Yes! "No, I just-" There goes the temporary truce. But then it probably wouldn't have lasted anyway. "You definitely shouldn't go to that party Friday night."
"I'm not running from him, Vanessa."
"He'll be mean."
"Not to brag, chère, but I can be mean myself."
"You're deliberately going somewhere you know you'll be insulted. Is this some kind of masochistic thing because you aren't proud of your past?"
"I need to find out what he wants."
"So you agree he's up to something and not just curious to meet you."
"I do."
"But earlier you said-"
"Leave your father to me."
Her eyes narrowed as she sipped her wine. "Go along and cook something, dear. Leave the conflicts to the big, strong men."
He drank the rest of his whiskey. "That's not what I meant. This conflict is a professional thing between the two of us."
"A conflict I'm in the middle of."
"I won't put you there," he said coolly, as if insinuating her father wouldn't hesitate. Which he probably wouldn't if it gave him an advantage. "The sooner I face him and let him know I won't be intimidated, the sooner it will pass."
Watching him, the way the teasing lover retreated and the forceful lawyer appeared, another aspect of their encounter with Brett occurred to her. "How did you know Brett was with my father's firm?"
"I told you I researched him."
"You memorized the names of all twenty associates?"
"I believe there are twenty-two, and, no, I didn't. His trying-to-be-fierce Ken-doll face was memorable, though."
Despite her and Lucas's identical assessment of Brett, Vanessa's stomach cramped. She didn't like the way this party standoff was shaping up. She didn't like the suspicion that she'd have to choose between her father and her lover. And despite her fierce defense of him earlier, a small nibble of doubt wormed its way inside. Did Lucas have some secret grudge against her father? Or was it the other way around? Was it possible one or the other was using her as a strategic move on the battlefield?
Could she really fall head over heels for a man who intended to use her? Would she let that happen?
No and no. If Lucas had lied, if he was playing her, she'd know.
But why couldn't she give herself fully to him? Were childhood's fears of rejection and a longing for acceptance still that strong?
"Not even a laugh for the Ken-doll thing?" Lucas asked.
Smiling, she toasted him with her glass. "We're in agreement there."
"But not about your father?"
"I don't like the way he's confronting you. He'll be surrounded by his supporters. You'll be alone."
"You and Mia will be there."
She shook her head. "Just me." And how she needed her partner on this one. "We'd already committed to another party that night, so I'm going solo."
"I'm sorry this will be awkward for you."
"It's not your fault."
"But it would help if I didn't go to the party."
"Maybe, but-"
"I won't go if it's going to hurt you."
Startled, she stared at him. Kind, strong and noble. She wasn't wrong about him. Of all the fake, arrogant, brownnosing people she'd been around most of her life, he was the purest. And wouldn't he laugh at that? "No, you're right. You have to face him sometime. You don't want that hanging over you. Or us."
"Isn't this cozy?"
Vanessa smiled at the sound of her friend's voice and jumped up to hug him. "Peter, you guys are terrific!"
"Thanks, doll. It's a blast."
"Peter, Lucas. Lucas, Peter."
As the two men shook hands, Vanessa noticed the sparkle of appreciation in Peter's eyes. "You always did have premier taste in men," he said.
"And friends," Lucas added.
With Peter beaming, they invited him to join them, which he agreed he could do for a couple of minutes before the next set began. After catching up on mutual friends-and enemies-Peter commented, "I saw Brett and Tracy stop by."
Vanessa's face flushed with anger and embarrassment. "Yeah."
"You don't have to tell me about them, doll," Peter said, waving his hand in dismissal. Then, he leaned forward. "But I wish you would."
Laughing, Vanessa exchanged a glance with Lucas, as she told her friend about their less-than-pleasant encounter.
"If you're going to have a controversial relationship, you're going to have problems."
"Controversial?"
"Everybody's no doubt heard the rumors about Lucas-his mysterious beginnings, his rise to rich and privileged." He crinkled his nose. "All that new money. You know these people, Vanessa. Start thinking like them. Anybody from the outside, anybody different is automatically suspect. And shunning him professionally isn't enough. They want a personal angle. Why do you think Brett Riverside just happened to be here tonight?"
The full extent of the rivalry her father obviously felt toward Lucas washed over her. "He knows we're friends."
"If he recruited one spy, he'll recruit ten." He smiled with an understanding few who hadn't walked their path could appreciate. "You made a stand once. You may be asked to make another."
And it might not be a showdown at the OK Corral, but Vanessa bet it would be close.
AS LUCAS HANDED HIS KEYS to the valet in front of the Douglas mansion two days later, an emotion he hadn't felt in a very long time gripped him.
Fear.
Rolling his shoulders, he dismissed the weakness just as quickly as it had appeared. He would focus on his anger and take control of the situation no matter that he was on enemy turf. He held the cards, after all. The information, the power … and Vanessa.
The idea that she could be caught in the middle of this mess between him and her father enraged him. Joseph Douglas had no idea how remarkable his child was, or what she'd become. In the short time Lucas had known Vanessa, he'd witnessed her bailing out her parents at least twice. This, despite the fact that they'd not only shunned her, but discouraged others from patronizing her bakery and using her catering services.
Sabotage. For her own good, naturally.
The absolute control her father demanded was absurd. Though Lucas had grown up pretty much without parents, he preferred making his life his own to having it directed by someone else. Vanessa had tried to do the same, of course, but her parents were blind-or petty-enough not to care.
If Lucas let his rage slip out of control, Douglas could find himself in a precarious position. Lucas had to constantly remind himself to keep Vanessa's well-being foremost in his mind. But he couldn't seem to forget her father didn't treat her the way he should. He certainly didn't respect her or appreciate her.
But he would.
Turning his attention to the house, Lucas couldn't help a small, ironic shake of his head. The red brick, three-story, white-columned mansion stood on a slight hill, surrounded by stately oaks and magnolias, an immaculate lawn and rows of azalea bushes and hydrangeas. What the hell he was doing in such a setting, he couldn't imagine. He'd probably never get used to the sensation that he didn't belong.
But then that kept him humble, kept him grounded. Without the memory of stale cheese and hardened bread in a rickety trailer, he might have become Joseph Douglas. And that was unacceptable.
He tried not to dwell on the idea that not only didn't he belong in Vanessa's world, he also didn't belong with her.
An older woman dressed in a black-and-white uniform held open the front door of the house. Her face was respectfully blank; she simply nodded as he passed. Lucas fought to ignore his racing heart and concentrate on his hard-won arrogance.
The two-story foyer featured a magnificent, curved white-carpeted stairway, along with numerous works of art and opulent furnishings. Hallways extended straight ahead, then to the right and the left, leading probably to a maze of more moneyed rooms. The maid extended her hand toward the arched doorway in front of him, which undoubtedly led to the party. Before he could walk through, however, Vanessa appeared in front of him.
"Good evening, Mr. Broussard," she said, then gave him an impish grin.
At least this weird night hadn't robbed her of her sense of humor. "Good evening, Ms … .?" He gave her a distracted smile. "I'm afraid I've forgotten your name."
Clearly annoyed, she planted her hands on her hips. "Not that professional."
They'd agreed to strict professionalism for the night, which, naturally, only made him want to violate the agreement. He was glad to hear she had the same instincts. He stepped close. "Mmm, now that I've gotten a closer look, it's all coming back to me. I'm getting a picture. Lime-green satin-and-lace camisole, tiny panties … "