Bluegrass Seduction (The Bluegrass Billionaire Trilogy Book 1) (4 page)

Auggie

“W
ell, Mother, I met your Dr. Jervis,” I announced as she stirred her mint julep on the veranda. “Only it wasn’t your Dr. Jervis,” I added before skipping inside to put on my riding clothes. This seemed like the perfect afternoon for a date with Carlos.

I knew she couldn’t resist. “What do you mean, not my Dr. Jervis?” She was hot on my heels.

“Why does that upset you so badly, Mother? Could it be you had one of your magic spells already in place?” I asked, feeling suddenly superior. Perhaps Mother taught me a thing or two over the years.

“Elizabeth Augusta, you stand still this instant and tell me what you’ve done now!”

“Are you speaking to me?” I asked in my warning tone.

Mother stomped one foot in vexation. “Young lady, you are to stop this nonsense right now. I went to great pains to find you the right therapist and now you’re telling me you didn’t see him at all? Who did you talk to? These are very private concerns, young lady. We can’t have just anyone privy to our family matters.” Mother was losing ground with every word she spoke. She’d lost my interest with her “young lady” opening.

I slammed my bedroom door and changed my clothes, leaving the discarded items on the floor where they belonged. I waited until her muttering decreased as she descended the staircase before opening my door and venturing out. I heard the patio door shut firmly — Mother never slammed anything; it wasn’t ladylike — and then skipped out the front door toward the stables.

Carlos heard me coming and was restless in his paddock, waiting to be released. Together we were the wind.

I didn’t return until the last rays of sunlight and as I was brushing Carlos down, Dad appeared.

“Auggie, we have to talk,” he began. It was obvious he’d rather be doing anything else, but had been sent by Mother to get this settled.

“I was expecting you eventually,” I acknowledged him. He really was a dear, old sweetheart, even if he had no spine. Dad was forever in the role of peacemaker.

“Your mother tells me…”
Why do all his sentences begin that way?
“that you went to see Dr. Jervis today but for some reason, she has the idea you saw someone else. Is that true?” His wording was carefully selected.

Carlos, ever my defender, kicked over a water bucket at that moment and Dad actually started a bit at the noise. I wanted to put him at ease but didn’t particularly want to reward Mother’s machinations. I compromised.

“Mother scheduled me to see Dr. Jervis but apparently, his receptionist thought it a better idea that I see his new partner,” I explained.

“I see.” Dad looked relieved that there might just be a simple explanation here after all. His shoulders sagged and I wondered briefly how long it had been since Dad had walked erectly with pride.

“Father, when will Mother realize that I’m a grown woman and no longer need her to supervise my life? I’m a college graduate, remember? I must know something about my life to get that far, don’t you think?”

“Yes, yes, of course, Auggie, but your mother is old school. She is very conscious of the family’s social position. I don’t need to tell you that.”

“Like, what am I doing? Selling my body on the corner? Strung out on drugs or have my own stool at the bar? Really, Dad, let’s be real about this.”

Dad’s feet were shuffling, a definite sign that this conversation was making him terribly uncomfortable. I knew he was trying to stay long enough to gather some positive intel that would convince Mother the issue had been dealt with and she could go back to non-stop manipulations of all our lives.

“Try to look at it this way.” I tried to expose some silver lining to him. “We both know that Mother likes to have a hand in things, and we both acknowledge that she probably had things set up with Dr. Jervis to report back to her with the details. So, my seeing someone other than Jervis was probably a Godsend and will simplify your life and mine considerably. What do you think?”

Dad smiled shyly and it always melted my heart the fastest. “I think I have a grown-up girl who is pretty darn smart.”

I nodded. “Thought you’d see it my way.” I smiled back. “Now go ahead and tell Mother you gave me what-for, and I pinky swore not to spill any family secrets and embarrass her, okay?”

He nodded and left, and I went back to brushing down Carlos. “Carlos, my love, be glad that you only were gelded the one time.”

Worth

A
ll in all, I think my first day went remarkably well. Jervis was headed in my direction, probably to discuss how everything went. Good thing I had Patsy send that intercept call directly to his personal cell. I knew that would stop him on the spot. Jervis couldn’t handle more than one issue at a time.

I pulled the Porsche out onto Shelbyville Road and headed downtown. As one of the major shopping areas in town, it was constant start and stop traffic. I understood why the office was convenient here, but I would by far rather stay in the country.

One of my favorite hangouts was a little bar called Joe’s, tucked beneath the Third Street Bridge. It pre-dated the first Derby and if you looked around, you might think you’d stepped back to that time. The patrons were strictly old money. The attire de rigueur was baggy wool, combatting plaids, and a cap that had been properly mashed beneath a hoof on some muddy track. Presidents had been determined here and influence reeked from the age-scented bodies. It was a world where there was no longer any need to impress one another and certainly anyone who wasn’t there didn’t enter their minds. Almost without exception, the ancestors of these craggy faces with their bushy eyebrows and yellowed teeth had come ashore still respecting their King. They’d been sent on a mission to lay claim to the virginal America before the peasants could learn to build a split-railed fence.

This was the battlefield of Kentucky Colonels, a world that ate burgoo and drank juleps made with Bardstown bourbon. It was a world where a small man was not a runt, but a possible jockey. Here, a man’s wealth was measured by the acres of bluegrass he’d fenced and the institution that was the Stockyards Bank. Their Derby boxes had been handed down through the generations and their names were like bloodlines carefully selecting fillies as brood mares for their offspring. Need I add that it was an unspoken rule that women weren’t invited?

I go there from time to time, just to be alone and free of the need to acquire a bed partner for the night. There was a certain stress release that came with entering that unmarked door. A place that smelled of the manure trod in beneath boots that had so recently surveyed the paddocks.

I remember the day when the IRS deemed horse breeding to be a hobby and no longer a tax deduction. It certainly approximated the stock market crash in the thirties and served to winnow out the new money — those who were in horses as dollar investments. Those who remained had coffers and lineage. These were the men I admired, if not simply for their lack of innovation as much as for their endurance. These were my people. These were the untouchables.

It was dark, cool and devoid of cologne, factors which made it perfect. I could leave my charm, as well as my insolence, at the door. It also meant that I could leave in whatever condition I drank myself into and nothing would be said. My father never came in here. He said he preferred to do his drinking in his study with guests. I wasn’t sure, but I suspected there was something a little gray in his past he didn’t like to be reminded of. This was the kind of place where the walls chastised your conscience. Words or looks weren’t necessary. So far I had managed to stay undetected, but I was fairly sure all that was about to change. I just never expected how it would come about.

***

I knocked on Jeremy’s door about three a.m. He answered after long minutes and was in a flowered robe. “Honestly, Worth? It’s three in the morning. Some of us have to work for a living, you know.”

I nodded. “I do…” I slurred, “I mosth def-initely do.” My tongue felt very thick.

“So what do you want?” he asked, visually perturbed.

“Your couch. Can’t go home and you were close.”

Jeremy leaned forward and sniffed. “Jesus! You’re ready to puke. I don’t want you on my new sofa.”

“Let me in your bed, then.”

He threw up a hand, then planted it on his hip. “Now you know we’ve been all over that. My bed is reserved for my playmates and it just happens that it’s occupied at the moment. Now, go on with you. Find a room somewhere. There aren’t any at this inn.” With that, Jeremy shut the door and I made a mental note to never hire him to decorate my office again, but I have a short memory.

It was a hot and humid night. Nightlife was still in full swing. Somehow my car made it to the office and I let myself in, marveling at the number of lights that were on. I guess the ghosts needed to see.

I did not, however, realize that ghosts giggled. I distinctly heard the sound of a woman’s laughter and I saw a light beneath Jervis’ door. It drew me like a beacon. I lost all discretion when I’d been drinking.

I opened the door without knocking and found the kind, eminent Dr. Jervis au natural with a woman of approximately his own age. She was well-preserved, even at her age, and I stood still a moment to enjoy the view of her uplifted legs.

There was a loud squeal, then Jervis sat upright, his cock dangling in a sort of bent, pitiful way. As I stared, it partially deflated and was well on its way to becoming road kill. The lady in question pushed herself back and struggled to sit up, pulling a blouse over herself and tucking her head. Her breasts were bountiful, if a bit wrinkled from too many trips to the tanning bed. Her hair was an unnatural shade of red and it looked like she was due for a touch up at the salon. In my mind, I named her Jervis’ Jezebel. She went to great lengths to not look at me.

“How dare you!” Jervis spat.

I lingered just a moment longer, grinned and shut the door behind myself as I headed to my office. Letting myself in the door, I locked it securely and pulled a freshly laundered quilt from the closet. We kept a few on hand for the more traumatic confessions — it seemed to help. I wondered if I should offer Jervis’ Jezebel one right about now.

I chose the longer of the two sofas and had just curled up when I heard the front door close. Smiling, I dropped off to sleep.

Auggie

M
other seemed satisfied that any crisis at the therapist’s office would be averted, although I think it was a newer affair of excitement that captured her immediate attention. I won’t say I wasn’t glad.

She wasn’t being forthcoming, but I could tell she had things on her mind and this allowed me to come and go without explanation which was something I detested.

I dressed casually and headed to town for some diversion. There was a new restaurant on my side of town and a long, leisurely lunch seemed like a good idea.

I’d just settled into a booth when a voice behind me spoke up. “Miss Auggie,” it acknowledged in a sultry tone.

I swung around and found the obstetrician a/k/a mocking therapist from Jervis’ office. He was sitting with his back to me or I would have seen him and chosen another booth.

“Hello,” I said in a non-committal voice and turned around. I refused to look his way, even as I got up from the booth to make a salad at the buffet. When I sat back down, however, I couldn’t help but overhear him talking on his phone.

“Yes, I agree. I know he’s coming home this weekend, but I thought we’d talked about this. We said if he came home and still hadn’t lost any weight, you were going to leave him and come to live with me. Remember? He’s a slob, Margaret, c’mon. He should be wearing a D cup. Anyway, you said he couldn’t get it up at all and you deserve to have a real man. Hell, if it makes you feel better, we can call it therapy and send him a bill. How about it? Why don’t you just come over tonight and pack a big bag. Plan to stay a while.” He continued to repeat his invitation a couple of more times and then said his goodbyes.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This doctor spoke to his patients that way? Surely to God, he was breaking every oath he ever took and was committing insurance fraud to boot! I had to report this to someone. Where should I begin? I kept my eyes down as he stood, left a tip and prepared to leave. As he passed my table, he tapped two fingers twice on the surface while he pocketed his money clip with the other hand. The symbolism was just too much!

I couldn’t even finish lunch, I was so angry. I jumped into my car and tore off down the road toward home. A patrol car was sitting on a side street and ripped out after me. I hadn’t gotten two blocks before his lights came on.

Pulling over, I prepared for the interrogation by pulling out my license, proof of insurance and registration. The officer strolled toward my baby blue Mercedes, tipping his hat back as he came closer. I rolled down the window and waited.

As it happened, I knew him. Todd Green and I had gone to high school together. We went through the formalities and when he handed back my license, he asked, “What’s your phone number, Auggie?”

“Are you supposed to ask that?” I questioned him suspiciously.

“Well, technically no, but then technically, I should be writing you out a big fat ticket and you’d have to come to court to straighten it out,” he speculated, lifting his aviators and placing one hand on the roof of the car.

“Jesus, is the world full of opportunistic assholes?” I blurted out.

“What’s that?” Todd’s face wasn’t pleased.

I remembered the better part of valor and offered up a peace treaty. “I’m sorry, Todd. It’s just been a lousy day and something you said reminded me of another incident earlier. Had nothing to do with you. Sure, here’s my phone number. Call me and we’ll get together sometime.” I offered him my number written on the torn off flap of an envelope.

He seemed appeased and was generous enough to smile. Patting the bottom of my open window, he said, “Keep the speed down, Auggie,” and backed off, returning to his squad car.