Millionaire's Women Part 49

"You may be right," he said in a disgustingly calm voice. "Tell me something-was it worth five thousand dollars?"

"It was worth ten times that amount!" She s.h.i.+vered, but from rage now, not cold. "I know this is beyond your comprehension, but I don't want your money, I never did! I only took that five thousand dollars because you were so rude. But now I'm glad I took it because it helped Bertrice, and I'm glad that out of all the misery you've caused, at least one person benefited, and I'm glad that the whole world can see now what an insect you really are-"

"Are you finished?"

She gripped the back of the leather chair. "Yes. I am. Will you at least wait until I can find another place to take the art before you close Vogel's?"

"I'm not closing the gallery."

She thought she must have misheard him. "What did you say?"

"I want the gallery to stay open-and I want you to continue to run it."

Tense and disbelieving, she stared at him. "Why?"

"Maybe I'm afraid you'll sell your story about our marriage to the tabloids."

"I said I was only going to do that if you turned Robbie in," she pointed out.

"Are you saying that I can close the gallery and not worry about reprisals?"

"Yes. I mean, no...that is-"

"Would you go out to dinner with me?"

He couldn't be serious. And yet, his eyes were dark and intent, his mouth a straight, unsmiling line.

"I'm surprised you'd want to go out with a 'criminal' like me," she said, trying to gather her scattered wits.

"I'm making an exception in your case."

"Why?"

"Does there have to be a reason?"

"Yes," she said decisively. "There does."

He put his hands in his pockets. "I suppose I thought we could be...friends."

"Friends?" she repeated in disbelief. After using her, insulting her and accusing her of trying to trap him into marriage, he wanted to be friends? friends? She didn't think so. "No, thank you," she said coldly. "I'm very particular about my friends." She didn't think so. "No, thank you," she said coldly. "I'm very particular about my friends."

He didn't seem offended by her rudeness. "I can be a very good friend."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I can put a lot more money into the art foundation. I can move your gallery to the fas.h.i.+onable part of town. I can-"

"Are you trying to bribe me into going out with you?" she asked.

"No, of course not."

"That's good. Because the answer is still no."

His gaze was inscrutable. "The silent auction Stacy Hatfield arranged is this Sat.u.r.day at my sister's."

"So?"

"You have to be there. It's business."

"I'm sure Stacy can handle it."

"It's imperative that you be present. Donors like to see the people involved before they give money."

"They can see your sister and you."

His eyes narrowed. "I can also be a very bad enemy."

She gaped at him. "Are you threatening threatening me now?" me now?"

"I'm only trying to ensure the foundation is a success," he said smoothly. "I've invested a lot of money in it."

"Yeah, right. I suppose I have no choice, then." She glared at him. "Tell me, do you always have to blackmail women into a date?"

"No," he said grimly. "You're the first."

"You should never have made me go through with this," Doreen Tarrington hissed at Garek as she smiled and nodded at a couple helping themselves to shrimp and prosciutto appetizers. "It's going to be a disaster."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," Garek drawled in a bored tone. His sister had been nagging at him ever since he'd ordered her to go ahead with the dinner party. She'd whined and complained and dragged her sizeten feet, but in the end, when faced with the prospect of paying the cost of her next facelift herself, she'd reluctantly agreed.

"I warn you, Garek," Doreen said in threatening accents, "if that tawdry little girlfriend of yours or her car-toon-character friend embarra.s.s me in front of my friends I will never speak to you again."

Garek thought of several unkind responses, but managed to restrain himself. His object wasn't to be at odds with his sister all evening. "I'm sure Ellie and Caspar will behave in a perfectly normal manner," he responded, his gaze turning to the couple in question.

A slight frown creased his forehead. He hadn't expected Ellie to bring Caspar along. Apparently, Stacy Hatfield had told Ellie to choose an artist for the guests to meet. That would have been fine-if Ellie had picked just about anyone other than Roberto's friend.

Originally, when Garek's only purpose was to punish his sister, he would have been delighted by Caspar's presence. Now, he only wanted everything to go smoothly.

Looking at Caspar's gangly form and Ellie's overly bright smile and stiff back, he began to suspect that he'd made a few miscalculations...

Suddenly, Ellie turned her head and her gaze met his. Even across the crowded room, he could see the way her eyes flashed.

The dinner bell rang. She looked away and began to move with the other guests toward the dining room.

Garek followed, aware of a slight sense of trepidation.

Ellie didn't want to be there. She didn't want to be in this ugly, overly ornate house, with its fussy details and chairs and sofas that seemed to shout, "We are expensive pieces of furniture!" She did not want to talk and try to be polite to the sn.o.bbish Mrs. Tarrington whose nose quivered every time she came near and who seemed to regard her like an insect she'd found in her salad. And, most of all, she didn't want to be sitting in this dining room, eating bouillabaisse, forced to look at Garek Wisnewski every time she raised her gaze from her soup.

She glared across the table at him, but he didn't appear to notice, so deep in conversation was he with Amber Bellair, his blond ex-girlfriend. Amber's "little black dress" made Ellie's simple blue frock look like something from a thrift store-which, in fact, it was.

Garek, in his dark suit that fit snugly across his shoulders, made the perfect companion for the blonde-although the garish colors of the tie Ellie had given him for his birthday clashed horribly with Amber's simple elegance. Why was he wearing it? To remind Ellie how naive and stupid she'd been when she'd given it to him?

She couldn't imagine what he hoped to gain by this whole charade. She didn't believe for a second his sorry excuse that he just wanted to be "friends." More likely he wanted to continue with his plan to annoy his sister.

Well, she had no intention of cooperating. No matter how rude Mrs. Tarrington was.

Ellie looked a little anxiously at Caspar, who was sitting at the opposite end of the table. She'd originally intended to bring one of the gallery artists, but she'd felt obliged to warn them that the hostess did not care for contemporaryart, and in fact was openly hostile toward it. They'd all refused to attend-no big surprise there. Caspar, however, had begged to come, saying that it was his big chance to make contact with some people who might buy his work. She'd been so angry at Garek, she'd finally agreed, thinking that the whole evening would be a farce, anyway. She'd thought that Garek and Doreen would probably like the ex-convict's vapid paintings.

But now Ellie regretted her temper. She hated to subject any artist-however questionable his talent-to Garek's sn.o.bbish sister. Fortunately, Caspar seemed oblivious to Doreen's gibes, and the other guests weren't as bad as Ellie had expected. Most of them, in contrast to their hostess, were very friendly. In fact, many were genuinely interested in art, and one or two were even extraordinarily knowledgeable.

But then there were a few...

Brandon Carlyle, apompous, middle-aged lawyer, was presently telling everyone about his favorite restaurant.

"There's a place at the foot of the Swiss Alps," he droned at a peculiarly slow speed, "that I highly recommend. The food is all of the finest quality. They serve blue oxtail soup seasoned and cooked to perfection. I've had blue oxtail soup in New York and in Paris, but in my opinion, it's not quite as good."

"Oh, come on, Brandon." Sam Kroner, a man in his middle thirties with blond hair and smiling blue eyes, leaned forward to address the other man. "The best best food is always the food you catch yourself. When Bonnie and I were on vacation in Alaska, we caught a trout that was the best I've ever tasted. Isn't that right, BonBon?" food is always the food you catch yourself. When Bonnie and I were on vacation in Alaska, we caught a trout that was the best I've ever tasted. Isn't that right, BonBon?"

Sam's wife nodded. "The only bad part was cleaning it-"

"The best fish I I ever had was in Hawaii," Doreen interrupted, her loud voice carrying clearly to where Ellie sat halfway down the table. "It was absolutely delicious. Remember, Amber? You and Garek had dinner at that little place in Honolulu once, I believe." ever had was in Hawaii," Doreen interrupted, her loud voice carrying clearly to where Ellie sat halfway down the table. "It was absolutely delicious. Remember, Amber? You and Garek had dinner at that little place in Honolulu once, I believe."

"Yes, I remember. It was good. Very Very good." good."

Amber looked at Garek in a way that made Ellie think the blonde wasn't just talking about the fish.

"Tell us, Ms. Hernandez," Doreen went on. "What is your your favorite restaurant?" favorite restaurant?"

Ellie looked up and glanced at the faces around the table. Everyone seemed to be staring at her. "The Taco Palace," she said. "It has the best fish tacos you can imagine."

Sarah Carlyle laughed, causing some soup to drip from her spoon onto her white dress. Still smiling, she dabbed at the greenish stain with her napkin. "The Taco Palace? I've never heard of it. But I love fish tacos. Where is it?"

"Near the corner of Twenty-fifth and Kedzie in Little Village."

"I like Mexican food, too," Sam said. "Do they make enchiladas?"

"The best," Ellie a.s.sured him. "Although I have towarn you, I may be a little biased. My uncle owns the place."

Peter Branwell, who owned a national chain of restaurants, looked up from his soup. "Your uncle owns the Taco Palace? I've heard of it-it has an excellent reputation for inexpensive, high-quality food. Has your uncle ever thought of franchising?"

"No, he prefers to keep the restaurant family-owned and operated."

Doreen gave a tinkling laugh. "Family-owned and operated? You make it sound as if you've actually worked there."

Ellie met her gaze calmly. "I have. As a waitress."

"A waitress?" Doreen waved at the maid to remove the soup bowls. "Not a profession most people would aspire to. But perhaps you come from a long line of waitresses?"

"No, my mother cleaned houses."

"Dear me. And your father?"

A rueful smile curved Ellie's lips. "Poor Papa. He was most often unemployed, I'm afraid. His last job was as a usedcar salesman."

"I've bought used cars for the last twenty years," Sam commented as the maid set a dessert plate in front of him. "Maybe I bought one from your father. Hernandez...Hmm, it doesn't ring a bell. What was his first name?"

"I doubt you knew him-we lived in Philadelphia." Ellie reached toward the two forks above her plate. She hesitated, then picked up one and took a bite of her dessert. "Mmm, cherries jubilee, my favorite."

"Ahem." Doreen cleared her throat delicately and pointedly picked up another fork. "After hearing about your background, I can see why some of the finer aspects of etiquette must be bewildering to you."

Ellie switched forks and smiled sweetly. "Oh, no, not at all. My mother taught me that truly good manners mean making other people comfortable."

Ellie thought she saw Garek smile, but then he covered his mouth with his hand and coughed. "It's time to proceed with the silent auction," he said, rising to his feet. "We have a special item this evening, from Vogel's Gallery. The artist, Caspar Egilbert, will tell you about it. Caspar?"

Caspar, who'd been deep in conversation with the Palermos at the other end of the table, stood also, pus.h.i.+ng his lank brown hair back from his face. The motion caused the sleeves of his ill-fitting brown suit to hike up, exposing his bony wrists. He ambled over to the easel. "I created this painting especially for this occasion. It is symbolic of the many influences in my life, and my love and appreciation for my mother." He whipped off the covering, revealing...b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Hundreds of them.

Pointy, sagging and siliconed b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Brown, pink and one pair of blue b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Lopsided, tattooed and hairy b.r.e.a.s.t.s. b.r.e.a.s.t.s with nipples that, through some trick of perspective, always seemed to be pointing directly at the viewer no matter where he or she stood-or sat.

Mrs. Branwell's fork clattered onto her plate. Her husband leaned forward and craned his neck to get a better look. Amber folded her arms over her chest. Doreen emitted an odd, m.u.f.fled noise.

Garek burst out laughing.

"I'm glad you found the evening so amusing," Ellie said several hours later as Garek was driving her home. "I don't think your sister did. But that was your intention, wasn't it?"

"At first, perhaps," he admitted. "What about you? Did you enjoy yourself?"

"It could have been worse," she said, not very graciously. But she didn't want to admit that she had had had a good time. After Garek burst into laughter, everyone had seemed to loosen up. The silent auction had gone well, with George Palermo and Sam Kroner getting into a bidding war over Caspar's painting. Through it all, Ellie had chatted with the guests. Amber had left early, but everyone else had appeared to enjoy themselves-everyone except Doreen. had a good time. After Garek burst into laughter, everyone had seemed to loosen up. The silent auction had gone well, with George Palermo and Sam Kroner getting into a bidding war over Caspar's painting. Through it all, Ellie had chatted with the guests. Amber had left early, but everyone else had appeared to enjoy themselves-everyone except Doreen.

Looking stiff and mortified, Doreen Tarrington had barely spoken a word to anyone the remainder of the evening. Unfortunately, the one person she did speak to was Ellie. The older woman pulled her aside at one point to "warn" her about Garek. He had committed numerous sins, according to his sister, including neglecting his duty to his family and his position in the community, as well as cheating her out of her fair share of their father's company.

Garek turned the car onto Ellie's street and parked under a streetlight. It provided dim illumination through the sleet-filled night, but enough that she could see Garek's serious expression as he turned to her.

"I apologize for Doreen," he said quietly.

His words surprised her. "You don't have to. She didn't bother me."