“A baby shower? Isn’t it a bit early?”
“She didn’t call it a shower. She actually suggested getting a little dressed up, giving Avery a reason to wear something pretty before she starts showing and complaining about her figure.”
“That’s very thoughtful of her.”
“I think she just wants an excuse to visit.”
“She doesn’t need an excuse.”
“Okay, maybe she has something to share.”
Shannon’s eyes lit up. “Is she pregnant, too?”
Lori shook her head. “If she is, she didn’t tell me. I’m just guessing that maybe there is something cooking in two of our friends’ ovens.”
Shannon was giddy just thinking about it. “I’m in. Just tell me the date.”
“Mr. Brooks?”
“Yes?” Victor answered the phone in his office two days later.
“There is a Mr. Holt on the line.”
Victor searched his memory bank and came up on empty.
“I don’t know a—”
“He says you know his wife, Avery.”
And like a switch, Victor’s entire body tensed. Why would Avery’s husband be calling him unless something bad had happened? “Yes. Put the call through.”
The line clicked and Victor answered. “Mr. Holt?”
“Call me Liam. Victor Brooks?”
Victor smiled. “Looks like we have the names right. Is Shannon okay?”
The man on the line laughed. “She’s perfectly fine. I hope it’s okay that I’m calling.”
Victor blew out a breath. Adrenaline dumped into his system. “Of course. How’s Avery? The last time I saw her, the mornings weren’t treating her well.”
“This last week seemed to be the end of that. I’m hoping for smooth sailing from here on out.”
Liam sounded like a man Victor would like to know.
“Congratulations, by the way.”
“Thank you. I’m beside myself.”
Victor couldn’t imagine. He’d have to wait a little longer to get there. “What can I do for you, Liam?”
“I’m calling to invite you to a small dinner party. It’s last-minute. But that’s the way the women seem to work.”
The women?
“Trina wanted to throw a party and asked that I made sure you could come.”
“Do I know Trina?” Victor asked.
“No. But she knows Shannon and Avery . . . and in turn, knows about you. Therefore, since—and I’m quoting here—‘I’m the one responsible for Avery’s condition,’ I needed to find a way to get you to the party—and again I’m quoting—‘if I knew what was good for me.’” Liam blew out a breath.
“Your wife is a handful,” Victor said.
“And I love her for it. The party is this Saturday. I know it’s last—”
“I’ll be there.”
Again, Liam sighed on the phone. “Perfect. Hurdle one . . . now. You can’t tell Shannon.”
“Excuse me?”
“Victor, I’m just telling you what my wife requested. It’s up to you to decide what’s best. Her directions were this: ‘You knocked me up. Get Victor here and don’t let Shannon know he’s coming or she might bail.’ Word for word.”
Not only could Victor see Avery saying all that, he could hear her voice utter each syllable.
And since he would do just about anything to see Shannon at day . . . he calculated in his head . . . fifty-six, he would keep his invitation silent.
“What should I wear?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Beverly Harkin called and asked to meet Shannon at her studio later that week. Why Corrie’s mother wanted to talk with her was a mystery.
Shannon took the opportunity to start clearing out and packing the space. It would be the second time she’d had to move her equipment. In her next home, the one she’d started to seriously consider, she wanted a studio on-site. One where she could dabble in the occasional portrait if the mood struck. Or a space where she could showcase her new artistic direction, with vast walls just waiting for her to splatter with her work.
The more she thought about the move, in both her home and her work, the greater the chills ran up and down her spine.
From the front door of her office, the alarm chimed, telling her Beverly had arrived.
Shannon stepped from her back room, forced a smile on her face, and went to greet a woman she had no particular need to ever see again.
Wearing black dress pants, a fitted shirt, and a short jacket, Beverly stood in the doorway with her back rod-straight. The thin line of her lips and lifted chin put Shannon on edge.
“Good afternoon, Beverly.”
“It’s Mrs. Harkin.”
Ohhhkay. Guess this isn’t a social visit.
Instead of giving the woman what she wanted, Shannon said, “I trust everyone is well?”
Mrs. Harkin took a step into the room and glanced at one of the many boxes Shannon had spread around the space. “Depends on what your definition of well is. No one has died, if that’s what you mean.”
“I wasn’t using death as my barometer, but I’m happy to hear it.” The woman mimicked Shannon’s own mother when she wasn’t happy with something. Astute, condescending, and elitist. Hence the demand that Shannon not use her first name. It was the one thing her mother had taught her growing up. Make people call you by your last name and only gift them with using your first after they’ve become more than an acquaintance. And employees are to always address you as Miss or Mrs. Of course, that advice went out the window when Shannon became a Ms. “What can I do for you?” Shannon asked.
Instead of answering, Beverly took a few more steps inside the office, her gaze moving from box to box. “Are you moving your studio?”
“I’m closing it, actually.”
She released a short-suffering breath. “I suppose it’s hard to stay in business when you sabotage the people you work for.”
Now the bitter anger started to make sense. Not that Shannon was going to own any choices Corrie made in Tulum. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”
Beverly snapped her eyes toward Shannon. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. You told Corrie she shouldn’t get married.”
“I did no such—”
“It shouldn’t have surprised me, a bitter divorcée like yourself. But to interfere with a young couple so obviously in love. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Shannon found herself tripping over the words young and love. “Your waxing poetry over Corrie and Victor is ill placed, Mrs. Harkin.” Shannon put as much sarcasm as she could in the other woman’s name. “Corrie voiced to me, twice, that she had second thoughts about getting married. I simply reminded her that she had a choice in the matter. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Beverly took a step closer. “What makes you believe she had a choice? The wedding was planned, the guests had arrived, my friends were there. Corrie’s choice had been made long before flying to that mosquito-infested part of the world.”
“Is that what has you so upset? That your friends witnessed your daughter’s rebellion? It’s her life, Beverly. Not yours.” How Shannon wished someone had spoken to her parents this way when she was younger. When Angie was still in the picture.
“My daughter’s rebellion? Is that what you call it? Corrie has been in tears since she followed your advice and ran away.”
Shannon had a hard time believing that.
“Now that she and Victor are speaking again, it’s only a matter of time before they patch up this little dip in the road. When they do, you’ll be the first to hear that your efforts to break them up were in vain.” Beverly tapped the toe of her foot against one of the boxes on the floor. “I hope you don’t plan on going into business for yourself again. I’m sure my daughter and Victor will shut you down the second you think of opening shop. And if they don’t . . . I will.”
Every muscle in Shannon’s body tensed. How much of what she was hearing was truth or fabrication?
“Thank you for the warning, Beverly. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Shannon indicated the door.
“I’m watching you.”
“Is that meant as a threat?”
Beverly lifted one corner of her lips. “If it was a threat, my dear, you’d know it.”
And with that, the woman left.
Victor relinquished the keys to his car to the pimple-nosed kid driving the valet at the high-rise condominium complex in downtown Los Angeles.
Through the glass doors, he was told to tell the doorman he was a guest of the Barnums, not that Victor knew Reed and Lori, but those were the names that Liam told Victor to drop.
James, the doorman, escorted him to the elevators and used a special key to buzz Victor to the requested floor.
His palms were sweaty; his heart was more active than normal. Shannon was only a few feet away.
He hesitated at the door, brushed his hands against his jacket, and knocked. He glanced at his watch: 6:53. He was early.
So why was there so much noise behind the door?
He knocked again.
The door swung open to a tall blonde wearing a pencil skirt and blouse. She paused and then broke into a grin. “You must be Victor!”
He offered a single nod. “I am.”
Her grin grew. “I’m Lori. Come in.” She ushered him through the door.
Inside, several people he didn’t know mingled. “Thank you for having me.”
“My pleasure. Let me introduce you to . . .”
Victor grazed the room with his eyes and found her.
She wore white. A jumpsuit. Her back was to him as she stood beside a baby grand piano and looked out over the city. The back of the outfit dipped low, giving everyone a glimpse of her slender waistline, hips, and Tulum tan. Her hair was up in a messy bun, and her long, sleek neck had him sucking in a breath.