Uncovered (11 page)

He didn’t budge
from his spot. “Let me guess, Margaret is installing new appliances and you’re
waiting for a delivery guy?”

Apparently, he
had no idea his ex-girlfriend had been invited to his mother’s house, and I
waffled over telling him. After all, he wasn’t supposed to be here right now.
Biting my lip in indecision, I eventually shook my head. “No, it’s—”

But then the
doorbell rang a second time, and I shot Oliver a warning look. “You
really
might want to go,” I warned.

Starting toward
me, he ran his hand through his hair, tousling the light brown strands. “Not
until I have your guarantee that you’ll come have lunch with me.”

“You should
probably leave because—” The sound of the door opening and heels clacking
across the marble floor stopped me, and I twisted to see Oliver’s tall, leggy
brunette ex making a beeline toward me.

“You must be
Lizzie,” she began in a sticky-sweet voice. She started into the family room,
excitement springing into her hazel eyes at the sight of Oliver with his tie
undone. Looking like he’d just seen a ghost, his perfectly toned body froze.
“Ollie? I saw your car, but I thought—”

In a day full
of surprises and disappointments, I shouldn’t have felt
anything
when
she raced across the room with her chin-length hair flying around her
delicately boned face. She practically threw herself at him. Oliver
was
a serial dater—I’d known that since before we met. Still, my nausea returned
full force watching Finley burrow into his arms. 

“I
missed
you while I was in Italy,” she breathed into the front of his crisp shirt,
before he grabbed her shoulders and gently drew her away. “I had no idea you’d
be here to meet me.”

“Fin—” he
groaned, and I squeezed my eyes shut and turned away. I absolutely could not
stand there and watch whatever was going to unfold between them. Grabbing my
purse off the armchair beside the entryway, I rushed into the foyer, only to
stop abruptly at the sight of the skinny, dark-haired teenage boy dragging in
luggage.

Rolling in a
couple of Louis Vuitton bags, a grin broke across the boy’s face as his eyes
traveled up my body. He plucked his earbuds out his ears and tucked them in his
back pocket. “I’m Mason, and—”

“And way too
young,” an older male voice interjected jokingly, causing the kid to roll his dark
blue eyes. Angling my body a little, I was grateful for the grand piano in the
foyer, because I sagged against the side of it when I saw the man’s face.

I’d met him
once before.

In his office.

His hair had
been black then, and not the salt and pepper it was now, but I knew this man.
I’d met him when I came to L.A. to meet my stepmother seven years ago.

The memory hit
me like a ton of bricks, and this time I recalled
everything
—from his
name, to the blue suit he’d been wearing, to the way he’d barely looked at me
as he ripped my confidence to shreds.

"Your name is nowhere
in your father's will, and Margaret has informed me that you and your mother
have been aware of that since he passed away. You are more than welcome to
contest the will, Ms. Emerson, but I'm going to warn you—you'll feel the
crushing reality of all the legal fees before you can bat your pretty brown
eyes. Now, Margaret is prepared to settle with you ... as long as you don't
come back with your hand stretched out. You understand what I'm saying, don't
you, sweetheart?" 
 

Staring up from the back
of my hands, I’d nodded. “I understand.”

“Good girl,” he’d crooned,
before calling his legal assistant into the room. “Now, about the settlement—”

“I don’t want it.”

He’d chuckled, a soft,
condescending noise that made my temperature rise. “You’re just upset, Ms.
Emerson. Of course you want to—”

“I. Don’t. Need. It.”

The memory washed away, and I
smiled despite the heavy pounding in my head. I felt like I was going to be
sick. Like I was going to throw up all over Margaret’s polished foyer floor.

“You must be Mr. Scott,” I
forced out politely, taking a step forward with my hand stretched out. He took
my fingers in his. “I’m Lizzie Connelly. I’ve left the key to the house for you
on the mantle. Is there anything you need to make your stay more comfortable
until Margaret returns?” I spoke mechanically, hardly realizing what I said.

Oh, God. Why
didn’t I figure this out when Pen told me Finley’s name? Why couldn’t I
remember this
then
?

His thumb stroked the back of
my hand, and acid burned its way up my throat. I was terrified. Terrified and
pissed off. What if he recognized me? What if he told Margaret exactly who I
was?

What would happen if I hit
this man right now?

One teeny-tiny punch to the
throat?

“Lizzie, this is Finley
Scott.” I turned at the sound of Oliver’s voice. He stood in the doorway,
looking beautifully agitated, with his ex standing a few feet away. Her arms
were crossed over her chest as she worked her small teeth over her bottom lip
furiously. Staring at me apologetically, Oliver gestured to the teen and then
to the attorney. His eyes darkened when they dropped to our linked hands.
“That’s her brother, Mason, and Michael, her father. They’re longtime friends
of … my family.”

“It’s great to
meet you all.” Returning my attention back to Michael, I searched his eyes for
some sign of recognition, but there was absolutely none. I pulled my hand from
his grip, clenching my fingers by my side. “Margaret has said so many amazing
things about you,” I lied.

“You as well,
Ms. Connelly. And I think we have everything we need here. Margaret is always
such an accommodating hostess.”

The laugh I
released grated the tiny fraction of self-control I had left. I pulled my purse
in front of my body. Digging inside, I found one of my business cards and
handed it to him, making certain not to touch him again. “If you need anything
at all while she’s away, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

Unable to
breathe, I practically ran to my Mini Cooper, refusing to stop even when I
heard Oliver call my name.

*

As I left my
father’s home, my muscles so taut it was difficult to move, I should have been
glad Michael hadn’t noticed me. I should have thanked the heavens that I’d made
it out of that house unscathed, with a phone full of documents and a stack of
important paperwork in my purse.

But when I
pulled over a few minutes after I exited the community’s gate, dry heaving, the
only thought in my mind was that I’d been so inconsequential that there
hadn’t
been the slightest recognition.

Two nights later, I was
still reeling from the mindfuck of finding out the identity of Finley Scott’s
father, but I put on a carefully practiced smile as I scanned my brown eyes
around the glassed in ballroom of the Heritage. And it really was something to
look at—the event planner had nailed it. With the lush, dark décor, I felt like
I’d walked right into a Poe-esque fantasy when I arrived an hour and a half
ago.

Despite it
being the perfect setting for my favorite holiday, I’d rather been spending the
eve of my twenty-fourth birthday at home, pouring over the documents I’d
obtained from Margaret’s house. Plus, I needed to figure out a way to get the
rest of the file back without her noticing. While the chances of her realizing
it was missing anytime soon were slim, and I had taken extra precautions to
make sure she wouldn’t find out I’d gone through her belongings, I was already
freaking out about returning it.

Attempting to
push those worries aside—at least for the night—I glanced at Stella, who was
adjusting the mask of her Catwoman costume. “The turnout for this thing is phenomenal,”
I said. Aside from the handful of people from work and their plus ones, there
were at least an additional two hundred people present.

Even though it
was a company event, not everyone from work had been
lucky
enough to
snag an invite. My job as Margaret’s assistant had not only cemented my
invitation, it had also made showing up a necessity.

“It was five
thousand a plate for anyone not on the Emerson & Taylor guest list, right?”
I asked.

“Yes ma’am.
And
I read in the company newsletter from last month that Margaret’s matching the
donations this year. ”

Wow.
It was the first I heard of
Margaret’s contribution, and the forced expression I’d been wearing through
dinner softened. No matter how ironic the charitable cause was—after all, I’d
basically been a foster kid when my stepmother brushed me off—I was thrilled
when I thought of how many kids this night would help.

Locking her
headpiece in place with a couple hairpins, Stella gave me a disgusted look.
“Maybe I
should
have bought the Halle Berry Catwoman; I think the vinyl
cat hood might have gone better.” She peered over the table and regarded my
flowing turquoise and gold gown with a playful lift of her brows. “And you, Miss
I-Made-This-Myself—you make the rest of us look bad!”

A flush crept
across my skin at her praise. “I’m just hoping it doesn’t fall apart into a
bunch of little pieces.”

I had been so
wrapped up in snooping for the documents in Margaret’s home office, Oliver in
general, and then meeting the Scotts’—getting a costume had slipped my mind.

Luckily, Pen
was there for me, like always.

When I’d
dragged my ass into my apartment two nights earlier, she reminded me about the
party, and we’d raced to Mood Fabrics before they closed. As we browsed the
material, I had no idea what I planned to do, but the moment Pen eyed the pale
aqua chiffon and lamented, “Too bad it’s just one color. You could’ve gone as
the blonde from
Game of Thrones
,” my decision was made.

I’d solved the
one-color problem with gold fabric paint and a sponge. Thanks to a hardcore fan
with an Etsy shop and overnight shipping, I scored the rest of my accessories,
including a dragon figurine that was giving me as much trouble as Stella’s cat
mask.

Checking the
deep V-neckline to make sure the fabric tape was still doing its job over my
braless chest, I admitted, “It was sort of a last-minute project.”

She pulled in her
bottom lip slightly. “Then you make us look worse.” But she was laughing as she
inclined her head to the front of the room.  “Give it a year. I bet you a
hundred the Red Queen over there’ll have your ass working in design. ”

I stared at
Margaret, who was making the rounds from table to table, conversing with her
guests and the more prestigious Emerson & Taylor employees—directors,
managers, and executives.

“Hmm, I doubt
she’ll promote me.” I saw Dora and her husband—Black Widow and Captain America,
which I had to admit, worked perfectly for them—return to our table carrying
champagne flutes. Even though “Disturbia” was pulsing through the ballroom,
making it nearly impossible for anyone else to hear me confide in Stella, I
dropped my voice to a whisper. “If she did, who’d hunt down a pair of ruby red
Valentino stilettos five hours before an event?”

She shook her
head, causing her mask to fall again. “
That’s
where you were when I
stopped by your office this afternoon?”

“I found them
at Saks in Costa Mesa and then she sent me back because the sizing wasn’t
right. She decided to wear her brocade Louboutins instead.”

Finally giving
up on her disguise, she pulled it off and tossed it on the table between her
place card and the centerpiece—a Manzanita tree adorned with dangling
blackbirds and Victorian cameos. 

“I’ve gotta
drink to that. I’m going to the bar since the servers aren’t straying this far
back.” Combing her dark-painted nails through her thick hair, she pointed to my
black martini. “Do you need another?”

“I think I’m
okay for now.”

“You’ll
probably regret that later when you’re being harassed for a dance,” she warned
before slinking off, her tail swishing behind her.

“Hey, Lizzie?”
At the sound of Dora calling my name, I whipped my head in her direction and
squinted through the dim lighting at the redhead. She moved into Stella’s seat
to get closer to me, resting her elbows on the table. “I know this probably
isn’t the time, but I found a reminder yesterday about getting you a company
credit card. I’ll be out of the building tomorrow, but stop by my office next week
and we can do the paperwork?”

Damn
. Up until now, I’d pushed
all thoughts of that credit card to the back of my mind and had been using
Margaret’s personal card for all of her business expenses. Being careful to
keep my face neutral, I drew back from Dora. “I’ll stop by before I go upstairs
Monday morning,” I promised, hoping it would slip her mind by then.

She looked over
her shoulder to see her husband in deep conversation with a woman dressed as a
rock star at the next table, before returning her attention to me. “Your
boyfriend couldn’t make it?”

Linking my
fingers together on the black tablecloth, I sucked in my cheeks. “I’m actually
single.”

Her pink lips
opened in surprise. “You’re such a beautiful girl that I just assumed….” Her
voice trailed off as she stared behind me, her gray eyes narrowing and
following someone. I turned and felt my own face harden at the sight of Finley
Scott, dressed as Cleopatra.

She was talking
to the company’s VP—the one who’d sexed up Margaret’s former PA in the
boardroom—with her hand laid casually on his arm and her head thrown back in
laughter.

From beside me,
I heard Dora mutter something unmistakable. “That bitch better stay away from
Oliver.” Startled, I turned around to face her, and I couldn’t stop myself from
looking between her and her husband, whose back was still turned to us.

Instead of
cowing, Dora’s nostrils flared. “If that look you’re giving me is because of
Oliver, I can assure you it’s
not
what you think.” Sighing, she squeezed
her eyes shut. “When he told me you might have the wrong idea about us, I told
him to explain, but obviously he hasn’t.”

Oliver and Dora
had talked about me? The thought both petrified and intrigued me, so I crossed
my arms and waited for her to continue. After a few seconds of frustrating
silence, she explained, “Oliver is one of our closest friends—we met in college
and he introduced me to Franklin, his teammate. He helped me get this job. He
was the best man in our wedding. For reasons I’d prefer not to get into, I’m
not a big fan of his ex.”

I started to
tell her I was pretty sure Oliver could take care of himself, but instead I
cocked my eyebrow. My next question was bold, so I hoped she was deep enough in
her champagne not to flip out. “Then what was with that blowout on my first
day, in your office?”

She looked
confused for a moment, but then her shoulders shook with laughter. “He went on
a date with one of my friends. It went as expected.” Thinning her lips into a
rueful smile, she shrugged. “Oliver never calls for a second date.”

Ugh. Why had I
even asked? It took my mind to places it didn’t need to go.

From what
Margaret had scathingly told me earlier today—“He’ll be out celebrating
Halloween with one of his sluts”—Oliver wouldn’t be here at all tonight. Since
that was the case, there was no reason for me to let him crawl into my
thoughts. Except here I was, surrounded by a bunch of people I didn’t know,
letting the memory of blue eyes and a charming smile screw with me.

Dora’s husband
returned, and when he directed his undivided attention to her, rubbing his nose
against her neck and murmuring something, I glanced away.

“I’m going to
the restroom,” I said, though I didn’t think she heard me. I tossed back the
rest of my fruity cocktail. “Excuse me.”

*

Agitated, I returned from
the bathroom ready for my next drink. I was still so distracted by the
conversation with Dora that I nearly mowed over the very pregnant event planner
as she approached me. Reaching out, I steadied her and she shot me a grateful
look.

“Oh, thank
God!” she said, sliding her bra strap beneath the cap sleeve of her pink
maternity dress. “Have you seen Mrs. Emerson?”

Automatically
assuming she was going into labor, my brows scrunched together in concern.
Margaret would have a meltdown if that happened. Then she’d tell me to tell
Natalie to hold off the contractions until the end of the party.

“Is everything
alright?” I asked, genuinely worried.

“She’s supposed
to give a speech in twenty minutes, and I wanted to make sure she’s ready.”

Relieved, I
scanned the crowd, looking for my stepmother’s red and gold
Wonderland-
inspired
dress that must have cost a fortune. When I finally saw her, at the same table
as Michael Scott, I fisted my hands. Seeing those two together, letting those
awful memories assault me yet again, tore me up inside. 

“Right over
there.” I calmly pointed Natalie in their direction, despite that old familiar
monster—anger—flaring through me.

She clasped her
fingers together gratefully. “You are a lifesaver. Thanks, Liz.”

“Of course.” As
she walked away, I called her name and she paused, resting her hands
supportively on her stomach. “Thank you for your hard work on all this.” I
gestured at the lovely darkness that lingered at every corner of the ballroom
and the celebrity DJ in the booth. “This is
incredible
. And I’m sure
that the kids this night was intended for will appreciate all your hard work
just as much as I do.”

Natalie beamed.
“Enjoy your night, Ms. Connelly.”

Humming the
song that was playing—“Radioactive”—I continued toward the bar. When Stella and
I made eye contact through the crowd, I mouthed
Getting a drink
to which
she responded to with a nod that screamed
Told you so.

There were two
bars set up, so I went left, to the one with fewer people waiting. Tapping my
fingertips quietly together to the rhythm of the song, I wasn’t aware that
someone was standing beside me until a strong hand touched mine. It closed
around my fingers, sending a current through my skin.

My head popped
up in surprise to take in a masked face.

Well, half a
mask.

It took me a
moment to catch my breath. There was something about a man in a tailored
suit—especially when that man was Oliver Manning—and my eyes devoured him.

Finally, I
licked my lips, causing his blue eyes to settle on my mouth. “The Phantom
didn’t
wear Tom Ford.”

He chuckled.
The sound teased me, working its way into my skin, making it an effort to focus
on anything else around me. God, I was a mess around him. And he knew it. “You
remembered I enjoy
Game of Thrones
.”

Briefly, I
glanced down at my costume and suddenly recalled the conversation in his office
when he told me he was a fan of the show. I hadn’t even thought of that as I
made the costume, but when I didn’t respond, he took my silence as a
confirmation.

“And you’ve
been ignoring my calls.” Releasing my hands, he fingered the wide, ornate gold
belt of my costume, not seeming to care if anyone saw him as he brushed his
thumb over the exposed skin between my breasts where the chiffon fabric met. I
knocked his hand away and glowered up at him. “But, God, you’re too fucking
much tonight for me to complain about anything.”

“I’ve been
busy, and you have guests in town.”

“My mother has
guests,” he corrected. “But I’d be happy to take you home with me and entertain
you.”

Putting some
distance between us, I swallowed down the pressure in my throat. “I was under
the impression you had plans. Margaret said you’d be out celebrating Halloween
with one of your sluts tonight.” At the amused turn of his mouth, I added, “Her
words, not mine.”