Captivated (11 page)

“You wrote them down because I want you to see how much money there is in horse racing.”

“Fine. I’ll buy a goddamn pony.”

“I wouldn’t trust you with a goldfish, Merrick. That’s not my point,” Remi said.

“What’s your point then?”

She exhaled hard and shook her head. She’d been dreading this question, because she’d been dreading the answer to it. Still, Merrick was the one person in her life she trusted right now, so she thought she might as well tell him.

“My parents bought a new farm a couple months ago,” she said. “Satellite Farm—five hundred acres.”

“So?”

“They paid cash for it. Ten million dollars. We shouldn’t have had ten million dollars in cash lying around.”

“And?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But we shouldn’t have that much money lying around. Capital Hills seems to have had a windfall, too. The auctions were this week—they dropped ten million the first three days.”

“Damn.”

“That’s kind of a coincidence, isn’t it? They suddenly have ten million dollars? We suddenly have ten million dollars?”

“A slightly suspicious coincidence,” Merrick said, narrowing his eyes at her parents.

“That’s what I was thinking. Three months ago Dad changed the passwords on the bank accounts. I can’t see how much money we have anymore. I told him a while ago to hire a new accountant, and that was his excuse—new guy, new passwords. Don’t worry my pretty little head about it.”

“Your pretty little head looks worried.”

“Rivalries always make for money and headlines. But, Merrick, I don’t know. Something doesn’t smell right about this. And trust me, my family and the Capital Hills family aren’t in anything together. They hate each other.”

“I’ve noticed that.”

“But still, I think someone at Arden and someone at Capital Hill might be stoking this rivalry in the press for a reason.”

“What reason?” Merrick asked. “Money?”

“Is there any other reason?” Remi asked, feeling sick to her stomach even saying that much. “Tyson Balt was at our house last night.”

“He owns Verona Downs, right? VD for short? He really should have rethought that name. What about him?”

“Balt’s been promoting the hell out of the Verona Downs Stakes race. Shenanigans and Hijinks are the two favorites already.”

“You think your family is getting the money from Balt?”

“Something’s not right” was all she would say.

Merrick pursed his lips and whistled.

“I don’t have the evidence yet. It’s only a hunch,” Remi said.

“You really want to dig this hole? You might end up falling into it, Boss.”

“I know,” she said, her stomach tightening. “But if my hunch is right, there’s a fraud being perpetuated here at Verona. I can’t look the other way even if my own family is involved. This farm has been my life for twenty-six years. I’m not going to let them fuck it up.”

“We should talk to someone at Capital Hills. What’s their name? The Brites?” Merrick asked.

Remi swallowed. Heat rushed to her face.

“Yes,” she said, her voice neutral. “The Capital Hills farm has been in the Brite family for 150 years.”

“The parents are out since they’re probably in on this, whatever it is,” Merrick said. “And we can’t talk to the daughters. I banged two out of three of them and didn’t call after.”

“Wait. When did that happen?”

“What was that thing with the big hats you dragged me to in May?”

“The Kentucky Derby?”

“That.”

“You had a threesome with two of the three Brite daughters at the Kentucky Derby?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“This is why I can’t take you anywhere. Okay, so the sisters are out.”

“Two out of three are. Anyone else?” Merrick asked. “A trainer maybe? Maybe we can find a stable boy you can bat your tits and flash your eyelashes at.”

“I doubt a groom would know anything.”

“A higher-up, then? A secretary?”

Remi shifted uncomfortably as her parents smiled for the dozens of cameras in the Winner’s Circle. Even Shenanigans seemed to be smiling.

“Well...I guess we can talk to Julien Brite,” Remi said and a tiny tremor passed through her body as his name passed her lips.

“Which one’s Julien?”

“Julien is the son. He’s the youngest in the family.”

“Never heard of him,” Merrick said.

“He’s not in the business,” Remi said. “Not sure why. I don’t even know where he lives now.”

“You know him?”

“Sort of.”

Merrick narrowed his eyes at her. “You sort of know him? Can you trust him?”

“He’s the only member of the Brite family who doesn’t hate me. I think.”

“He sounds like our guy, then. You want to find him and go talk to him about this stupid rivalry?”

“Oh, he already knows about the rivalry,” Remi said with a heavy sigh. “But yes, he’s probably the only one in the Brite family we can talk to.”

“I’ll find his number,” Merrick said. “We can call him.”

“No calls,” she said, making the decision at once. “On the off chance he does hate me, let’s not give him a reason to hang up on us.”

Remi stepped away from the rails and headed toward the clubhouse.

“So we show up on his doorstep and beg for help?”

“Can you find his doorstep for me? I’ll do the begging.”

“On it, Boss. But if Julien isn’t involved in the business, how do you know he knows anything about the rivalry?” Merrick asked. The crowd ahead parted for them. The people in the grandstand might not have known who she and Merrick were, but the clubhouse crowd certainly did. Tyson Balt, the owner of Verona Downs, eyed her warily. The feeling was entirely mutual. And up in the boxes she saw Mr. and Mrs. Brite giving an interview to a reporter as a camera recorded their every word. She glanced up at them. They glared down at her with unmistakable loathing.

“Because,” Remi sighed, “four years ago, Julien and I accidentally started it.”

Chapter Two

Vive La France

On Friday morning, Remi and Merrick boarded an airplane. Halfway through the flight Remi realized she’d been digging her hand into Merrick’s knee for the past two hours. Flying didn’t scare her. She’d spent too many years on the back of high-jumping horses to be afraid of a little altitude. But even after four hours of smooth sailing, Remi remained a rapidly fraying knot of tension.

“Boss? You okay?” Merrick asked as he signaled the flight attendant for another drink. He was having way too much fun in first class, much more fun than she was. “I mean, I don’t mind that you’re squeezing my knee so hard I can’t feel my calf, but there are other body parts I could direct your attention to, if you’re interested.”

“Steady as she goes.” Remi took the vodka out of his hand and chugged it.

“Whoa, Nellie.” Merrick grabbed it back. “We’ve got five hours left on this flight.”

“Sorry,” she said. “Take it. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you seem real fucking fine. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that you’re the world’s worst liar?” Merrick asked. “You’re stressed about seeing this Julien guy again. Yes?”

“A smidge,” she said. “A skosh.”

“Are you going to tell me why?”

She shook her head. “Not if you won’t let me have your vodka.”

He gave her the vodka. “Sip it and talk. You can’t say something like ‘Julien and I started this rivalry’ and sashay off all dramatic-like without telling me the story.”

“It’s a humiliating story,” Remi said.

“Miss?” Merrick addressed the passing flight attendant. “I’m going to need some popcorn.”

“Merrick.”

“Talk,” he said. “And don’t leave out any juicy details.”

“I’m leaving out all the juicy details,” she said. “You get the bare bones.”

“Is there boning involved in the bare bones?”

“Near boning,” she said, wincing. She took a steadying breath and focused her attention on the hum of the airplane engines. It comforted her, the sound of the engines reminding her she was thousands of miles and years away from the time and place of her greatest humiliation.

“Go on...” Merrick said.

“This was back when I was in college—just graduated, actually. Winter graduation. I’d come home for Christmas, and Mom and Dad dragged me to a big Christmas party at The Rails.”

“That’s that huge horse farm in Versailles, yes?”

“Yes, bigger than Capital Hills and Arden put together.”

“Got it. So it’s Christmas. It’s a party. You’re what? Twenty-one?” Merrick asked.

“Twenty-two,” she said. “It was a formal party, so I had an excuse to buy an awesome dress. Jade strappy thing.”

“Did it make your tits look good?”

“You could have seen them from space,” she said.

“I approve. Continue, please.”

“Anyway,” she said and paused to sip Merrick’s vodka. She hated the stuff but needed a little liquid fortification. “I was there about an hour before I saw this gorgeous guy. He was standing on the other side of the room talking to a big, hotshot Kentucky basketball player. So I assumed he was a University of Kentucky student, probably a freshman. He was drinking a glass of white wine, and he looked so handsome in his tuxedo. He had messy red hair. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.”

“Gross.”

“Do you want to hear this story or not?”

“Tell.”

“Julien was so beautiful that I had to chug a whole glass of wine just to work up the courage to go talk to him.”

“And you did, and he was smart and funny and nice and all that boring shit women love?”

“All that and more,” Remi said. “We walked through the house together. Gorgeous house. Every room decorated in a different Christmas theme. It was like something out of a fairy tale or a movie. I’d never seen anything like it, never felt anything like it. The night was perfect. Ever have a moment so perfect that you know you’ll remember it the rest of your life while you’re still living in the moment?”

“Never,” Merrick said. “But it’s a good dream. Too bad dreams lie.”

“It felt like a dream, but it wasn’t. This was real.”

Remi closed her eyes and found herself once more in that house on that night. She and Julien stood by the fireplace mantel lined with a dozen yellow candles in antique brass candleholders. The room was filled with antique toys and a tree that soared all the way to the cathedral ceiling. The silver and gold stars on the tree reflected the dancing light from the fireplace. She’d never been the sort of girl who believed in love at first sight. And then she met Julien and that night, that one perfect night, she believed.

“This guy must have been special,” Merrick said.

“I thought he could be.” Remi knew she was the world’s worst liar. Might as well tell the truth. “I didn’t know how special he was, because he only told me his first name—Julien. We talked about everything and nothing. I don’t even remember what we talked about except that he made me laugh and asked me questions like he wanted to know everything about me. Before I knew it, there we were, standing under the mistletoe.”

“Best kiss ever?” Merrick asked.

“Best kiss ever,” she agreed, remembering how Julien’s lips had shivered lightly at the first gentle contact. The gentleness quickly turned to passion, and before she knew it, her arms were around his back and his mouth was on her neck, at her ear, at her throat. Every Christmas since then she’d thought of Julien. The lights, the tree, the scent of pine and candles brought the memories back. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t imagine spending Christmas with Brian Roseland. Christmas was already claimed by Julien and that one perfect night he’d been everything she’d wanted but never thought to ask for.

“I’m guessing the inevitable happened,” Merrick said.

“We found an empty guest room. I thought I remembered locking the door behind us.”

Merrick cringed. “I see where this is going...”

Remi nodded, her face flushing at the memory.

“We kissed for a long time. Julien seemed a little nervous, and I didn’t want to rush things since we’d just met. But then he unzipped the back of my dress and I unbuttoned his shirt...and his pants...and then.”

“And then?”

“And then while things were happening, he said something weird and I stopped.”

“Weird? What? Did he deny the Holocaust or something?”

“He said...‘This feels better than I ever dreamt it would.’”

Merrick cocked his head to the side.

“Ever
dreamt
it would? You mean he’d never had a girl do the thing on him before? I assume you were doing the thing.”

“Oh, yeah. I was doing the thing. With gusto. And when he intimated that no woman had ever done the thing on him before, I sobered up and asked him how old he was.”

“Oh fuck,” Merrick said.

“Merrick, I was half naked on a bed with the virginal barely-seventeen-year-old son of one of the most powerful families in Thoroughbred racing.”

“Oops.”

“Two seconds after I told him we had to stop, the door opened. My dress was down, his jacket was off, his shirt was open, his pants were unzipped...and his mother saw it all.”

Merrick’s eyes went comically wide. Remi would have laughed but for the pain the memory still caused her.

“How bad was it?” Merrick asked. She appreciated that he seemed to understand the gravity of the situation instead of making Mrs. Robinson jokes.

“Bad. Julien’s mom had had a little too much Christmas punch. It turned into a screaming match that everyone at the party heard.”

“Oh, that’s bad.”

“Very bad. My parents showed up and started defending me. His parents called me every ugly name in the book. My father told Julien’s father, ‘Sir, control your wife.’ And five minutes later, my father and his father were fighting. Like physically fighting. Dad gave Mr. Brite a black eye and Mr. Brite gave Dad a bloody nose. It’s a miracle no one called the cops.”

“Damn.”

“The moms pulled the dads off each other, but that almost turned into a catfight until Mr. and Mrs. Railey showed up and calmed everyone down. Poor Julien was begging everyone to just shut up and leave us alone so he and I could talk. Instead his parents dragged him—literally dragged him away from me—and he’s apologizing to me the entire time. ‘I’m so sorry, Remi. I should have told you. I’m so sorry...’”

She could still hear his humiliated words ringing in her ears.

“And that started the feud?” Merrick asked.

“That was the beginning. My parents were furious at the Brites for making a scene and accusing me of seducing their baby boy. The Brites were furious at my parents because my parents blamed Julien for lying to me about his age. He didn’t lie, for the record. I didn’t ask him his age. Never occurred to me to ask until it was almost too late. And I just stood there in shock, saying nothing and feeling like I was going to puke and trying to get my dad not to kill his dad. I didn’t get to talk to him, tell him I was sorry, tell him goodbye, even. It was awful.”

“You didn’t do anything illegal,” Merrick said. “You were only twenty-two. And legal age in Kentucky is sixteen.”

“Do I want to know why you have that legal factoid memorized?”

“Nope,” he said. “So you never saw Julien again?”

“My parents forbade me from contacting Julien. I haven’t seen him since that night. Not even at any of the races.”

“Where did he go?”

She shrugged and tried to pretend that she had never looked for him and wondered that same question. Every race she’d looked for him.

“He disappeared. And that was that. Except his family still hasn’t forgiven me for almost seducing their son, and my family still hasn’t forgiven them for publicly humiliating me—us, really—at the party.”

“Have you forgiven him?” Merrick asked.

Remi smiled. “Julien didn’t do anything wrong. And while his mom was going batshit crazy on me, calling me every possible variation of
slut
,
whore
and
harlot
, he stood up to his parents and defended me.”

“‘Harlot’?”

“I believe the words ‘blonde Jezebel’ were also employed. Julien told her off. He told everyone off.”

“Like a man. I approve.”

“He’s twenty-one now. I keep thinking I should...but it doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.”

Merrick looked at her with searching serious eyes.

“You miss him,” he said.

Remi didn’t bother to deny it. “I had a perfect moment with him. You don’t get many of those in your life.”

“This was four years ago? You’d think your families would be over it after four fucking years.”

“Judging by all the smack talk in the news, they aren’t. In that
SI
interview, Mrs. Brite called us the ‘white trash’ farm.”

“Classy.”

“Dad called the Brites ‘stuck-up snobs.’ I’m really hoping Julien hasn’t read that article.”

“So what are you going to do when you see Julien again? Jump him?”

Remi laughed at the ludicrousness of the suggestion. She hadn’t seen him in four years, and the
only
reason she was seeing him now was to tell him their parents might be fixing races? Hardly cause for an erotic reunion.

“I’ll do what I should have done years ago. I’ll tell him I’m sorry.”

After what felt like a year in the air, the plane landed. They checked into their hotel and Remi gave Merrick the night off. It was Saturday, after all. And all she wanted to do was sleep and recover from the flight. Merrick, however, had other plans.

“
Vive la France
, remember?” Merrick grabbed her by the upper arms and forced a kiss on each of her cheeks. “When in Paris, do as the Parisians do.”

“What do the Parisians do?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’m hoping it involves getting Parisian drunk and getting Parisian laid. Not necessarily in that Parisian order.”

“I’m not drinking with you. Or any of the other options. Can’t we go to bed? Not together?”

“We need to find this Brite boy of yours. My sources tell me he’s a short Parisian cab ride away. Let’s seize the Parisian day, Boss.”

“It’s night.”

“Then let’s seize the Parisian night.”

“Are you going to put ‘Parisian’ in front of every noun until we leave?” Remi asked, as Merrick hailed a taxi.

“That would be a Parisian yes. I mean ‘
oui
.’”

Remi managed not to murder him during the ten minutes between their hotel and Julien’s building.

The cab stopped in front of a nondescript three-story building. He paid the driver, which Remi thought was an unusually gallant gesture until she noticed Merrick was using her credit card. They stepped onto a side street off the Rue de Furstenberg.

Merrick half-escorted, half-dragged her to the door. “I think this is it. My sources tell me this is it,” he said. “And by ‘sources’ I mean the Brite family housekeeper.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I can’t imagine any of the Brite family staying in someplace so normal. Well, normal for Paris, I mean.”

“This has to be it. I paid ten whole dollars for his address.”

“Your sources are cheap dates,” Remi said. She rang the buzzer and dusted off her high school French.

“Bonjour?”
came a woman’s voice through the speaker. Woman? At Julien’s house on a Saturday night? Remi hadn’t planned for a girlfriend.

“Bonjour,”
Remi said, trying not to be bothered by the elegant voice. “Julien Brite,
s’il vous plaît?
”

“Your accent is terrible,” the woman answered in English.

Remi laughed. “It’s French by way of a Kentucky high school. Is Julien in?”

“He might be,” the woman said in a clipped tone. She had something of an accent too but neither French nor Kentuckian. “Who are you?”

“I’m an old friend of his. I hope. My name is Remi Montgomery of Arden Farms. And—”

“Come up, please,” the woman said before Remi could even finish her speech.

She looked at Merrick, who smiled at her in return.

“Look at you, Boss,” he said. “You’re famous.”

The door buzzed, and they headed up the stairs to an apartment on the third floor.