Some Like Them Rich Read online

  In my case …

  I couldn’t finish the thought. I didn’t know want to think about it. Don had planted the seed in my mind that I was cold and calculating. I was doing nothing more than anyone who went to an online dating service would do. I was typing in my qualifications and reading the messages that came my way. It was the same. Instead of a computer scanning the entries, Don was doing it for me. He was my dating service.

  Or my pimp. Except that I only had to share one four-hour dance with him at the end of the summer.

  I checked my watch. It was nearly noon. Time for me to meet Don for lunch. I slammed the locker closed in the ladies’ dressing room and hoisted my gym bag over my shoulder. Moments later I dropped it in the car and returned to the hotel as if I’d just arrived.

  Don met me at the dining room entrance. His ready smile, the one he used for guests, was in place.

  “Hello,” he said, as if we hadn’t met on the beach that morning, as if he hadn’t pinned me to the sand and kissed me wildly. Taking my elbow, he led me to a table near the windows. A man stood up as we approached it.

  This had to be the man Don had mentioned this morning. I wasn’t ready to meet him and Don probably knew that. I needed more time to figure out why Don had kissed me this morning. After telling me he was willing to join me in my plan, he ruined it by having my heart, body, and mind remember the feel of him, the taste of his mouth on mine. It wasn’t a memory, something nebulous and without form, but a physical touching, holding, reacquaintance with a part of my makeup. Was he using it as a method of throwing me off guard? Of saying one thing while he did the opposite?

  I stood up a little taller and squared my shoulders. Like Don, I smiled as we reached the table.

  “Bob, meet Amber Nash,” Don said.

  “Mr. Yancey, Don has told me you like tennis.”

  “Bob, please. And I adore tennis,” he replied. We all sat down, Don maneuvering me to sit next to Bob Yancey. “He tells me you’re quite awesome on the court, too.”

  The waiter came over and took our drink order. I wondered if Don was planning to leave me alone with Bob, but he ordered a glass of iced tea and I took that as a signal that lunch would be for three. I relaxed a bit knowing he would be there. At least he was someone I knew. I hadn’t been on a blind date in forever, and I didn’t much relish breaking the ice with someone I had not chosen to spend time with.

  But as the waiter approached with our tray of drinks and took our food order, Don excused himself under the pretext of having things that needed his attention. He took his glass of iced tea and smiled at us as he walked away.

  I searched for something to talk about when I turned back to Bob. I could ask about his business, but he might decide to tell me. I’d made that mistake with Casey, so I thought I’d go with something I liked. But Bob got there before me.

  “When did you begin playing tennis?” he asked. “Don tells me you creamed him on the court the other day.”

  I smiled, taking a moment to think about my answer. “I started in grade school. My father was very sports minded and my sister and I tried everything. I love tennis, but I was on the diving team in college. For strength training, I used to play tennis. It helped with breathing and stamina.”

  “You must be good. I’ve played with Don before, and he can be formidable.”

  “I didn’t exactly cream him. The game was interrupted by his job. He had to return to the hotel before we could finish.”

  “But you would have?”

  “It ain’t over till it’s over,” I hedged, falling back on the cliché. I knew the match could go either way. I could suddenly lose my edge or Don could find his. There was no telling until the game was finally done. But I felt I would have beat him if Jack hadn’t interrupted the spectacle.

  “Don said he scheduled some time for us tom or row. Are you willing?”

  “Of course,” I answered. Then I challenged him. “Don also tells me I should let you win.”

  He sat back at that, his eyes opening a little wider than they had before, but not enough to feign surprise.

  “Does that mean you’re a sore loser or that winning is everything?” I asked.

  “I like to think that I can win what I go after, but if I lose, I can take it.”

  I wasn’t sure he meant he could take it from a woman.

  Our food arrived and talk of tennis was dropped.

  “Are you here for the music festival?” I asked between bites of my salad.

  “That’s one of the reasons. I come every year if work permits.”

  I kept myself from rolling my eyes. I didn’t want him to go into a tirade on his job.

  “How about you? Is this your first time on the Vineyard?”

  I was so surprised I had to cover myself by taking a drink. Few men ever wanted to talk about what I did. They were too much into themselves. Bob might be the exception. I decided not to judge him and see where this went. Although I did remember to stay in character.

  “I usually go to Europe, but this summer my two friends talked me into coming here. They’re into jazz.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “I like the music, but I’m not as much into it as they are.”

  “So you’re not planning to go to the concerts.”

  “Oh, I am. I wouldn’t come this far and not go to the event of the summer.”

  “This far? Where are you from?”

  “New York.” I intentionally left out Brooklyn, although I was supposed to say Manhattan. And I left that out, too.

  “I’m from New Jersey.”

  “A lot of pharmaceutical companies are in New Jersey.”

  “That’s why I located mine there. Although I’m not in the corridor.”

  “Corridor?”

  “There’s a section of the state where the majority of them are concentrated. You can practically step from one company to the next along the same road. Mine is located farther south in a county with a lower tax base.”

  “I see.” I wondered if this meant he was not only rich, but frugal, too. Well, wasn’t that how the rich got rich? By being frugal?

  “I learned the business by working for the big ones, but once I was downsized, I decided it was time to branch out on my own.”

  “That must have taken a lot of capital.”

  “There are investors out there. You must know, the rich only want to be richer.”

  I nodded without saying anything.

  “When I explained my proposal and the product I was developing, the money came.”

  “I’ve invested in a few things, mostly stocks and bonds, but never in pharmaceuticals.” That was true, but not on the order that I led him to believe.

  “You should have your investment firm look into it. When you get a winner, it’s very lucrative.”

  “I’ll remember that,” I said.

  As the meal went on, I relaxed, laughed at his jokes, and enjoyed myself. When he asked me to have dinner with him, I readily accepted. Don had been right, I decided.

  I did like Bob.

  I skipped down the stairs at the sound of the doorbell ringing. Jack or Amber must have forgotten a key. Pulling the door inward, I was surprised to find the Fed Ex man standing on the porch.

  “Package for Ms. Lila Easton,” he said, pronouncing my name as Lilly instead of Lila.

  “I’m Lila Easton.”

  He thrust an electronic signature notebook in front of me.

  “Sign here?”

  I signed in the desired space with the leadless pencil he handed me. No image appeared in the space but on an LED panel above the writing area.

  He smiled and handed me a box. I thanked him and he walked back toward the truck parked at the curb.

  Looking at the address slip, I wondered who it was from. I wasn’t expecting anything. My parents knew where I was, but it wasn’t my birthday or a holiday. The office wouldn’t send anything here either.

  Lifting the box closer and squinting at the light scrip
t, I deciphered Clay’s name. The package was from Clay. I dropped it on the table in the kitchen. I hadn’t taken his phone calls since our perfect day. I suppose this was his way of contacting me, forcing me to communicate.

  Well, he was wrong.

  He had no right to assume that I needed a babysitter. That I needed someone to guide me through the process of getting over Orlando. It was a private matter. He had no right to invade my life, to assume that he knew what I needed better than I did.

  I left the package unopened on the kitchen counter and returned to my bedroom. I was going out. I’d been in the house too long. This was what I did when Orlando left me. Other than work, I secluded myself in my apartment, eating chocolates and ice cream. It changed nothing. I was going to go out and find someone. Someone unlike Clay. Unlike Orlando. Someone who didn’t think he could or needed to make me over.

  When I dressed and returned to the kitchen, the package was still there. It called to me. I wanted to know what was inside. It was a small box—too large to be jewelry, but too small to be anything significant. Yet I wanted to know what was inside.

  “Shit,” I said. “Open the damn thing.”

  Grabbing the box, I ripped the tape from the seams, cutting through the address label with Clay’s name on it. Pulling back the flaps and removing the packing material, I found a small wooden rocking chair. It was doll-size, intricately carved, and the back had my name painted in a scroll design.

  My breath caught at the loving detail that had gone into the work. Unexpectedly, tears came to my eyes. I blinked them away, catching sight of a piece of paper with writing on it.

  Please forgive me, was all it said, each word underlined for emphasis. It was signed Clay, in a strong and sure handwriting.

  I picked up the chair again, caressing it as if it were fragile and more precious than gold.

  As I left the house, I heard someone call my name. I knew instantly it was Clay. Turning in the direction of his voice, I saw him standing near the edge of the driveway looking at me. He wore khaki shorts and a green T-shirt. Over his left breast was a pocket with faded words I couldn’t read.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said as he approached me. “I’ve never seen anything as beautiful. Thank you.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  “You carved it?”

  He nodded.

  “It’s a treasure.” I hesitated a moment. “I’m sorry for the way I acted,” I continued.

  “I am, too. I should never have tried to give you advice on something I have very little experience doing.”

  “It was kind of you to think to help me. I should be grateful for that.”

  “Friends again?” he questioned.

  “Friends,” I said, seeing his shoulders drop in relief.

  He came forward then and embraced me, kissing my cheek. I felt as if I’d been parted from him for a lifetime instead of a few days. His body was warm and his smell sent a thrill through me.

  His hands followed my arms down to my hands and he held them, taking a step back. “What would you like to do today? How about going on that trip to the moon you mentioned?”

  I held my laughter and played along. “I don’t have the proper clothes for space travel.”

  “Then how about a plain ol’ swim? For that you don’t have to dress at all.”

  Blood poured from where he touched my fingers to my face, heating my ears at the sexual insinuation evident in his tone. A mental picture of his body, naked and erect, flashed in my mind. I blinked to dislodge it, but it wouldn’t leave, giving me something to carry around for this and the next lifetimes.

  “I’d better get my suit,” I said. “Come on.” I rushed inside and up to my room. Clay came inside, but waited downstairs. The distance between us helped me to keep my thoughts from continuing on the track they were headed. Quickly I changed clothes, returning in five minutes with everything I’d need for a day at the beach.

  As I ran down the stairs, Jack came in.

  “Hi, Jack,” I said. I wondered if Amber was anywhere near. Quickly I introduced her to Clay. Then, like a teenager hiding something from my parents, I ushered him out the door and into the car.

  Clay drove to the beach where we’d sat like lovers a few days earlier. It was great to be back with him again. I liked him, liked him a lot. I felt I could be natural with him. He didn’t ask probing questions, so I didn’t have to lie about my background.

  There was a moment when I thought he could see through the veil. That he didn’t believe my father owned a pharmaceutical company. But when he brought up Orlando, I felt if he didn’t believe me, he’d have said something.

  Clay spread a blanket on the sand along with a picnic basket he brought from the backseat of the car. I sat on it and looked at him.

  “When did you have that made?” I ask, indicating the basket.

  “I didn’t have it made. I made it. Well, most of it.”

  “Who made the other part?”

  “My aunt. Right after she told me to go and take you swimming.”

  “Your aunt?” I was clearly surprised. “You told your aunt about me?”

  “I’m her favorite nephew and she could see I was unhappy.”

  I felt a little guilty for making him unhappy. I understood how he felt. I’d been miserable during the days I hadn’t seen him.

  “How about we swim first?” he suggested.

  “Sure.” I grabbed at the offer, needing to pass the moment.

  Together we pulled off our clothes. I prayed he was kidding about not needing a suit. I also sent up a prayer that if Clay was wearing one, it wasn’t a Speedo. The gods were with me.

  My attire was a one-piece hot pink, high-thigh-cut suit I’d bought at Saks before we came here. We ran toward the water, rushing into it only to find the surf shocking and cold. Yet it felt good compared to my warm skin. In minutes I was swimming across the surface, keeping a well-fixed distance between myself and the black Adonis nearby.

  Clay’s sure and strong strokes reached out toward me, but I was a good swimmer and we found ourselves racing. There were no boundaries in the ocean. He pursued and I eluded him. He finally caught up with me.

  “You’re a strong swimmer.”

  “I love swimming and do it regularly,” I told him, both of us treading water. I felt a thrill that he acknowledged my ability.

  “Well, this exercise has made me hungry. Wanna race me back?”

  Instead of answering him, I took off, giving myself a two-stroke lead over him. I wasn’t sure I could win. I was tired from the previous race and Clay was right on my heels. As I kicked, I sometimes slapped his hands with my feet. The knowledge threw me off. I’d forget to breathe and be disciplined with a mouthful of water.

  As we neared the shoreline and the area where we’d left our blanket and clothes, I stood up and walked, the surf curling around my ankles. Sand coated my legs as I headed for the blanket. Just as I reached it, I could feel Clay behind me. I turned to see how far back he was, figuring he’d let me win the race and that he was admiring my backside as I strolled across the warm sand.

  He was about six feet away, far enough for me to watch him, see his body from head to toe. He didn’t look like a guy who made furniture, more like someone who did bodybuilding. His arms and shoulders were massive. I could almost feel them holding me, although he wasn’t touching me.

  And I suddenly wanted to be touched.

  As he neared me, I raised my arms. Clay walked into them and I hugged him close. Angling my mouth, I sought his, yearned for the feel of it. His mouth came down on mine as if he had a right to it. I didn’t struggle. I’d wanted him to kiss me since the day he took me parasailing, since the moment I saw him over the tomatoes in the grocery store.

  His mouth was soft at first, unhurried. His lips skated over mine, almost asking for permission or giving me the time and space to stop this before it went any further. Stopping was the last thing on my mind. I moved a little closer to him, my hands taking a
slow trip over his wet torso and connecting behind him. He wrapped me securely against him, his mouth taking charge, deepening the kiss, sweeping his tongue in my mouth as if I were the picnic lunch.

  Clay feasted on me. And I had no objection.

  “It’s a good thing we’re on the beach,” he said after a moment so long I didn’t think I could continue standing.

  “Why?” I asked breathlessly.

  “If we weren’t I’d rip your clothes off and take you right here.”

  “You wouldn’t need to rip them.”

  Chapter 12

  I could not believe my good luck. Bob was perfect. So far.

  Not that I was looking for fault in him, but other than being rich, he was considerate, charming, and funny. And he was straight. At least I thought so.

  We had yet to play tennis. That would come in the morning, but after dinner and dancing tonight, he made sure I was home in time to get enough sleep for our early-morning tennis game.

  “Are you an early riser?” I asked as we left the hotel.

  “I’m usually at work by six,” he said.

  “Which is why we have a court time at seven?” I asked.

  “We can make it later if that’s too early,” he offered.

  “The time is fine,” I conceded. He was also considerate of my sleeping habits and energy level for an early-morning game. As I was also an early riser, the time was not an issue.

  He’d kissed me on the cheek and immediately stepped out of range. With a soft good night, he went down the steps and got into his car. I opened the door, and as he turned around and passed the house, his hand came out of the window and he waved good night.

  I sniffed as I closed the front door. Something was cooking and it smelled delicious. I walked into the kitchen. The room was in disarray. Practically every pot and pan from the vast storehouse of utensils sat upright or turned over on the counter, sink, and center island.

  Laughter came from the dining room. I walked to the door. Lila jumped up from a man’s lap where she’d been sitting, about to feed him something from the spoon in her hand. Both spoon and food plopped to the floor. The man stood up.