Prince Albert(102)

"Delaney!" My mother Anja strides down the hall, wearing wide-legged white pants and a matching white shirt made of flowy material that billows as she walks, the look effortlessly casual but something I know cost thousands of dollars, made by some pretentious designer. Her hair and makeup are styled as if she's just stepped off the set of a television show, and she's wearing sunglasses inside the house. My mother hasn't modeled in ten years, but she treats every step as if she's still walking the runway in Milan.

"Anja," Delaney says. She reaches out with one arm to hug her, as if she's momentarily forgotten she's only wearing a towel, and then glances at me before grasping her towel tighter. "Sorry, I would -- Gaige knocked on the door and, uh, caught me by surprise."

"Clearly," Anja says, peering over the edge of her glasses at me. "Nice to see you out of the guest house."

"Nice to see you without your broom, mother," I say, as she air-kisses both sides of my face as if I'm one of her friends she luncheons with.

She turns toward Delaney and stage whispers. "He's been even more insufferable since the injury, as I'm sure you can tell."

"You're more bitter than usual," I retort. "The three martinis at lunch didn't take the edge off?"

Anja ignores me. "Did we send a driver to pick you up at the airport, Delaney?" she asks. "It was on my list, but I had a luncheon with the --"

"It was fine," Delaney says.

"Actually," I start, but Delaney interrupts me.

"It was totally fine," Delaney says, more emphatically this time. "And now, I'm going to get dressed, if that's okay?"

"Should I tell your father you'll meet him at the office?" Anja asks.

"Um. It's pretty late?" Delaney's voice is tentative.

"Oh, yes," Anja says. "I got carried away at lunch."

"Obviously," I say with a snort.

"Gaige, let her get changed for dinner. Stop bothering her." Anja turns without waiting for a response, and flutters back down the hall, a sea of billowing fabric.

Delaney starts to close the door, but pauses. "Yeah, Gaige," she whispers, sticking her tongue out like a child. "Stop bothering me."

I'm about to make a lewd comment in response, but she's already shut the door.





CHAPTER FOUR

DELANEY



"I thought I mentioned that Delaney was coming back." My father sips from a glass of scotch, talking to Gaige. It's him and Gaige and I for dinner. Anja had a headache, which is apparently a euphemism for drinking too much. I wonder how often she has headaches.

"I think I would have remembered that, Beau," Gaige says, glancing at me. He winks, and I can feel a flush spread up my chest all the way to my cheeks. I swear, if my father saw it… But Beau is busy sawing at his steak, blood oozing from the meat and pooling on his plate. I give Gaige a cut-it-out look. Obviously Gaige hasn't matured over the years. I resolve to tell him later to stop the shameless flirtation, but I'm not entirely convinced it wouldn't encourage him even more. In fact, I know it would. Gaige has a rebellious streak a mile wide. Which is why I want to ask him why the hell he's back here, living under my father's roof. Or at least on my father's estate, anyway.

"Well, good Lord," Beau drawls, gesturing with his steak knife still in his hand. "I guess I've been so wrapped up in the buyout lately that I didn't even think about it." My father talks about his acquisition of a small natural energy company like it's some kind of new thing, but it's hardly news. He has an expansionist mentality and wants Marlowe Oil to be the major player in terms of energy industries world-wide. "Of course, Delaney only just accepted my offer. Finally."

"You taught me to play hard to get," I say, spooning a forkful of mashed potatoes into my mouth. I wasn't playing hard to get, not really; this is my first job out of college, and my degree is in Asian studies. Against my mother's wishes, I followed my heart, and it's certainly not the most practical degree choice in the world.

No one was beating down my door to give me a job; and my mother, who's on her fourth marriage to a wealthy importer who spends most of his time overseas, couldn't even fathom why I would want to work instead of spend my days being a socialite in Manhattan. My father taught me to believe in working for a living; it helped that he convinced me to at least add another major to the mix and study business as well.

"Oh, really? Did he teach you that?" Gaige asks. Then I feel the un-freaking-believable: Gaige's hand on my leg. He gives my thigh a little squeeze, and I almost jump out of my skin. And not just because I'm startled, either – but because his touch does what it did before. It sends warmth running through my body like an electric current. When I look up at him in shock, he's giving me that cocky grin of his. Then he fucking winks. "Playing hard to get is underrated."