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PARTY GIRL PERFECT What Matt doesn’t know is that the monthly trust fund allowance her father doles out and the profits from Allison’s party business supports one of the largest women’s shelter networks in the country. He also doesn’t know that Allison has no intention of a marriage to him in name only. She’s been in love with him since she was thirteen years old. |
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Party Girl
Perfect |
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CHAPTER ONE |
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Matt pulled into one of the only spaces left in the harbor lot. Out of habit, when he exited his ’62 Mercedes, he ran his hand along its polished black surface looking for scratches he had better not find. He had long since been able to afford a late model with all the amenities, but he had picked this baby up during his gas pumping days from a guy more interested in looks than quality. The car was a steal by all accounts. It took Matt one year to get the 560 SL up and running. One year of scraping out time between three jobs and scraping out money from a budget already strained beyond its limit. But a fine precision instrument like this would last him another 100,000 miles if he treated it right. He gave the hood a pat before he headed down the long dock in search of the Magic Mist tied up at Pier E. Any other evening Matt would have relished the idea of cruising the waters of the Hudson River with the damp breeze against his skin and the bridges that stretched across the water sparkling like diamond necklaces against the blackest of skies. But tonight he’d be a guest at one of Allison’s parties, this one held on a 60 foot cabin cruiser she had leased. She had to be raking in the profits tonight, because he’d discovered that you had to be well-heeled to get anywhere near the ticket that paid for the cover charge for her exclusive entertainment. Already he could tell he’d neared the vessel. The strong smell of diesel mixed with music that vibrated through the still night along with the female laughter that rose above the deeper rumble of male voices. When Drummond dumped the news on him last night, Matt had stayed up half the night wracking his brain for any solution other than marrying Allison. He was still scrambling, but in the meantime he decided to watch her in action and remind himself why the idea would never work. It surprised him that a ticket was still available for the midnight cruise. He glanced at his watch. Eight o’clock. Launch time. Spotting the royal blue of the Magic Mist’s lettering along its gleaming white bow, he hurried up the plank and onto the wide deck. He took a moment to appreciate the polished Philippine mahogany before he looked up into the gleaming white smile of the Incredible Hulk. The guy had about fifty pounds on Matt - all muscle. His silk T-shirt was so tight it looked like black paint poured over cement. "Ticket, sir?" Matt flashed the ivory engraved card. The Hulk nodded and then motioned behind Matt. Instantly, a waiter appeared, wearing a tux vest over his bare chest. Matt took a long-stemmed glass of wine and then watched him whisk through the throng of beautiful people, sliver tray held high. Matt retreated off to the side. He was here to observe, not party. A muffled rumble of the motor and the boat slipped easily out of the harbor and into the calm dark waters of the Hudson. Seagulls rose and squawked, fanning out with a flutter of wings above the churning water. While his eyes searched for Allison, he hoped to steal a moment, unobserved, to watch the scene unravel. He admitted that he was a little curious about what went on at these parties. Given the expense of the evening, he’d bet most of these guests were living off Daddy’s money or a trust fund. At twenty-something, they were too young to have made it on their own. He knew Allison had a license for the gambling and he doubted anything illegal like drugs were exchanged, maybe brought on discreetly by individuals, but nothing blatant or her little socials would have been shut down long ago. Instead they were the most popular entertainment of the young and single. And they were continuous. Just one endless bazaar for three years now, ever since her father had her dragged back from college when he found out she wasn’t actually attending classes, hadn’t set foot in one the entire second semester of her sophomore year. Drummond couldn’t imagine what she’d been doing. For such a smart man, he was incredibly naïve when it came to his daughter. Three guesses what a college coed with an hourglass figure was doing outside of class. "You look a little lost." He turned a bored gaze toward the female voice and faced a young woman standing so close he could feel her breath on his neck. It was a public party and the fact that he was a complete stranger seemed not to concern her. For the first time he wondered about security. He gave her a lazy smile. Her eyes brightened. "Oh, now that’s better." She laid a friendly hand on his arm. When his eyes automatically dropped, she discreetly removed it. She was no more than twenty-five and painfully thin. The black tube-top and matching straight skirt didn’t help. It was mid-summer, for Chrissake. Didn’t New York girls wear pastels anymore? "My name’s Jessica." She flicked the sides of her cropped hair with the tips of copper nails. What happened to long hair? He knew he was out of touch, but he didn’t care, he still liked long flowing hair ... along with those pastels. For a fleeting moment he thought about sex with this girl. Long, lingering, wet sex enhanced by a full range of feminine moans and soft silky skin. He smiled to himself as he felt his groin grow heavy. "Come dance with me." She plucked playfully at his cotton shirt. Too bad everything this young woman was doing was a turn off. He wasn’t so dense to have missed that male as aggressor had disappeared along with the pastels and long hair, but still he didn’t like it. What little interest he had in her died. He guessed he was just born in the wrong generation. "I’m not much of a dancer," he said. "I’ll teach you." She moved closer, pressing her tiny breasts to his chest. "Maybe later." He subtly eased her back by shifting his weight against the deck railing. She pouted prettily, an act he was sure she had practiced, and then turned on high-heeled sandals. He scanned the crowd once again as sunset turned the smoky haze hovering over New Jersey to brilliant streaks of purple and pink. Was he ever this young? He didn’t think so. Not ten years ago, not ever. He caught sight of Allison moving at a graceful stroll through the crowd. As though on a timer, she stopped to talk with each group of guests as she passed, touching shoulders with a delicate hand and greeting each one with a warm smile. It surprised him, because the Allison he knew had been clumsily dumping trays on his lap or drinks on his head since he’d met her when she was a gangly thirteen-year-old. Being seated next to her at the last fundraiser had been a disaster. He’d had to throw out his jacket after that night, so stained was it with shrimp cocktail sauce and the Au Jus meant for the prime rib. A tall guy in the required black slipped his arm around her waist. She tossed her long honeyed curls and gave him a teasing warning before removing his hand and floating on. Matt’s eyes dropped to her three inch heels sliding along the glossy deck. If she had risked the heels for the purpose of drawing attention to her shapely legs, it worked. Still, he’d bet anything she’d be on her ass before nightfall. She laughed softly, a low gentle sound that carried through the air, mesmerizing the next black-clad guy who dipped down to bite her neck. She slapped at him affectionately and then gave him a firm push. He let her go, smiling with appreciation. She was a natural player. As she pivoted on her tall heels with surprising ease and headed in his direction, he considered that it was possible she’d outgrown her clumsy phase in the year since he had seen her. He leaned back against the railing, elbows propped and legs crossed, watching her. When she was half way across the deck from him, she waved at someone to his left, blew a kiss, and then continued on with graceful strides across the polished floor. The short silky dress she wore floated around her thighs and caught on the breeze, sending the hem billowing out to reveal too much of a long slender thigh. He frowned. Then she turned and saw him. She startled and stopped in her tracks, but her heels didn’t. As if on cue, she went skidding toward him, arms flailing at her sides, blue eyes wide. He bolted up and reached out, locking his hands around her waist lest she continue overboard. She smacked into him with a thud. "Hello, Allison." She swallowed a gasp. "Matthew." She clutched at his hands, her breasts pressing against his chest. "What are you doing here?" "Is that how you greet all your guests?" "Guests?" He raised a brow. "I bought a ticket." "You bought a ticket?" She tried to pry his fingers from around her waist. "Any law against it?" "No, I just didn’t think you liked to have fun." She nudged at his fingers. "You can let me go now." When he released her, she stepped back a distance and smoothed down her skirt. Apparently, she was saving her flirtations for more important guests. "Well, as I said, or actually didn’t say, that is ..." She took a little breath, fanning her hand across her cleavage. "This is a surprise." She glanced around, sweeping a hand over the crowd. "Have you sampled the Hors d’oeuvres?" She indicated the butlered trays, avoiding his gaze. "The Cajun shrimp is delicious." It was always obvious to Matt that Allison was uncomfortable around him and probably didn’t like him any more than he liked her. For that reason, and a million others, Drummond was crazy to suggest what he had in mind. "No, I’m here to sample the women." "Women?" "That’s what I said." She blushed. A full blush that spread along fresh-looking skin and disappeared under the square neckline of her top. He doubted it was embarrassment at the suggestion that he’d find willing women, or anger – he didn’t think Allison capable of anger. She was nervous. Probably afraid he was here spying for her father. "That doesn’t happen here," she stammered, tugging up the neckline of her black top. He wondered briefly if a funeral was scheduled for some time during the night. He feigned surprise. "Oh?" He gave a glance around at couples already in intimate embraces. "Everyone’s celibate? I’ve stumbled into a jubilee for priests and nuns?" "No, I mean—" She tucked an errant curl behind her ear and the rosy blush deepened. She must be near panic at what he would tell her father. She ran the tip of her tongue along her lips. He leaned closer and studied her. A delicate whiff of perfume lingered between them, causing him to reflexively breath in the subtle scent. She stepped back and gave him a small frown. "Well, I hope you enjoy whatever, ah, I need to get back to work, so—" "Work?" She chewed her lip. "Of course, Matthew. This is a legitimate business. I pay taxes, keep books." "Uh-huh." The thick-necked hulk drew up beside her and caressed her elbow while he gave Matt a quick once over. "Sweetheart?" She visibly relaxed. "Kevin." She smiled and covered his hand. Turning to Matt she said, "This is Matthew Connor, a colleague of my father’s. Matthew, this is Kevin Riley." Matt nodded and shook a hand the size of a meat cleaver. Kevin presented him with a full smile of the straightest white teeth. "I’ll have to take Allison now. She’s needed on the lower deck." Matt turned to Allison. "More work?" "Come on, sweetheart." The Incredible Hulk whisked her off before she could answer. When Matt returned to his apartment on the West Side, there was a message from Drummond. Although Drummond was eager to contact the other candidates and at least feel them out about a merger if not a marriage, he was waiting to hear first from Matt. Great. Matt was no longer a potential business partner but a candidate for Allison’s hand. A few other messages were recorded. One from his accountant suggesting he transfer several CD’s into Municipal Bonds before the interest killed him and another call from one of his secretaries thanking him again for giving her time off with pay to care for her mother. Matt made a mental note to call a colleague in the geriatric industry to see what kind of support was available to her. The guy was researching new options of bringing care into the homes of the elderly. Next came the familiar voice of his sister Janey. Along with a cheerful monologue about how well she was doing in her summer economics class, she slipped in that she’d decided to go to San Diego for a week before the fall session began. Like hell she would. She ended with an affectionate reminder that she’d see him soon. On impulse, he picked up the phone and punched in her numbers. After four rings, his sister’s voice came over the machine. "Hi. It’s Janey. I’m not here. Just leave a message and I’ll call back." An irritating tone followed. Why hadn’t she changed the message like he had told her? You never say that you’re not home. "Janey," he drawled into the phone. "You’re not going anywhere with a group of horny college kids, so forget it. Come for dinner this week. I miss you. And change that damned message." As he hung up, he wondered where she was at one a.m. on a Saturday night. She’d never mentioned any boys in her life. Not that she would tell him if there were any. As he stripped off his shirt and walked into his bedroom, his thoughts returned to the women on the boat tonight who were not much older than Janey. He couldn’t picture her among them in a few years. Not if he had anything to say about it, and he’d have plenty. But Allison, too, had been an innocent girl when he’d first met her, who had, nonetheless, turned into one of the many superficial party girls he might have met along the way. It was Drummonds’ fault in the way he tried to make up for her mother dying when she was ten. Drummond could have loved and cared for her without spoiling her, but it was too late now. He stepped into the tiled bathroom off his master suite. And now Bill Drummond wanted to dump his problem on him? He splashed warm water on his face and picked up the oatmeal soap Janey had been bugging him to try. The tiny granules meant for scrubbing away skin felt unexpectedly good and the soap’s clean smell was oddly familiar tonight. Like Allison’s perfume. He breathed deep the pleasant scent. For a woman who exuded sex, her perfume had had a subtleness, a clean innocence, that had surprised him. He dried his face and went over the questions he had thought up tonight on the ride home. Drummond hadn’t mentioned a pre-nuptial agreement, so perhaps Allison’s mother had failed to account for any possibility of a divorce. Surely that was a loophole because the company charter couldn’t supersede the law. He needed to see those personal papers. He stretched along the California King that allowed his tall frame the room he needed. The bed was one of the few luxuries he’d indulged in when he bought the high-rise’s top floor. The apartment had been expensive enough, so he took his time acquiring the furniture that suited him. The double skylight was dead center above the bed and reminded him of those nights he’d slept on the roof of his parents’ dilapidated twin in the only poor section of Monclair - a tiny triangle on the other side of the tracks that the rest of the town avoided. Watching the stars as a kid had calmed him, helped him forget that his father was passed out drunk on the patch of crabgrass they called their front lawn and that his mother was out partying all night. Studying the stars had given him hope for a future of possibilities. Maybe that was why he had liked the water so much tonight and stayed longer than he had planned. A clear sky with no walls to hem him in managed to soothe the tensions associated with this current dilemma. The rest of it he could have done without, especially the gambling. He imagined that Allison raked in most of her profits on gambling and alcohol–-not that it mattered how much she made. Apparently, it was never enough. From what Drummond intimated, the profits slipped through her fingers as fast as all the money he doled out to her from her trust fund, with nothing to show for it. Matt clasped his hands behind his neck. The trace of soap on his wrists drifted up to him as he studied the stars. A soothing scent, fresh and clean. He gave himself a mental shake. How could he even consider Drummond’s proposal? Before he drifted off to sleep, another thought crossed his mind. It was highly likely, given how he’d cramp Allison’s life-style, that if it came down to marriage in the end, any candidate would look better to Allison than him. "It must be bad this time." Kevin chuckled. "You’ve been banging your head against that center post since we came down here ten minutes ago, when I started counting the money." "Bad?" Allison wailed. "It was awful." "Can’t be much worse than all the other times." He carefully stacked the hundreds in piles of ten along the cabin’s bar. "One year, one agonizing year, imagining the scene in my mind, when we’d see each other again and finally, after all my planning and practicing, he’d see me in a whole new light, his image of me as a frivolous lanky—" "You’re not lanky, Allison." "In his eyes I am. And young, pathetically young." She fisted an unmanageable tangle of curls into a cloth tie and tugged. "I even planned the dress I’d wear." "He’d probably rather see you without the dress," Kevin mumbled, starting on the few thousand-dollar bills. "I was going to be so sophisticated when I walked into that Charity Ball the company sponsors every September. I had one short month to go, but he ruined everything by suddenly showing up." Allison tumbled onto the couch and covered her face. "Okay, what happened?" She propped up on her elbows. "I literally, and I mean literally, tripped into his arms." Kevin snorted. "Bet that was a hardship for him." He started on the credit card slips now, checking first for signatures and then he’d tally them up. "Now what am I going to do? Wait another year, hoping time will erase ten years of my bumbling?" "I can’t believe the only guy with the perpetual scowl on his face all evening is the same Prince Charming you tortured me about all during college. He looks pretty ordinary to me." "Ordinary?" She sat up with a start and then went over to the bar and jumped up onto the stool beside him. "How can you say that?" He shrugged. "Here, do something useful. Start binding the piles." "You don’t know Matthew like I do." She sighed as she wrapped the red rubberband twice around a pile of bills. "He’s ... guarded. Something has hurt him deeply. I know I can reach him." Her voice trailed off on a sigh. She had loved Matthew from the moment she looked into those whiskey-colored eyes, wounded eyes that studied everything around him with cool regard, touching no one. As a thirteen-year-old, she hadn’t understood in what way she wanted to reach him, but now as a woman she knew. She wanted those eyes burning for her, inflamed with a passion for her only. So hot, that just a look from her would set him on fire. She stifled a tiny laugh. As though she would know anything about that. Her thoughts grew dreamy. And in his desperate wanting of her, she would melt away every barrier that kept him from loving her in the way in which they were destined. She smiled at her own sense of drama even as she believed it. Oh, she knew she was hopelessly romantic, laughably naïve at times, but that was okay with her. Kevin stopped his counting and laid a comforting hand on hers. "Sweetheart, if anyone can warm a cold heart, it’s you." She gave him a grateful smile. "I hope so." "Now let me finish this so we can get the loot in the safe and go home." She nodded. "I’ll tally the cash." One half hour later, they sat bleary-eyed and dumbfounded. Allison blinked. "Should we count it again?" "We’ve gone over it twice." Kevin slid off the stool and walked in a slow circle around the center of the cabin. His head came up. "You know what this means." "I think I do. We have enough money to tell the contractors to break ground?" He smiled, a deep drawing smile that warmed her heart. "Now don’t start me crying," Allison scolded, "or I’ll never stop." "Come here." The raw emotion in Kevin’s expression had her in tears anyway. When she ran into his arms, he hugged her close. "My sister would be happy, Allison, real happy." "Yes. The Sharon House. We’ll dedicate it this November, on the fourth anniversary of her death." He brushed his lips along her forehead. "I’ve got a better idea. How about on her birthday, in January? It would be more in line with the construction schedule, anyway." "That’s perfect." She ruffled his blonde hair. "Who said blondes are dumb?" They looked at the pile of money heaped upon the bar and laughed. "Let’s get it locked away and you home," Kevin said. "I can take a cab." "Don’t argue. Henry’s waiting up for me." He gave her a wink. "Let’s hustle."
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