Complicated Creatures: Part One Page 6

  Carey made a scoffing sound. “You know I’m just as invested in seeing our work succeed. That doesn’t mean you can’t make time for family, Sammy girl.”

  The oven timer went off. Saved by the bell. She got up to check on the cornbread, dipping a toothpick into the center to test it.

  “Just like mama taught you,” Carey grinned, sidling up with the butter.

  Sam slathered the browned top with the salted butter, thinking about how she used to help his mother out when she was a kid, her little brother Ryland and Carey rough-housing and carrying on in the yard.

  “How is Aunt Hannah?” she asked quietly, cutting the cornbread as Carey pulled down plates and bowls.

  “She’s good. Asks after you all the time. Wants to know if you’re dating. She just finished remodeling the kitchen.”

  Sam nodded, feeling the unwelcome and powerful press of emotion thinking about home—the ranch she’d grown up on. She hadn’t been back in over a dozen years, since she’d buried her father and Ryland right next to her mother and her granddaddy, the only other family she’d had. After it had happened, she’d left partial ownership and management of the ranch in Grant Nelson’s capable hands, asking him and his wife to move into the main house permanently. He’d been the foreman at her father’s ranch for as long as she could remember. Aunt Hannah had basically been her mother after her own had died giving birth to Ryland. Though Sam promised regularly she’d return, time had made a liar out of her.

  “I know you still get sad, Sammy,” Carey spoke up from behind her. “But staying away from home isn’t gonna help you heal, baby girl.” She felt his broad hand at her shoulder.

  Sam closed her eyes, leaning on the counter. “I can’t just yet, Bear,” she admitted quietly. “I’m not ready,” she said, slipping a hand over his.

  “You’ll never be ready,” he murmured, broad fingers tangling with hers. “You can’t get ready for heartbreak. You just have to let it hurt, Sammy. Besides,” he said, dropping a kiss to her head. “It won’t be as bad as you think it’ll be. You’ve forgotten how beautiful it is. The smell of the fields. The heat of the sun on your face.”

  “You mean the smell of manure and the sweat from wrangling cows and fixing fences all day,” she amended, her tone dry.

  “Well, yeah,” he chuckled. “That too.”

  They set the table, Sam carrying over the cornbread and greens, Carey ladling bowls of hot chili. When they sat down to eat, Carey held up his beer to toast, blue eyes twinkling. “Here’s to lying, cheating, stealing, and drinking…”

  Sam smiled at their old toast. “If you’re going to lie—”

  “Lie for a friend.”

  “If you’re going to cheat—”

  “Cheat death!”

  “If you’re going to steal…?” she smiled, leaning toward him.

  “Steal a heart,” Carey sighed, clutching his chest dramatically.

  “And if you’re going to drink—” Sam clinked the bottleneck of her beer against his.

  “Drink with me.”

  Chapter 4

  September—Friday night, a week later

  The Whitney, Chicago

  J A C K

  Jack knew that when a woman got a man a gift, she expected to see him using it. Unfortunately, he was due to pick up Rebecca in a few short minutes, and he couldn’t remember exactly what she’d given him.

  “It wasn’t a tie,” Jack muttered to himself, perusing his walk-in closet. Rebecca had given him something on his birthday, a few weeks ago now, and that present had been followed by series of mind-blowing orgasms. Maybe that was why he couldn’t recall her more conservative gift. He tried to remember what the box she’d slid toward him had looked like. It was small. Too small for a tie. Was it a tie pin? No. She wasn’t watching reruns of Mad Men again, was she?

  She’d gone through a brief retro period at the beginning of the summer, wearing vintage dresses with gloves and Ray-Bans. Bright red lipstick like Marilyn Monroe. The press had loved it, already covering her night and day since she’d come to Chicago. He’d been a little relieved when she’d gotten onto a new trend. The red lipstick was pretty to look at but a bitch to wash off his face and body.

  Jack opened the drawer holding his watches. No, she didn’t get me a watch. That he probably would have recalled. He caught a glimpse of a black, alligator skin box tucked in the corner.

  “Cuff links!” he crowed, picking up engraved cuff links with onyx frames, relieved it was something he could wear this evening. She’d mentioned a few days ago that she hadn’t seen him wear his gift, and he’d heard the pique in her tone.

  Sliding on the cuff links, he shrugged into his dinner jacket and headed toward the foyer, grabbing his wallet, phone, and keys. As he swung open the door, he glanced down at his watch to make sure he still had plenty of time to pick Rebecca up before they hit his black tie gala at the Art Institute of Chicago.

  “Well, don’t you look like a tall, cool drink of water?”

  Samantha’s trademark rasp immediately snapped Jack to attention. He looked up to see her waiting for the elevator, a vision in a cobalt blue Grecian gown. Her hair was pinned up in an intricate set of artistic twists. He was momentarily, uncharacteristically caught off guard as he took her in.

  The elevator dinged softly, and Sam’s brow arched, a soft challenge and a question all at once. Her lips twitched in humor. Jack realized belatedly he’d been gaping.

  “A lovely compliment from a lovely woman. The best kind,” he replied, feeling a little bemused as he followed her into the elevator. The heady scent of orange blossoms and jasmine wafted gently behind her. Jack nearly closed his eyes, his senses saturated. “You look magnificent, Samantha,” he said sincerely. Her look tonight was so complete, so perfect. A goddess. He wondered briefly how many other men wanted to worship at her altar as he reached for the elevator button.

  “First floor, please, and thank you, Jack,” she murmured, a little smile still playing at her lips. “You look like you’re about to spend the night gambling away at the baccarat tables in Monte Carlo,” she commented.

  Jack smiled at the compliment, wondering who she was going out with tonight. Looking like that, it had to be someone special. He felt his temples tighten thinking about it.

  He leaned back casually against the elevator wall. “Well, it’ll be an expensive night, but not at the tables, sadly. Mitch and I are hosting the Cure for Cancer fundraiser at the Art Institute tonight.”

  Sam’s teeth flashed as a genuine smile popped to the surface. “I should have guessed! Great choice. Did Mitch have anything to do with it?”

  “One guess,” Jack replied, slanting her a look.

  “I should’ve known,” she laughed. “Can’t fault that man’s taste.”

  “Are you headed to the gala, by any chance?”

  The elevator doors slid open.

  “Maybe I’ll see you there.” Samantha smiled as she stepped out, the faint drift of her perfume filling his senses again.

  *

  September—A few hours later

  Art Institute of Chicago

  J A C K

  “There’s Michael Sutherland. He just lost a ludicrous sum of money on a mining gambit in Australia. He might be willing to sell his Lincoln Park commercial properties to stay solvent,” Mitch murmured.

  Jack glanced around the Contemporary Arts wing, noting with satisfaction that anyone who had a name in Chicago—or who wanted to become a name in Chicago—was in attendance. He caught the eye of Mr. Sutherland, nodding in acknowledgement while he accepting a club soda and lime from the bartender. “Well, that’s interesting. When did you find this out?”

  “Poker game last night at the Casino Club,” Mitch murmured. “He was notably absent. I did some digging,” he continued, sipping his champagne. “Good to see he’s still up for a little charity this year.”

  Every fall, Jack and Mitch hosted one of the biggest social events of the year. The Roman Foundation Charity Gala
raised millions for cancer research at the University of Chicago Medicine. This year, he and Mitch chose to host the event at the Art Institute, taking advantage of the gorgeous Contemporary and Asian art collections, the dramatically lit gardens, and God willing, the pocket books of the influential and well-to-do attendees. Crowds of impressively-dressed people milled about, sipping champagne and pretending to discuss the art and cancer research while they really dished on each other: who was wearing what, who was divorcing whom—and in his and Mitch’s case, who would be ripe for short sales and takeovers.

  They’d spent the better part of the last hour working the room, shaking hands and thanking patrons, asking after people and making polite chit-chat. Once Rebecca had disappeared to the ladies’ room, Mitch started filling Jack in on the juicier tidbits on the Who’s Who in attendance.

  “Look into the building he owns in River North too. I’ve had my eye on that one for the past year,” Jack murmured, casually waving to an acquaintance across the room.

  “Any particular reason why?” Mitch asked, hiding his surprise behind his champagne glass.

  “Because that land is right next to the Chicago River and Merchandise Mart, and I think it’s high time we opened a new luxury apartment building that makes the Trump building look like its kid sister. Don’t you agree?”

  Mitch laughed, delighted. “A buy-one-get-one-seriously-discounted? Evil. I like it.”

  “We’re just helping a good man who’s down,” Jack shrugged. “Set the wheels in motion. I want to move on this before anyone else realizes what the hell he’s gotten himself into.”

  “Will do.” Mitch nodded before glancing over Jack’s shoulder. “Rebecca—have I told you how breathtaking you look tonight?”

  “You did, but I never mind hearing a nice compliment twice,” she flirted.

  Jack turned, immediately switching gears as he slid an arm around Rebecca’s waist. He pressed a kiss against her temple.

  “He’s right, beautiful. Love the dress. I’ll especially love slipping it off of you later,” Jack murmured into her ear, his hand drifting low to the exposed back of her daring white gown.

  “And that’s my cue to leave,” Mitch commented, amused. “Have fun, kids. Jack, try not to traumatize our more conservative donors while you grope your girlfriend. Rebecca,” he nodded, “always a pleasure.”

  “Likewise,” she replied, wiggling her fingers at him as he sauntered off. “I have some plans for you tonight, baby,” she whispered, sliding a hand down his shirt.

  “Oh?” Jack asked, his brows rising. “And what would those be?”

  “I’m going to tie you to that bed of yours and tease your—”

  Jack’s attention snapped to the entrance of the gallery the moment Samantha strolled in, turning heads as she greeted a group of people she knew. She was escorted by a different man than the one he’d met last week. This one was medium height and well-built, with light brown hair and the dark tan of someone who spent a fair amount of time outdoors. She looped her hand in his arm casually, smiling as they passed the flashing cameras of the press group covering the party.

  “…and then I’m going to—” Rebecca continued whispering in his ear, unaware that she’d already lost his attention. Jack nodded distractedly, turning away from Samantha and her mystery date, wondering why he was so damn taken by her, and why he was so annoyingly irritated she was with yet another guy. It’s none of your damned business, he reminded himself.

  Jack was saved from his mounting discomfort by a colleague of his father’s, coming over to congratulate him on the success of the evening. Years of training as a politician’s son and a businessman kept him smiling, and he stopped on occasion to shake hands, pose for photos, and make small talk, occasionally touching the silky skin at the small of Rebecca’s back. She looked every inch the movie star tonight, and donors and fans alike had kept them both busy until it was time to sit down for the gala dinner.

  They’d hired a popular Saturday Night Live comedian and Second City alum to emcee the night’s festivities. The talent was jocular and lively, seamlessly transitioning from stand-up comedy to the evening’s auction, which included vignettes from cancer survivors and family members. Jack gave a short speech of thanks on behalf of the Roman Foundation, unerringly pinpointing Samantha amidst dozens of tables. His gaze narrowed as he noticed Samantha sitting between Mitch and her date. Mitch whispered into her ear while she sat with a small, secretive smile on her mouth, nodding as if they were sharing a private joke. Jack shook off the momentary distraction, directing a winning smile out into the crowd as he asked donors to be particularly generous that evening. When he sat down, he glanced at Samantha again, only to have her catch his stare. She raised her champagne glass in silent salute. He returned the gesture in kind, wondering again why he found her so utterly diverting.

  “Darling, I’ll be gone for just a moment.” Rebecca excused herself after dinner, waving to the emcee. “I haven’t seen him since I did SNL a couple years ago.”

  “Take your time,” Jack murmured, nodding absently as he continued chatting with a couple of long-time donors at the table.

  Jack’s brother, Jaime, appeared by his side, handing him a fresh glass of club soda. Though Jaime was nearly ten years younger, they looked closer in age. Jaime was a lankier version of Jack, lean from years of cycling and residual grief—though you’d never know it the way he turned the charm on. Jaime turned to acknowledge the couple Jack had been speaking with.

  “Mrs. Allen, you’re looking especially stunning tonight. Mr. Allen, you’re lucky I’m an honorable man, or I’d steal this lady right out from under you,” Jaime joked, patting the older man on the shoulder. Mr. and Mrs. Allen were probably old enough to be their grandparents, but Jaime was incorrigible and Mrs. Allen clearly loved the banter, evidenced by the blush in her cheeks. Her husband chortled, shaking hands with Jaime enthusiastically.

  “How’s your business doing, Jaime?” Mr. Allen asked, pumping his arm.

  “On fire since the IPO, thanks for asking,” Jaime replied. “Now would anyone mind if I borrowed my brother? I need to catch up with him. It’s been weeks!”

  “We talked two days ago,” Jack muttered as Jaime led them out of the banquet and out toward the garden.

  “You looked like you needed saving,” Jaime replied. “And you seem distracted. What’s up?” he asked as he sipped his champagne, pausing next to an Anish Kapoor sculpture. An orchestra sat at one end of the garden, playing a Cole Porter standard. Couples swayed languidly, talking and laughing, enjoying the warm autumn breeze.

  “We should take the boat out before the wind turns too chilly,” Jack commented, thinking about the Bermuda-rigged ketch he and Jaime shared.

  “Maddie would like that,” Jaime nodded. “We didn’t use it enough this summer.”

  “How’s next Friday?”

  “It’s good, but you still haven’t answered my question.”

  Jack sighed, shrugging as he spotted Samantha on the edge of the dance floor, talking to the man she came with. Though the guy smiled easily and often enough, Jack could sense he was uncomfortable when he tucked a finger in his collar, tugging his bow tie as he leaned in to say something in Samantha’s ear. She laughed, smiling up at him. Jack emptied his glass, setting it on the tray of a passing waiter.

  “Now I get it,” Jaime remarked, following Jack’s gaze. He looked over Samantha quizzically. “I don’t remember her. Is she an ex?”

  “Who’s an ex?” Mitch asked, coming to stand beside them.

  “That super-fox in the blue dress,” Jaime answered, sipping his champagne.

  Mitch’s eyes spotted Samantha immediately. “Ah, the gorgeous and lethal Samantha Wyatt,” he murmured appreciatively. “She took the penthouse,” he added for Jaime’s benefit.

  “The penthouse?” Jaime glanced up at Jack in surprise. “As in you have a neighbor now and you won’t be hounding me to move in every other week—that penthouse?”

  “Th
e very same,” Mitch confirmed when Jack just rolled his eyes. “Samantha’s here with the other partners from Lennox Chase. They have a couple tables tonight. She gave me a check for the Foundation with six zeroes. Swear to God, nothing is sexier than a beautiful woman tucking a huge sum of money into your pocket,” he sighed, hand patting his breast pocket. “Well, except if she’d been naked of course, but honestly, that’s just been the best part of my night.”

  As if she could sense they were talking about her, Samantha looked up, catching Jack’s eye again. She inclined her head in acknowledgment.

  Jaime glanced from Samantha to Jack, then back to Samantha. He suddenly left them, making a beeline toward her.

  “…and ladies and gentleman, he’s off!” Mitch chuckled. “He’s either gonna get her for you or get her for himself,” he joked over his shoulder, trailing Jaime toward Samantha and her date.

  Jack considered turning back inside and finding Rebecca but thought better of it. It was inevitable he and Samantha would speak again tonight. And the sooner he spoke with her, the sooner he could get over whatever this strange aggravation was. He had no claim on her. Had no idea if she was half as attracted to him as he was to her. And to top it off, he was here with someone else.

  What am I thinking? Jack fumed. And why the hell does she get under my skin so much?

  “I had to meet the woman who finally convinced my brother to sell the penthouse next to him. I thought he’d never give that up,” Jaime declared as he pulled up to her. “I’m Jaime Roman. What a pleasure to meet you,” he told her as he kissed her hand with flourish.

  Samantha watched him, amused. “Sam Wyatt, and it’s a pleasure to meet you as well. I’m a huge fan of your mobile locater app.”

  “Don’t I know it,” her date interjected with a thick Southern drawl. “There’s no hiding from her, even during lunch,” he joked amiably. “Evan Rush,” he introduced himself, shaking Jaime’s hand.

  “Wives everywhere love me for that app, and husbands everywhere would like to spike my head over a spit.” Jaime laughed as he shook Evan’s hand.