Sexy in Stilettos (9 page)

He navigated around the suburban going sixty in the fast lane. “Did you just say ‘off Plan’? Can’t plan out your whole life, sweetheart. Just doesn’t work that way.”

“Says the Jack-of-All-Trades for the Westhorpe family.” She sat up straighter in her seat. “How do you expect to do anything without a plan?”

“Tell me, Jai, do your plans ever leave time for any fun? You seem uptight.”

“I’m not uptight.” She said as she sat up prim and stiff in her seat. “I’m practical. You strong-armed me into coming with you. Why couldn’t you just ask me out like a normal guy?”

He barked out a laugh. “You think this is because I want—”

The piercing tone of an incoming call broke off his thought. The caller ID said Mimi. His mother always had impeccable timing. He opted for the Bluetooth in his ear, in case she was in one of her moods. His mother could be difficult. But you didn’t choose your family. Especially when they took you in.

“Mimi, how are you?”

“Don’t use that smooth-talker tone with me. I know you. Hell, I raised you. It didn't work then, and it's not working now.”

“I can’t help that I’m naturally charming.”

“Sometimes you act like you're your father’s son. But I know better.”

Ouch. He sucked in a breath, casting Jaya a glance out of the corner of his eye. She studiously ignored him. “What can I do for you?”

“Are you on your way up here? I want to debrief on where we are with the Maxwell situation.”

“I'm heading there now. I've got a lead I want to follow up. I'll debrief you afterward.”

“Are you going to tell him why you're looking for him? I suggest—”

“I got it.” He interrupted. “I'll deal with him and will let you know. It'll be fine. He'll be safe and sound at home in no time. Trust me.” As usual, his mother would try and control the situation. But this time she needed to let him handle things.

Ever since he showed up on the doorstep and declared Royce Westhorpe his father, Adele had taken him in. She'd read his father the riot act when he'd wanted to throw the scrawny boy out on his ass. After his birth mother died, he'd taken the only things he had of value, his birth certificate and letters from Royce to his mother that were a decade old. He'd taken a cab and two buses from El Cajon, determined to find his father before CPS could toss his ass into the system.

The old man had called to security to cart his ass out, but Adele stood firm. After some blood work and attempts to find other family members, plus a quick call to social services, she'd had him tucked into the Westhorpe's elaborate mansion. At the time she didn’t have any children, so she'd been in full mother-lion protective mode. While the tests were running, she'd given him a place to stay and looked out for him, kept Royce away from him, keeping him safe until the truth could be determined. She'd never wavered that he should be looked after. And when the happy news had arrived that he was, in fact, a Westhorpe, she’d declared he was living with them instead of at boarding school, like Royce suggested.

Even after Max had arrived, she still treated him like her own. Groomed him, educated him, and loved him.

“Don’t sound so flippant, Alec. This isn’t one of those situations where you can reason with Max to come home. He’s in a world of trouble if you can’t find and contain him.”

As she scolded him, he wondered when she’d started to sound so weary. An invisible fist squeezed his heart. He needed to keep her calm and in decent, if not necessarily good, spirits.

“Mimi, have I ever let you down?”

She sighed. “No, but—”

“I won’t let you down now, either. You can count on me. So, relax. I’ll call you when we get in.”

She may have been old and ill, but she was still as sharp as ever. “We?”

“That’s right. I’m bringing you a present.”

This was what happened when Jaya didn’t follow script. She ended up in the poshest waiting area she’d ever seen, with its sleek, outrageously expensive, contemporary furniture, staring up at a photo of dragon lady, vying for the job of her life. Not to mention, she was sitting next to a man she barely knew who’d given her the best sex of her life. Jaya shifted uncomfortably in the low backed, white leather, waiting room seat and tried not to show her nerves—pretty hard to pull off, since her knees were doing their MC Hammer impression. She needed this job. So far, it was her only lead in case operation-get-Daddy-to-rehire-her didn’t work as expected.

The rail-thin receptionist gave her a wan smile. “You may go in now. Ms. Westhorpe only has ten minutes to spare.”

Geez
. How the hell was she supposed to impress after only ten minutes? Somehow she doubted her geek super-status would qualify her as hire-worthy.

Alec's strong hand on her knee made her jump.

“Go on in. Adele doesn’t bite. I promise.”

She might not bite, but Jaya had a feeling she barked really loud.

“Yeah, sure. Fine.”

“I told you. She’ll love you. Just go on in and be—” Alec’s gaze flicked over her prim and proper suit and killer $3000 stilettos, “you. Just be you. I'll meet you in the lobby around three. We’ll tour the hotel afterwards.”

Jaya should have been focusing on what he was saying. Instead, she was too busy eying the male figure leaving Adele Westhorpe's office. He looked ill. His eyes said, “Give me a moment to clear” and his posture said, “I've just been whipped with a shoe.” His knuckles were white with a side of Casper.

Her feet rooted into the floor. Going in there didn’t seem like an option. But really, what choice did she have? It was either this or go to Tamara and Derrick's wedding sans date.

But if there was one thing Jaya was good at, she could fake it ‘til she made it. That was a skill she'd mastered early. Striding into the office, she closed the door behind her. “Ms. Westhorpe, I'm Ja—”

The older woman cut her off. “I know who you are. If I wanted introductions, I'd have invited you to a garden party. “

Whipcord-lean, Adele Westhorpe looked fit for a woman her age. Shit, for a woman any age. Jaya had a feeling the woman never indulged in cookies and cream, the likes of which made Jaya afraid to look at her scale.

As she sat across from the Westhorpe matriarch, all Jaya could think was how the woman could give the devil a run for her money.
If you don't nail this interview, your failure status will be solidified
. If she made it through this interview, she wouldn’t be dateless to her sister’s wedding. She’d be elevated from desperate loser status. At least, for a little while. Not to mention, the Westhorpes were just the kind of client Trudeaux would love on their roster. Fail at this and, well—she didn’t want to think what would happen if she failed.

She cleared her throat. “Fair enough, ma'am. You know why I'm here. How about you tell me what you're looking to do for the end-of-year anniversary gala, and I'll tell you what I can provide.” She helped herself to a seat on the soft chaise instead of in the uncomfortable monstrosity across from the scary woman.

The old lady pursed her lips. Her salt-and-pepper hair, cut in a sleek Anna Wintour bob, framed her face. It should have looked severe, but it somehow made her prettier. If pretty was a word you used to describe a dragon. And now Jaya had poked her with a stick.
Just
Perfect
.

Looking from Jaya to the chair across her desk, the old bat’s lips turn up at the corners, but she remained silent. Jaya usually tried to hold out for a client to speak, but she had a feeling Adele Westhorpe could outwait the devil.

She busted out her notes. “What sort of theme are you looking for?”

Adele gave a slight nod, as if she approved Jaya's jumping right into business.

“Dancing on the Eiffel tower in the evening.”

Wow
. As descriptions went, Jaya usually had more vague clients and she had to pull teeth just to get a response. Not Adele, though. She knew what she wanted. “Do you want candle light, or do you have a preference for LED?”

Adele pursed her lips again. Not good. Pursed lips were never a good sign. “They might be green, but they look tacky.”

Tacky. Check. No to tacky. Jaya nodded. “Done. Food?”  She clicked her pen in nervous habit.

Adele waved a hand. “I'm tired of the same old boring benefit food. Even when it's expensive, it still tastes like rubber and it's never enough. I want something exotic, but light. Nothing too heavy or so unrecognizable the plebeians won’t eat it.”

Yikes
. Plebeians. She cleared her throat. “Music? I'm thinking given the Paris theme, a big, jazzy band.” Another pursed lip. So far not so great.
Get it together, Trudeaux
. No assumptions with this woman.

“You’d be wrong. I might look old and moneyed, but I want this to be a party. So there has to be dancing. And not that boring, old-people stuffy shit. I want lively dancing. Though I really do hope to refrain from that Britney Spears type of poppy fluff.”

Jaya fiddled with her pen, rolling it between her fingers. Her pinky’s gray polish gleamed as the light hit it. She wasn’t sure what warranted the most surprise, that Adele Westhorpe had just said shit or that she knew who Britney Spears was. “Okay, how about Nina Simone? She’s classic, and her up-tempo songs can play in the background. Mix in a little Joe Cocker, James Brown and Billie Holiday.”

Adele nodded. Her finger tapping her chin. “Yes, I do enjoy Nina. But I want something youthful, too.  That Beyoncé girl. She'd good. Make sure there’s some of her.”

Well, well.
Who knew Beyoncé’s music would have filtered into a billionaire’s sphere of knowledge? Jaya took notes for the next seven minutes. Adele made commentary on everything from the dress to the decor. Flashy but not gaudy. A hint of the holiday season as a nod to the timing, but no over-the-top decorations. The guest list would come later, but the members of the board would be there and the employees not working that night would also be invited. All those who had to work would be thrown a different party. Jaya took notes like she already had the job. No sense trying to redo the info-gathering.

Jaya wrote at all kinds of break-neck speeds until she realized Adele was no longer speaking. She looked up from her notepad into the expectant face of the Westhorpe owner.
Shit
. Now or never. Do your pitch, girlie, and get it right.

“The feeling, as we discussed, is dancing at the top of the Eiffel tower. So the theme will be lights of Paris. We’ll use candles where we can. Those floating ones would be great if we can get a water feature.  Also, hanging ones just above the guest’s heads. We'll do holly and mistletoe as nod to the holidays but otherwise, we'll downplay the season. Music choices, we’ll hire a band.” She put up a hand to stop Adele’s impending protest. “One young enough that they know how to play Beyoncé and Katy Perry, but with big band capabilities to do real justice to Nina, James and Billie.”

She took a quick breath and plowed on. No reason to give Adele a chance to say no before she was done.  “As for the food, I suggest Gael's Fusion in La Jolla. They do a lovely round-the-world sampling that will have your guests trying Kenyan stew, along with Indian curry and Scottish mutton. He does a lovely small-sized sampling.”

Before Adele could remind her that she didn't want appetizers or those boring hors d’oeuvres, Jaya barreled on. “Of course I'll have him do a sampling for you, so you can see the portion sizes. He'll modify to your tastes. And finally, the venue.” She drew in a breath. “While it is technically a Westhorpe party, might I suggest a different locale? The gallery space in downtown San Diego on Kettner. It's not the usual posh and swank that your guests are accustomed to, but it will give you the industrial feel of being on the Eiffel tower. And the penthouse loft has garage doors as windows that we can slide up to give a spectacular view of San Diego.

“We’ll use invisible rails for safety, of course, since there will be alcohol.”

Jaya finished talking and drew in a breath. Had she gotten it right? She forced her body into calm as she straightened her back. Adele would either love it or hate it. Nothing she could do about it now. She'd given it her best. When her quarry said nothing, but went back to the papers on her desk, Jaya wasn’t sure if she should speak or not.

Was that it? Was she just dismissed as if she'd never been there?
Holy rudeness
. She stood abruptly. A small tearing sound had her looking down at her jacket. Nothing. She smoothed down her black tailored pants and found the source of the ripping—the seam in the back. Perfect end to the interview from hell.

Using her portfolio cover, she covered her butt and strode to the door. Jaya didn’t need Adele knowing about her wardrobe malfunction. Put-together event planners didn’t have these kinds of things happen to them. She'd be dammed if she let this woman make her feel like her father had.

In an even tone, she said, “I'll anticipate your answer by the end of the week.” Then she stalked to the door. But not before hearing another tearing sound from the back of her pants. Three days with Cookies and Cream would do that to a Stella McCartney suit.
Shit
. Could this week get any worse? Whatever. She’d given it her best shot. Maybe she could still convince Alec to do the date thing? He asked her to try with no guarantees. So what if—