The Sweetest Scent Part 29

That was the part that worried Lacey the most, and she was glad Bro had picked up on it. "I don't know. I guess it depends on his reputation, and mine. I mean, if the dean or the faculty know about his, um, proclivities, it might make my side of the story more credible."

"So, you've decided to go to the dean?"

Lacey hesitated, biting her lower lip. "The dean of the conservatory is also the deputy director of the inst.i.tute, and she has a lot of clout. Marchand is a violinist-in-residence, and-"

"What does that mean?" Bro asked, confused.

"When there's an artist-in-residence, it means they aren't part of the place for good, but they've been invited there to do research, or to perform, or to teach, and so on. It's about artistic exchange of ideas, and making collaborations and contacts, and that sort of thing. Broadening one's horizons. It could be a seasonal arrangement, or ongoing, or temporary. Marchand is a big name in the music world. He won't be there forever."

"So, what you're saying is that if he did something improper, he could be booted out?" Bro sounded happier just stating the conclusion.

"Possibly." She took a breath to calm herself. "That's why I want to talk to the dean. I don't know if they'll believe me, but I won't let him push me around."

Suddenly Bro's hand landed on hers over the stick s.h.i.+ft, and the warmth of his tender touch radiated through her body. It never ceased to amaze Lacey how quickly Bro could make her feel better.

"I guess my work is done then."

Lacey glanced at him, bewildered. "Huh?"

Bro smiled that cheeky lopsided grin he sported sometimes when he knew a secret and was taunting with it. "You don't need me to protect you. You're not a girl, you're a woman. Okay, okay, a man, to be precise." He winked at the joke, and Lacey smiled back. "You can stand on your own two feet, and you can fight your own battles." He smiled a little sorrowfully then. "I am gonna miss protecting you, though. Like I had your back."

Lacey chuckled then, at ease. "Bro, if you think I don't need you in my life anymore, you're wrong. Dead wrong. The only thing on my mind after Marchand put his hand on me was you, getting back to you, because I knew you'd make me feel all right again. That the world made sense, and that there was still true love in the world. That it wasn't all just dirty l.u.s.t and filthy trysts in a drunken haze. You put my world back into balance, and I'll always need and want you for that. And I love you."

"You centered me too," Bro said with a contented sigh. "The moment you held my hand outside I knew everything was gonna be okay."

Though her gaze was half-focused on driving, Lacey managed to steal a glance at Bro. "I guess we're stuck with each other."

Bro smiled back. "Wouldn't want it any other way."

EARLY Monday morning, Lacey went in search of Parker at the conservatory. Monday morning, Lacey went in search of Parker at the conservatory.

And she had a pretty good idea where he would be. Though most of the performances on any of the many stages around the conservatory were done against a simple white, gray, or black backdrop, or the red velvet curtains, some performers preferred a more theatrical setting. Lacey liked to help in that regard. Painting was surprisingly soothing. Though it was merely cheap planks and boards, with a touch of paint they became magic, a visual delight to spark the imagination while a vocalist sang his or her heart out or a musician released soulful sounds from an instrument.

As she had guessed, Parker was on stage, a paintbrush in hand.

Unfortunately, he wasn't alone. Professor Marchand was with him.

The stage was lit, while the audience s.p.a.ce was in shadow. That was where Lacey had entered, so she remained unseen, and she stopped to listen. Yes, eavesdropping may have been wrong, but it seemed the two men were arguing, and Lacey wanted to be informed enough to jump to Parker's aid if it came to that.

What she heard chilled her to the bone.

"You meddling little s.h.i.+t. You won't get away with this," Professor Marchand was hissing furiously.

Parker swished a hand at him, sneering. "Who do you you think you are, you little upstart? My family rules this town, and much of the eastern seaboard. I can make your life a living h.e.l.l." Then he leaned closer to Marchand, and his finger pointed straight at the man's chest. "And if you so much as sneeze in Lacey's direction again, with a snap of my fingers I will end your petty little career." think you are, you little upstart? My family rules this town, and much of the eastern seaboard. I can make your life a living h.e.l.l." Then he leaned closer to Marchand, and his finger pointed straight at the man's chest. "And if you so much as sneeze in Lacey's direction again, with a snap of my fingers I will end your petty little career."

Whatever Parker was holding in his hand, Marchand s.n.a.t.c.hed it up, growling. "Don't threaten me-"

"I never threaten." Parker's voice had gone so low it reverberated around the room. "You thought you could f.u.c.k with my friend without any consequences. Now you know better. Consider this a learning experience. This is a school after all."

Marchand looked like he had way more to say, his features twisted with rage, but he seemed to think better of it. "I won't forget this, Endicott."

Parker looked relaxed, but his face was an ice-cold mask. "I've already forgotten you, Marchand. Oh, and you may keep that. I have copies." With a smirk he pointed at whatever the man was holding.

Marchand snarled, threw the object in his hand to Parker's feet, and stormed off. The door slammed shut behind him as Parker picked up the little black object from the floor.

Lacey was about to approach when movement to the left of the stage caught her eye.

"That was quite a show." It was Deacon, standing in the shadows stage left, his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the wall, long legs crossed at the ankles.

Parker turned to face him and barked out a laugh, bowing his head like a gentleman of old. "Why, thank you, n.o.ble sir. Though usually the audience takes front-row seats so the poor performer knows where to direct his bows."

"A cunning stunt you pulled on Marchand." Deacon walked closer to Parker, or from Lacey's point of view, more like stalked. "How'd you know about the recordings?"

Parker grinned. "As it happens, Marchand fibbed about a lot of things. For one, that wasn't his mansion. I happen to know the real real owner. Marchand is only housesitting. And second, the real owner has placed security cameras throughout the estate." owner. Marchand is only housesitting. And second, the real owner has placed security cameras throughout the estate."

"Including the bathroom hallway," Deacon concluded.

Lacey swallowed hard. Her encounter with Marchand had been recorded by security cameras? So that was what Parker held over the unscrupulous professor's head.

Her friend had taken a huge risk for her. She nearly sobbed as the realization hit her.

"Yes indeed," Parker confirmed, watching intently as Deacon approached. "Which the good professor would have known had it been his home as he claimed. And it really was stupid of Marchand to a.s.sume his transgressions could always remain unseen by prying eyes." Deacon said nothing, and the stare-off continued. "You disapprove of my methods?"

Deacon snorted, shaking his head. "The f.u.c.ker was gonna hurt Lacey's future career and her time here. Hurt her her. Had it been me instead of you confronting him, I would've just killed the guy." He shrugged as if indifferent. "Your way's better. Wiser."

Parker was silent for a moment, but his gaze never left Deacon, who had almost closed the gap between them. "You are aware Lacey belongs to another?"

Deacon stopped midstep, his eyes narrowing. "Yeah, I know that."

Parker c.o.c.ked his head. "Are you going to make trouble for her?"

Deacon started his stalking again. "No. She's nice. I don't know a lot of nice people."

Parker chuckled contemptuously, his eyes gleaming. "Funny. I didn't think nice was what you were looking for. I would've thought you'd prefer a little spice with your vanilla. A wee bit of a challenge." Then he stepped right up to Deacon and looked up at him. They were only an inch apart in height. "Or are you going to stand there and still claim you're not gay?"

Deacon's snarl exposed his teeth. "You know something, Endicott? You're just asking for it now." His hands fisted at his sides.

"Funny. Here I thought I was already begging for it." Parker's relentless gaze remained locked on Deacon.

The air around the two men sizzled, so thick with tension you could have cut it with a knife. The hairs on Lacey's skin stood on end, and her feet twitched with the need to run up and stop them before they ripped each other to shreds.

Then Deacon lunged at Parker, wrapped his arms around him, and kissed him. Well, more like devoured him. With a loud moan, Parker melted against him and entwined his own arms around Deacon. Then their kiss deepened, their bodies pressed tight against each other-and blus.h.i.+ng, grinning, Lacey slunk out of the room under the cover of darkness.

AFTER the school day at the conservatory was done, Lacey drove up to Parker's house. She didn't think she would be intruding even if Parker and Deacon had decided to get up close and personal with each other. the school day at the conservatory was done, Lacey drove up to Parker's house. She didn't think she would be intruding even if Parker and Deacon had decided to get up close and personal with each other.

The historic original Northwood district was affluent, dominated by a couple hundred townhouses and magnificent oak and elm trees. All the houses in the neighborhood had large front lawns and backyards, and the buildings themselves had multiple stories and light-colored facades.

Parker's home, similar to the others, stood on a gentle slope, and there was plenty of room to park at the curb. Lacey made her way to the front door and rang the bell.

A middle-aged woman with gla.s.ses, a white ap.r.o.n, and graying blonde hair in a bun on her head opened the door, a question on her face.

"h.e.l.lo. My name is Lacey Adair. I'm a friend of Parker's from Peabody."

The woman stood aside to let Lacey in, no judgment or even an opinion on her face. "Wait here, please" was all she said, and she walked off, disappearing into one of the hallways.

For a few minutes Lacey waited, anxious. Still, she barely moved from her spot, doing all her pacing in a tiny circle.

"Lace?" Parker emerged from the shadows of one of the hallways. Dressed in jeans, gray loafers, and a pink cashmere sweater, he exuded casual cool even in his off-hours. His attire hinted at wealth but didn't shove it down your throat.

"Hi, Parker."

If he was surprised to see her, Parker soon recovered and gestured for her to follow. They entered a s.p.a.cious lounge with three couches, a large fireplace, antique furniture, art on the walls, and a grand piano by a set of French doors. It didn't scream opulence, but rich taste and refinement came through loud and clear.

As they sat down on opposite couches, the housekeeper reappeared. "We have some excellent teas, Lace. Care to sample?" Parker asked politely.

"Um, sure, I'd love some." Lacey hadn't come to drink tea and was eager to bring up the subject she was holding back. "Parker-"

Parker raised a hand, palm up, effectively stopping Lacey cold. "Music? Scones? A ma.s.sage? An erotic ma.s.sage?" Parker grinned wickedly, and Lacey quirked a smile.

"No, thank you. Now would you please stop distracting me, and let me speak?"

Parker leaned back, resting one arm on the back of the couch, and crossed his legs. "I a.s.sume you've come to confess, my dear."

Puzzled, Lacey asked, "I'm sorry?"

"For eavesdropping on me and Marchand, and then on me and dear Deacon."

Lacey blushed. "I didn't intend to listen. I came to find you so you'd come with me to speak to the dean."

"About Marchand?"

"Yes. I guess that matter is now moot." Lacey kept their gazes connected, wanting to convey to her friend how grateful she was. "I don't know how to thank you, Parker. I thought I was going to get kicked out or-"

"When we panic, we often see things in black and white, do or die, life or death. Much like being a teenager, wouldn't you say?" Parker's annoyingly knowing tone made him sound older and wiser, and Lacey had an inkling that was the effect he was going for.

Rolling her eyes, Lacey chuckled. "You're a teenager too."

Parker winked. "I'm an old soul."

"You're something all right." Lacey grinned right back.

Parker laughed merrily. "Well, now that that sordid business is concluded-"

"You didn't have to do that for me. Why did you?"

Parker tilted his head, looking positively bemused. "You are my friend, my dear. What a silly question."

"You took a huge gamble. Marchand could've-"

"No, he couldn't have. My connections and wealth trump his. Simple as that."

"Simple as that?" Lacey echoed, dazed. "That's it? Just... no problem?"

"None whatsoever."

Suddenly they were interrupted by two middle-aged women, both wearing white skimpy tennis outfits, entering the foyer. The taller one with long silvery-blonde hair was skinny to the point of imminent anorexia, while the shorter one had voluptuous curves and short burgundy-colored hair cut in a bob. They stopped talking when they saw Parker and Lacey.

Parker got up, so Lacey did as well. "Mother. Ms. Denning." He bowed to the ladies.

The curvy one rolled her brown eyes. "Parker, how many times have I told you to call me Jennifer?"

"Several dozen, I believe, Ms. Denning."

"How many more are required?"

"A few dozen, Ms. Denning." Parker grinned and then gestured at Lacey. "Mother, Ms. Denning, this lovely young boy is Lacey Adair. You had the pleasure of hearing her play the violin on Sat.u.r.day."

"Ah, yes, now I remember." Ms. Denning came closer, extended her hand for Lacey to shake, and nodded in recognition. "You played exceedingly well, Ms. Adair. Though I liked the Thais with Parker here, I must admit your Bergamasques Bergamasques was dazzling." was dazzling."

Lacey felt charmed herself. In addition to being the CEO of Boudoir Boudoir, a worldwide fas.h.i.+on magazine she had created and spearheaded for twelve years, Jennifer Denning was also rich, famous, and a well-known patroness of the arts. Just meeting her was a privilege. She had her hands in a lot of trendy areas of life, from fas.h.i.+on to film, from music to art, from men to women. Her reputation held a hint of notoriety.

Lacey swallowed down the lump in her throat and prayed her hand wasn't too sweaty. "Ms. Denning, it's an honor to meet you."

The woman smiled, pleased. "I see I don't need to tell you who I am."

Lacey shook her head. "No, ma'am."

"I'm so glad I got the chance to meet you in person. Parker here has been glorifying you from here to there." Lacey stared at Parker, stunned into silence, opening and closing her mouth like a fish on dry land. Ms. Denning continued, "As it happens, I had no other reason to stay at that dreadful, tedious party than to listen to the new talent of the eastern seaboard. I don't know if you are aware, but I have often recommended live fusion music at fas.h.i.+on shows."

"Yes, I know." Lacey smiled eagerly. "I've seen a few of those shows on TV."

"Are you interested in fas.h.i.+on?"

Lacey had to bite her lower lip. "Um, no, not really."

Ms. Denning only looked more pleased. "I'm happy to hear that. Most all of the young talents I nurture tend to think I'm a first-cla.s.s ticket to high society and haute couture. They aren't wrong, of course, but the a.s.sumption is so dull and cliche."

"Yes, of course." Lacey had no idea where this conversation was heading.

"But I see Parker did not exaggerate about your skills, Ms. Adair. I would be more than happy to sponsor you and introduce you to the right people, those who can send your career into a steady climb towards stardom. Tell me, Ms. Adair, is fame what you seek?"