The Millionaire's Club: Jacob, Logan and Marc. Brenda Jackson
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Monday panties on Tuesday ’cause that ain’t going to cut it.”
He could see that she was a deep breath away from telling him to take his question and put it where the sun don’t shine. But reserved, controlled soul that she was, she swallowed back the urge.
“I cut class once,” she said.
He grunted in disbelief. “That’s it? That’s the best you can come up with?”
She shot him a defiant look.
“Oh, Chrissie. Sweetheart. That’s pathetic.”
“So sue me. I’m a model citizen.”
He leaned forward, his fork poised over his salad. “Don’t you ever get the urge to be bad? Just do something a little shocking? A little wild?”
Her silence as she finally met his eyes said it all. No. No, she didn’t.
“I often work double shifts. I volunteer hours at the Historical Society. I don’t have a lot of time left to pursue a sideline of mischief and mayhem. Much like you don’t have time out of your fun and games to get involved with something of a little more substance.”
“Sticks and stones,” he singsonged and pried another reluctant and very small grin out of her.
“You know, there is such a thing as being too frivolous,” she pointed out.
“And I would be a prime example?”
“You said it, I didn’t.”
“So, what if I stepped up to the plate and did something…oh, let’s say, civic? You’d consider that a move in the right direction?”
“What direction you move makes no difference to me.”
She’d tried to make her words sound snippy but didn’t quite accomplish it. She also tried to make him believe it. He didn’t.
“I think it does. I think that if I did something—how did you say it? something of substance?—that you might begin to see shades of gray instead of black-and-white and that might prompt you to loosen up a bit.”
“It is still beyond me why you care about what I do or think.”
“It’s a little beyond me, too—or it was until you wore that dress. The fact is, I think we could help each other. I can loosen you up and you can straighten me out.”
She patted her mouth with her napkin. “Do you ever quit?”
“No, really, listen. I’m beginning to like this idea.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “How about we make a little deal? I do something you categorize as adult and you do something I categorize as juvenile.”
“I’m already doing something juvenile. I’m a party to this conversation.”
“You get to pick my project,” he pressed on, “and I get to pick yours.”
She was about to launch into another protest on the ludicrous content of their conversation—which Jake admitted he’d started and pursued on a lark but now was warming up to—when Gretchen Halifax appeared at their table.
Only his mother’s insistence on good manners prompted him to stand and acknowledge her presence.
Chapter Five
“Hello, Gretchen,” Jake said stiffly when the city councilwoman made it clear she expected an audience. “How are you?”
Gretchen Halifax was not on his list of favorite people. The tall, severe-looking woman with the cold gray eyes and pale blond hair was self-righteous, humorless and demanding. He’d gone toe to toe with her a time or two at city council meetings when she’d refused to see reason and failed to compromise.
“I’m wonderful, Jacob.” She smiled, all gleaming white teeth and politician sincerity. She’d perfected that sincerity along with her manipulative ways and somehow had managed to build a large circle of influence in the city.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she added with barely a glance at Chris, “but I saw you sitting over here and knew I simply must stop by and say hello.”
Not on my account, Jake thought but made nice anyway. “Gretchen, this is Chris Travers. Chris, Gretchen Halifax.”
With a cool smile Gretchen turned to Chris and extended her hand. “My pleasure, Ms. Travers.”
“Gretchen is on the city council,” Jake added as Chris extended her hand and said a soft, “Hello.”
“Should I know you from somewhere?” Gretchen asked after swiftly appraising Chris.
“I do some volunteer work for the Historical Society,” Chris said. “We worked together a couple of times on the Edgar Halifax exhibit.”
“Oh, of course. I’m so sorry. Forgive me for not recognizing you. I saw the finished display on Edgar at the museum this afternoon. It’s marvelous, don’t you think?”
“Display?” Jake asked, not because he was particularly interested in Halifax but because he was interested in Chris’s part of it.
“Of my great-great-great-uncle Edgar’s historical artifacts,” Gretchen explained, oozing self-importance. “It’s so exciting that he’s been given his rightful place in Royal’s history as one of the city’s outstanding leaders.
“Edgar was the mayor of Royal in the late 1800s and early 1900s,” she added when Jake made an I’ve-got-no-clue-what-you’re-talking-about face.
She beamed while telling the story, making it sound as if old Edgar had come over on the Mayflower.
“Unfortunately Edgar was killed by the outlaw, Jessamine Golden, over a stolen shipment of gold. Speaking of Jessamine Golden, Jake, dear, I heard that you purchased something at the auction the other night that may have belonged to her.”
“Where did you hear that?” Chris asked, sounding a little shocked. Clearly she’d hoped to keep the contents of the box between the two of them, Jake thought. At least until he handed it over to her.
“Why, I believe it was your secretary, Jake, who said something to mine over lunch yesterday,” Gretchen said, dismissing Chris. “I’d love it if you’d show it to me.”
“I can’t imagine that you’d be interested in a box of musty old junk.”
“Interested? In something that belonged to the woman who killed one of my ancestors? Why, of course I’m interested. Actually I was hoping you’d be willing to part with the items.”
“Even if I were, Gretchen, I already have another interested party.”
“That’s easily solved. I’ll double any offer you’ve got on the table.”
He shook his head and from the corner of his eye saw Chrissie’s shoulders sag in relief. “If you wanted it so badly, you should have been at the auction and bid on it.”
“I would have, but I had a meeting I simply couldn’t miss. Okay. I’ll triple what you paid for it,” Gretchen said, pouncing on him in such a demanding voice, other diners turned to see what was going on.
“Sorry,” Jake said, puzzled by Gretchen’s almost desperate bid for the box. Even more puzzled about why she was so determined to have Jess Golden’s things—if they even were indeed the outlaw’s things. “It’s not about money.”
“Then what would I have to do to get you to part with it?”
He imagined that Gretchen perceived her smile as seductive. He perceived it as predatory. And when she leaned toward him, blatantly inviting him to a view of her cleavage and in effect putting the moves on him without any regard for the fact that his date was watching, he’d had enough. “Give it up, Gretchen. This conversation,” he cautioned when he sensed she was about to push a little harder, “is