“You’ve got some good artworks.” Lethbridge grudgingly nodded at the paintings on the wall. “You’re a collector?”
“Afraid not. My interior decorator suggested most of these.”
“Humpf.” Suspicion returned to the councilor’s face.
Lethbridge wore a cashmere sweater, beige trousers, and loafers with those little tassels Owen hated. Owen, on the other hand, wore a plain blue shirt with his jeans and sneakers. He’d decided not to dress up, to wear the casual clothes he normally wore to informal events, but now he realized his mistake. He didn’t look like he belonged in this neighborhood, and the opulent furnishings only emphasized that. No wonder Lethbridge looked skeptical.
“Can I fix you a drink?” No point in dwelling on his mistake; he had to push on, try to make up lost ground. He gestured toward the liquor cabinet.
“I’ll have a whiskey. Single malt, if you have it.”
“I’m sure I do.”
He rummaged through the bottles, hoping he’d find something. He never drank whiskey himself, but he’d asked Paige to stock up the alcoholic supplies, so with any luck she’d know what people in the neighborhood drank. It appeared she did. He pulled out a bottle of some impressive-sounding scotch whiskey, and Lethbridge nodded his approval when he accepted a glassful. But his skeptical expression returned when Owen opened a bottle of everyday beer.
“Cheers,” Owen said defiantly. He liked his beer. He wasn’t going to change just because he’d moved into a swanky neighborhood. He wouldn’t even pour his beer into a glass; he would drink it straight out of the bottle.
Lethbridge cleared his throat, halfheartedly raising his glass of whiskey.
“How ’bout that test match with the All Blacks?” Owen launched into the tried and tested subject of sport. Lethbridge had to follow rugby. Everything about him screamed “private school” where the game was compulsory. Sure enough, the councilor launched into a detailed discussion of the match.
After a few long minutes, Owen felt his eyes start to glaze over. He’d exhausted his limited knowledge of rugby, but even if he was growing stiff with boredom, at least Lethbridge had relaxed a little. Maybe it was time to bring the conversation round to Bandicoot Creek.
“I used to be a good fly-half until I injured my knee.” Lethbridge had settled into the wingback chesterfield. “Nowadays golf is my sport. You play, Bellamy?”
Owen had to shake his head. Golf was for people with money and time.
“You ought to try it, especially now that you’ve moved here. Plenty of good golf courses around here. The country club has an excellent course.” Lethbridge went to take another swig of whiskey but paused, eyes narrowing above the raised glass. “You’re a member there?”
“No.” Owen sensed the councilor withdrawing again, and wanted to clench his fist in frustration. All his groundwork going to waste, and just because he didn’t belong to the fricking country club. He sat up. “I’m thinking of applying for membership. Would you be willing to propose my application?”
It seemed the worst thing he could have said. Lethbridge coughed, went red in the face, and pretended there was something in his whiskey. “I don’t know if I’m in a position to do that.” He hemmed and hawed for a while longer, making Owen dig his fingers into the arms of the couch.
He’d been too blunt, he realized too late. Instead of coming out so baldly with his request, he should have wooed Lethbridge a little more. He should have flattered him, stroked his ego, made him feel big and important. But he wasn’t made like that. He’d built up his career dealing with people like himself—down-to-earth, direct, blue collar. He didn’t have the expertise to handle someone like Lethbridge, and now it looked like he’d done more harm than good by inviting the guy over.
But Owen wasn’t ready to throw in the towel. He waited until the councilor had calmed down before saying, “The country club is a fine-looking place. I pass it each time I go out to Bandicoot Creek.”
“Bandicoot Creek?” Lethbridge picked at his trousers, not appearing much interested.
“Yeah, it’s the block of land I’m planning to develop. It’s near the ninth green of your club.”
Lethbridge stiffened. He’d caught his attention now, Owen thought, but not in a good way as he registered the grimace on the councilor’s face.
“Ah. I heard some rumor about that at the club.” A deep trench appeared on his forehead as he drew his brows together. “Frankly, it’s not the kind of development we approve of. Row upon row of mean little town houses, hooligans doing burnouts on the streets, people trespassing on our golf course. No, no.” Lethbridge shook his head, his mouth pursed into a disapproving knot. “We can’t have that near our country club. It would ruin everything.” Setting down his whiskey, he stood, his intention to leave clear.
Owen sprang to his feet, too. The rumors were all wrong. He didn’t want to build mean little town houses. He wanted something in keeping with the countryside, something spacious, peaceful, green. That was what he intended to say to Lethbridge, to soothe his concerns.
But instead what came out of his mouth was, “Is that your only concern? That the country club members might be a little inconvenienced?” Menace rumbled in the back of his throat, and he didn’t seem to have any control over it. “What about the people who can only afford a mean little town house? Where should they live, huh?”
Lethbridge wrinkled his nose. “Somewhere else, obviously.”
The base of Owen’s skull pounded. The tendons in his hands twitched. The sneer on the councilor’s face begged to be wiped out.
Owen never discovered what might have happened next because at that moment Paige sauntered in, looking like a million dollars. Judging by the bouncy sleekness of her blond hair, she’d just returned from the beauty salon. Her simple-but-pricey slip dress and dainty high heels showed off her Bambi legs. A silk scarf floated around her neck, tiny diamonds winked in her ears, lipstick gleamed on her lips. There was a lilt to her step.
In her arms she carried a glass vase filled with white roses. She halted as soon as she saw them. “Oh, hello. Didn’t realize you had company.”
“Paige?” Councilor Lethbridge sprang forward, surprise and relief on his face. “Why, Paige, it’s good to see you here.”
She set the vase down on a side table and politely shook hands with the councilor. In a concerned murmur, Lethbridge began to inquire about her parents, their whereabouts, and the status of the house, darting a few sour glances in Owen’s direction. Owen glowered at the man. Bad enough having the councilor question his presence in front of him, but what really got his goat was how long the man held on to Paige’s hand. The geezer was old enough to be her father, dammit. What a piece of slime.
Paige seemed to know how to handle Lethbridge. She made a few evasive remarks, and Lethbridge relaxed, even laughing in a horsey whine that made Owen grit his teeth. Lethbridge and Paige belonged to the same old-money, conservative club, while he would forever be the outsider. He’d never wanted to join their exclusive club, but not being a member was screwing his chances for Bandicoot Creek, and that he did mind.
With a curt nod to Owen, Lethbridge took his leave. When he was gone, Owen returned to the living room where Paige was rearranging the vase of flowers.
“I didn’t realize you knew Mr. Lethbridge,” she said conversationally.
“I don’t know him, and after today I doubt he ever wants to know me. But that’s okay. The feeling’s mutual.”
She flicked back a curl of shiny wheaten hair from her flawless cheek. “Why did you invite him over, then?”
“Because he’s a longtime member on the town council, and I thought I’d try to sell him on my Bandicoot Creek development, but it turns out I did more harm than good.” He frowned at her. She was so damn cool and gorgeous and untouchable. Like a fine porcelain sculpture—pale and delicate—while he was a lump of rock.
“Oh” Her arched eyebrows were two perfect crescents above crisp gray eyes. “You wanted to schmooze him.”
“I wanted to punch him by the end of it.” He watched her hands weave deftly through the roses like darting fish. In contrast his hands were broad and callused. He raked them through the back of his hair. “He’s got the wrong idea about my development. He thinks it’s going to be an overcrowded estate of cheap, mass-produced town houses, but it’s not. It’s the complete opposite.”
“Why didn’t you set him straight?”
“Because he’s an arrogant pig.” Owen exhaled a growl. “He was appalled at the thought of working-class families settling near his damn country club. Didn’t want them anywhere near him. Shit, I’m one of those people, and Lethbridge knew it. He couldn’t have been more direct in his insults. I don’t belong here, that’s what he’s saying. I should just slink away and take my grubby business elsewhere because people like me aren’t welcome around here.” He paused, realizing he was breathing hard and his hands were fisted again.