Too Damn Rich (75 page)

Soon she'll look like a frump again, Kenzie
despaired. Shit. How do I broach the subject of grooming without
hurting her feelings? Well, now certainly wasn't the time.

Attempting to jump-start the conversation,
she smiled brightly and said, ttI know so little about you. I was
hoping to take this opportunity to get better acquainted."

Annalisa nodded. "I studied under Professor
Fiorentino at the Ambrosiana—"

"—and worked at the Uffizi," Kenzie said,
remembering the resume. "Yes, yes, I know all that. What I meant
was ... personal things."

Annalisa looked at her blankly. "Personal
things?"

"Yes. You know. Where you came from. What
your hobbies are. Whether you have any brothers or sisters—"

Annalisa's face blanched and her body tensed
as if preparing to be struck. Then her mouth opened, and her eyes
filled with tears. Quickly she looked away.

Kenzie was appalled by the reaction she had
provoked.

"I'm sorry, Annalisa," she said guiltily,
backing off immediately. "You don't have to talk about it if you
don't want. In fact, we don't have to discuss anything."

Annalisa nodded, wiping her eyes with the
palms of her hands. She looked tiny, frail and forlorn, staring
down into her empty teacup as if attempting to divine the
leaves.

"It's all right, Kenzie. There are ... some
things I just cannot—"

"I understand."

Kenzie saw the waiter approaching.

"Get ready. Here comes our grub."

Annalisa stared in amazement at the
proliferation of plates and bowls and condiments which suddenly
appeared on the table.

"There's so much!" she exclaimed. "I can
never eat all this."

Kenzie tore the wrapping off her chopsticks
and gestured with them. "Well?" she said. "What are you waiting
for? Let's dig in and eat."

Annalisa picked up her fork and attacked her
food. She ate in silence, seemingly without chewing, as if she
hadn't enjoyed a full-course meal in weeks. Kenzie was still
working on her appetizer of dumplings when Annalisa put down her
fork and sat back.

Her plates and bowls were empty; not so much
as a grain of rice remained.

"Should I order you another course?" Kenzie
quipped, still attempting to break the ice.

"Oh, no," Annalisa said earnestly. "But thank
you for asking."

Kenzie couldn't believe the response. My God,
she thought. How humorless can anyone be?

Annalisa was beginning to fidget
self-consciously. "I ... I really should be getting back to work
now, Kenzie," she murmured.

Kenzie stared at her. "But this is our lunch
hour."

"Yes, but there is so much to get done."

Kenzie didn't argue. "You run along then,"
she said, forcing a smile.

Annalisa opened the black leather bag Arnold
had picked out for her. "How ... how much do I owe?"

Kenzie waved a hand airily. "Nothing. I'll
put it on the expense account. Burghley's is paying."

"Really?"

"Yes." Kenzie thought it easiest to lie.

"Well, thank you for inviting me." Annalisa
scooted her chair back and got up. "Enjoy your lunch."

Then, hunching her body protectively in on
itself, and keeping her head down to avoid making eye contact, she
darted off.

Kenzie sat there, staring after her. Arnold's
right, she thought, with a sigh. The patron saint of the
wallflowers certainly has her work cut out for her.

Robert had been getting increasingly careless
of late, a far cry from the beginning, when he'd been overly
cautious.

At first, whenever he'd come to visit Bambi,
he would order his stretch limo to be driven directly down into the
maw of Burghley's underground parking garage. From there, he'd pass
a security desk, identify himself, and take the elevator straight
up to the twenty-seventh floor of One Auction Towers.

With never a hitch.

After a while, he'd become less panicky and
had his limo pull up to the canopied entrance of Auction Towers and
let the doorman jump to, while keeping an eye peeled in case the
wife was on the sidewalks in the vicinity.

Still never a hitch.

Finally, Robert stopped scanning the
sidewalks altogether. After all, was there really any need for
subterfuge? As Bambi had pointed out, he had every right to be
there.

Damn right, he did! This was one helluva fine
piece of real estate and he owned the lion's share. This was his
turf. He was the big cheese around here.

To think he used to skulk in like a
pussy-whipped eunuch—what a laugh!

Now, as his limo surged to a halt in front of
Auction Towers, he didn't bother to glance either to his left or
his right but straight ahead, a careless oversight he would soon
deeply regret.

Dina, waiting for the light to change at the
corner of Madison and Seventy-fourth, did a double take. Even
without checking out the GOLD-MRT vanity plates, her sharp eyes
recognized the customized black stretch Caddy with the tinted
windows, and her antennae went on full alert.

Sure enough. There was Robert, her Robert,
charging from the car into Auction Towers as if there were a
fire.

On an impulse, she changed her plans and
decided to surprise him. Perhaps she could even corral him into
taking her to lunch; she'd forgotten to call Le Cirque and cancel,
and Sirio would be holding the table.

Plus, she'd still have plenty of time to
check out the jewels afterward.

Lunch with her husband. Why not? It had been
forever since they'd done that. It might even prove a pleasant
diversion.

Dina altered her course and made a beeline
for the Towers.

"Shit!" Robert glared at the elevator
indicators. He was tuned-up, primed, and ready for lift-off.

Unfortunately, the elevators weren't as
obliging. Three of the six cars of One Auction Towers were being
serviced. One was on its way up. Two on their way down.

"Come on, come on!" he muttered, sliding a
hand into his trouser pocket to cop a feel.

No problem down there, thank God! All systems
were definitely go.

Now if only a goddamn elevator would come!
Christ, but he hated to be kept waiting—

Bing! A pair of elegant bronze doors slid
soundlessly open.

"About time!" he huffed, charging inside and
hitting the panel for the twenty-seventh floor.

Robert's chauffeur was too engrossed (in the
personals section of Screw, which he kept under the front seat) to
see Dina coming. Likewise Robert, who was too hell-bent on rushing
into the elevator.

Only the liveried doorman, who didn't know
her from Adam, took notice and pushed open one of the heroically
scaled bronze-and- glass doors.

"May I help you, madam?" he asked politely,
once she was inside.

"Yes. Mr. Goldsmith just came in. Where can I
find him?"

The doorman's face became a mask. "I beg your
pardon, madam?"

"Mr. Goldsmith," she said impatiently. "Look,
I just saw him come in. And his car is parked right outside. I need
to see him."

"I'm sorry, madam. I couldn't say."

"Oh, I think you most certainly could."

He pulled the door open to show her back out.
"Madam?"

Dina imperiously stood her ground. "Do you
know who I am?" she demanded.

He gave her a vacant stare. He saw a
fine-looking woman hitting thirty and fighting it every inch of the
way. But what he did not see was someone he should recognize, like
Becky V or Ivana Trump or Madonna.

"No, madam, I don't," he said. "Now, if
you'll be so kind as to leave—"

"I will not!" Incensed, Dina unsnapped her
crocodile bag and produced her wallet. She brandished her driver's
license like a weapon.

"As you can see," she declared, "I am Dina
Goldsmith." She paused. "Mrs ... Robert . . . A.... Goldsmith," she
emphasized.

The doorman was mortified. "I-I'm sorry, Mrs.
Goldsmith, but I didn't recognize—"

"That's quite all right. Your apology is
accepted. Now. Where can I find my husband?"

The doorman sensed big trouble. He knew
exactly where Robert A. Goldsmith could be found—what member on the
building staff didn't? Speculation was rife about the entertainment
2714—Ms. Parker— provided, and the consensus was that it wasn't tea
and crumpets she was serving.

"Tea and strumpets," one staff wag had
proclaimed, to much hilarity.

But the doorman wasn't laughing now. The last
thing he needed was to be caught in a domestic dispute.

"Well?" Dina tapped a restless foot. "I'm
waiting."

He took a deep breath, shifted uncomfortably,
swallowed, and refused to meet her gaze.

Dina, reading his body language, didn't need
an interpreter.

So, she thought grimly. Robert obviously
isn't here on business. He's seeing somebody—

—screwing somebody.

"Where?" she asked tightly from between
clenched teeth.

"Apartment 2714," he whispered miserably.

"Thank you."

She began to head into the lobby, then had a
thought and turned around, lasering him with her ice-blues.

"Oh, and one more thing," she said. "I
strongly advise you against calling upstairs and forewarning
anyone. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, madam," he sighed, seeing unemployment
looming.

Dina clickety-clicked across the marble lobby
to the elevators. Bronze doors slid obligingly aside as she
approached.

One punch of a button and she was on her way
up.

Robert leaned on the doorbell.

Hell's keeping the bitch? he groused, wishing
Bambi would get a move on.

He didn't like being made to wait out here in
the hall. He felt exposed and vulnerable—especially since her
apartment was located right next to the bank of elevators.

He leaned on her bell some more.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he heard from the
other side of the door. Then it opened as wide as the security
chain would permit.

"What's kept ya?" he rasped.

"I was in the bathroom," Bambi said, with a
pout.

"Well? Gonna let me in?"

"Oh." She giggled. "Sure."

She shut the door, removed the security
chain, and opened it wide, posing with one hand on a hip and the
other on the doorframe.

"Hi, lover." She batted pale lashes. "Wanna
play?"

Did he ever! Christ. Just the sight of her
nearly made him cream.

He ate her up with his eyes.

She was wearing a white peek-a-boo bra with
strategic cutouts through which luscious nipples, like pointy
cherries, thrust temptingly. A wasp-waisted, tightly laced corset.
Crotchless white panties which left her curly blond bush open for
inspection. Plus white stockings and garters, and black Mary
Janes.

"Well?" She licked her lips with slow
deliberation. "You likee?"

"Yeah." He was positively slavering. "I likee
a lot."

She broke her pose, flung her arms around his
neck, and pressed herself tightly against him, right there in the
open doorway.

"Tell me you're happy to see me." Her eyes
glowed up at him.

"Shit, yeah. Now let's get inside
before—"

Bing! The doors of the nearest elevator slid
open, and they quickly jumped apart.

Not quickly enough.

Out stepped Dina, the wrath of God.

"Shit!" Robert cursed under his breath, his
hard-on and scrotum shriveling.

It was too late to lunge inside and slam the
door. Useless to try and explain the situation as anything other
than what it appeared to be.

Seeing was believing, and Dina saw plenty.
She was a believer; all right.

"Just what the fuck," she demanded, "is going
on here?"

Bambi stared at Robert.

Robert stared at Dina.

Dina stared at both of them. Then she pinned
Robert with her eyes.

"Really, sweetie," she told him, advancing
slowly, "I'm very disappointed in you."

He thrust his hands in his pockets, shuffled
guiltily in place, and looked studiously up at the acoustic ceiling
and down at the carpet.

Next, Dina focused her attention on Bambi.
"And as for you, you little slut—"

"I beg your pardon," retorted Bambi, hands on
her hips, "but I am not a slut!"

Dina raked her from head to toe and smiled
like a shark. "Then what are you dressed up for? A go-go bar?"

"Well, maybe if you'd satisfy your husband,
he wouldn't have to come and see me!"

That did it.

Dina's hackles rose, and a surge of red-hot
anger shot through her. Making a fist, she swung and caught Bambi
flush on the chin. The right hook connected solidly, and she could
feel the shock of the punch jolting through her arm.

Bambi spun around once, looking dazed. Then
her eyelids fluttered, the whites showed, and her knees buckled as
she collapsed.

She was down for the count.

Dina prodded her with a well-shod foot. "Too
bad I KOed her. I'd love to do that again."

She fixed Robert with a glare.

"And as for you, sweetie," she said quietly,
jabbing an ominous finger at him, "you have some major explaining
to do."

And with that, she turned on her heel and
marched back to the elevators. After a moment, she called,
"Robert?"

He was staring down at Bambi, who was
struggling up onto her elbows, shaking her head to clear it of
cobwebs.

"You can stop worrying about her, sweetie,"
Dina advised grimly. "If you know what's good for you, she's
history."

He quailed inwardly. He wasn't ready to face
the music. Not now. Not ever.

Still, he might as well get it over with.
Knowing Dina, she wouldn't rest until they had it out.

With a sigh of resignation, he followed his
wife.

Chapter 54

Dina struggled to keep a lid on her temper.
She was enraged, wounded, bitter, humiliated, and boiling mad. How
could Robert do this to her? And who the hell was that floozie?