintained its appeal without the undercurrent of passion.

Two customers, both women in their mid-thirties, browsed the shop. They looked like schoolteachers on break.

Lance glanced around, taking in details he'd missed. He paused at a rack of soft coverall scarves. Maybe his mom would like one. He fingered a pale pink one. She'd moved to Florida to get away from both the Hearts and the unpredictable weather in Virginia.

“May I help you?”

He turned at the tiny voice. A short woman of about twenty with Betty Boop eyes and the figure to match batted her eyes up at him.

He let the scarf fall back into place. “Hello. Is Ms. la Fontaine available?”

The woman eyed him with unabashed interest. “She's in the office. Who should I say is inquiring?”

“Lance. Lance Heart Smith.”

The woman smiled and headed toward a door Lance hadn't noticed the day before.

“Mr. Smith.”

He turned. And his breath caught. Guilty Pleasures apparently crawled with beauties. The shop inched up another notch in his estimation and Lance wondered how he'd missed it before. This woman was tall, almost as tall as Viv, but with a lush, fuller figure. Her eyes were arresting, gold-flecked, almost like a lion's. Her hair flowed everywhere and the black-and-white capri pants set hugged her body, leaving everything covered but little to the imagination. High-heeled black-and-white mules finished the look. She looked like sin on holiday and Lance got a brief vision of a threesome, himself flanked by Viv and this woman. He could die happy. With effort he squelched the fantasy and tried to focus on her face.

“My name's Dakota. Vivienne told me you might stop by. I have some information for you.”

Lance glanced back in the direction the other clerk had taken, then turned his attention to the woman who appeared as wild as the plains for which she was named. Dakota handed him a large folder with the Guilty Pleasures insignia embossed on the cover.

“A prospectus?”

She nodded.

“Vivienne said to tell you you'll find the business plan along with some press information. Are you familiar with our merchandise?”

“Yes. I am,” Lance said. “Is Vivienne here?”

“She's unavailable.” Dakota said the words point-blank, letting him know there'd be no getting to Vivienne without going through her. Despite the other clerk's helpfulness the access door was closed.

Dakota might be a beauty, but she clearly knew how to protect her turf with the ferociousness of a lioness. “But she did say to tell you thanks for the flowers.” She pointed toward an exuberant display at the service counter.

Lance had to give it to his florist. The man knew how to make plants sing. It wasn't often, if ever, that Lance got to see an arrangement of the flowers he sent. This one definitely said: Yeah, baby.

“It's important that I speak with Vivienne.”

Dakota smiled, but Lance wasn't charmed. “She's not available at the moment.”

This was going nowhere fast. “All right.” Lance smacked the folder on his leg. “Well, would you leave a message for her?”

“Surely.” Dakota reached for a cream-colored pad and a pen. She held both at the ready. “Yes?”

“Tell her I'm interested.”

“My God, Viv. He is fabulous.”

Dakota and Viv sat in the office off the showroom floor, Viv behind her desk and Dakota with her bare feet carefully propped on a stool stacked with catalogs.

“Looks aren't everything,” Viv said, her tone dry.

“Well, in his case, they make up for any other deficiency. Is he a Heart, like in the Heart Department Stores?”

“Um-hmm.” Distracted, Viv chewed on a nail.

Dakota decided to go fishing. “I'm sensing some history.”

Viv looked up. “Huh? With Lance? No.”

“Then what's up? You've been acting weird all day.”

Viv didn't want to get into it. Not with Vicki. Not with Dakota. And not with Lance. She shook her head. “I'm just a little out of sorts today.”

“So, is Lance Heart Smith the investor you've been looking for?”