…
Two hours later, as they approached East Hampton, the puzzle that was Marianne McBride started to come together. Or come apart, depending on your perspective. His fiancée was definitely coming unglued.
“Everything will be fine.” Nick gripped the wheel and tried to play it cool.
Hell, a few days ago he lived by rules about back-to-back dates, and today he was playing Meet the Parents. One of them had to stay calm or this whole engagement fiasco was going to blow up like a bomb at the end of its timer.
“My parents never do anything small, so expect a lot of people—friends, neighbors—basically anyone who lives within a twelve mile radius,” Marianne said, her voice so tense it sounded like she’d been hitting up a helium tank. “My dad’s a sweetheart, but he’s been through a lot, so try not to look directly at his ankle monitor,” she continued at full speed. “Mom’s an artist, and there’s one of her paintings on every wall in the house. Compliment the artwork, but avoid any mention of Picasso, even his name…”
One hand on the wheel, he waved her words to a stop with the other. “Whoa, hang on just a minute. Your father’s ankle bracelet?”
Marianne bit down on her bottom lip. “Yes…”
Nick drew in a breath and collected his thoughts. Minor offenses didn’t normally require ankle monitors. “Start at the beginning.”
In an obvious stall tactic, she adjusted her sunglasses against the bridge of her nose. “Until about a year ago, my dad owned a brokerage firm in Manhattan—upscale, extremely successful, high-profile clients.”#p#分页标题#e#
Nick shifted in the leather seat, not liking where this story was going.
Hands clasped together and set primly on her lap, Marianne drew in a long breath and continued, “There was a rumor of securities fraud and my dad was arrested for insider trading.”
Both hands white-knuckled the wheel. He was a financial attorney, for Christ’s sake. A string of swear words bounced around in his head, Brooklyn-style curses, none of them nice, all more suited for a locker room than a trip to the Hamptons. He fought the urge to bang his palms against the steering wheel.
Marianne’s brows pulled together. “Insider trading wasn’t my dad’s style. He worked by the book, but when the SEC filed charges, he refused to offer a defense and cut a deal, which still makes no sense to me.” Looking away, she continued, “He did a six-month stint at a federal prison camp in Pensacola, minimum security, but … His firm still manages his investments, so it’s not like he’s banned from making profits, but the assets are monitored by the Feds.”
“You should have told me.” Her father’s criminal history fell into the potential roadblock category where his career was concerned.
Marianne pulled her gaze from the road. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. The party wasn’t supposed to be for another two weeks, so I thought I’d have a chance, and given that our agreement was only for six weeks, I didn’t think it was an issue.”
“Well, it’s an issue.” Her card-counting secret paled in comparison to the unexpected news that her father had a permanent record. “Nothing I can’t handle.” But he wondered what else she kept hidden inside that proper exterior. “If he did his time, why the monitor?”
She bit down on her bottom lip. “Early release program, and now that he’s out and his assets are partially unfrozen, my parents think it’s time to celebrate.”
Nick nodded, but kept his eyes on the road. “So this is why you’re no longer a broker?”
An almost bitter laugh broke out of her. “Wall Street’s a small world, so my dad’s conviction cost me my career. Like father, like daughter rumors. None of them true, of course.”
“Do you miss it? Wall Street, the action of the trading floor?”
She gave him the sweetest, saddest smile, and a dull ache formed in the middle of his chest. Not at all straightforward or uncomplicated. “Do you know the only other person to ask me that is your sister? The only person in Manhattan who’d give me a chance. I owe her.”
Nick nodded. “Explains the cake.”
A blush colored her cheeks, but she waved away his remark, sexier in a ponytail than any woman who’d ever taken a ride in his backseat. Still, now that he’d discovered another of her secrets, he’d be smart to slow down. And not just his driving.
“To answer your first question—no, I don’t miss trading. I still love numbers, their orderliness and dependability, but racking up dollars in my bank account was pretty empty.”