Flirting With Trouble Read online

  Unable to handle any more, she fled down the deserted hallway. Locking herself away in her suite, she dived for her enormous bed and let the tears flow.

  AMANDA AWOKE the following morning to a bright slash of sunlight against her eyes. In all the commotion she hadn’t thought to pull the blinds over her breathtaking view of the river. But it appeared she’d barely moved a muscle since hitting the mattress. She was still curled in a ball atop her mauve satin comforter, wearing her glittery white gown.

  Easing off the bed, she padded to her bathroom. She opened the faucet on the huge pink marble tub, added some scented bubble bath and began to strip off her clothing. Standing in front of the first sink at the double vanity, she gently cleansed her face of its smudged mask of makeup, then studied it under the row of salon lights. Her skin was unusually pink and tender, especially around the eyes. She wasn’t a crier by nature and what a lucky thing. Tears were murder on the complexion.

  But last night had been a special exception.

  She’d been betrayed by the two men she cared for most. One was pretending to love her and other was bribing him to do it.

  By now the room was full of lightly scented steam. She moved back to the tub, shut off the faucet and stepped into the warm, soothing water. Easing back in the bubbles she allowed herself to relax, to think.

  She desperately needed a next move.

  Should she just forget everything she had heard last night? Pop in at breakfast with a grand smile for her rogue father and a big kiss for her no-good faker of a fiancé? Keep up appearances for the sake of the Pierpont name? Appearances were everything to Lowell and lately life with him had never been better.

  For his part, Trevor would try very hard to keep her happy. Maybe she should let him try and see if he really had the guts to handle the so-called unreasonable Amanda Pierpont any better than her father had.

  Might be fun watching both men jump through hoops to keep the newspaper and the Pierpont legacy going at full tilt. Having an inside look at their real motives would put her in the driver’s seat for the whole ride. Whenever she wanted something from one man, she could play him like a violin—off the other one if necessary.

  She took a breath, struggling to rein in her emotions. Was she overreacting? Being unfair, especially to her father? As it stood, she was taking everything Trevor had said at face value. Maybe he’d exaggerated Lowell’s duplicity in the matchmaking scheme. Maybe they were in a meeting about business and Lowell got to singing her praises and suddenly Trevor saw a chance to date the boss’s daughter. Maybe Trevor knew his parents were still crazy about that girl back home and didn’t want to upset them further by admitting his tastes had changed considerably. Claiming Amanda fell into his lap might make him seem less guilty of letting down the family.

  True, all this was farfetched. But Amanda’s colorful imagination had served her well all her life, attracting witty friends, giving her gossip columns for the newspaper an added spark.

  The small, insecure girl who’d missed out on real mothering, who still held a corner inside Amanda’s heart, wanted to believe things weren’t as bleak as they seemed.

  She glanced over to the vanity, where a small china clock was chiming ten. She simply had to get at the truth of the matter, corner her father for a chat away from the Sinclairs. She would appeal to his business sense to draw him out. If Trevor was lying to his own parents, it should give Lowell pause—he could just as easily lie to him, as well! Popping out of the bubbly water, she snatched a fresh monogrammed towel from the brass ring on the wall and vigorously dried herself.

  Twenty minutes later Amanda was on the warpath in fresh makeup and a vividly striped Paul Smith cotton dress. Catching Lowell in private didn’t prove a bit of a problem. She found him alone in his study, seated at his desk, barking into the telephone. Catching sight of her in the doorway, he nodded impatiently.

  “Hang on a minute, Carl.” Lowell glared at Amanda. “What the hell is going on?”

  Already feeling defensive, Amanda arched a brow. “Meaning?”

  “As lady of the house, you should’ve been up hours ago, helping me volley the Sinclair situation. If your mother were alive it would have been different.”

  Amanda stepped inside and firmly closed the carved wooden door behind her. “I don’t need a reminder that I have no mother. Just tell me what happened.”

  “Trevor’s parents announced quite abruptly that they were going home. Happened hours ago at breakfast. Surely you’ve heard of breakfast. Even if you don’t eat it, you should’ve been around, seated opposite me at the table.”

  Amanda’s pulse jumped. “Did they give you any explanation?”

  “Some candy-ass nonsense about his job. He’s a plumber, for crissake! What kind of leak needs his specific attention?” Shaking his silvered head, he spoke to Carl. “Call Jonesy on another line. I’ll wait.”

  Amanda spoke as her father made eye contact again. “Trevor drive them to the airport?”

  “Yes, yes. You’d think my driver would be good enough, but oh no.”

  “Maybe he loves them so much he felt he should do it.”

  The mention of love didn’t appear to move him any. “Who knows? The both of ’em looked beaten, like they hadn’t slept a wink. I don’t know. Maybe Midwesterners get homesick fast.”

  “We really need to talk about a problem that could affect business.”

  His irritation escalated. “You can see I’m already talking to Carl—about bigger business. There’s some kind of electrical short in one of the presses downtown. Too bad Sinclair isn’t a mechanic rather than a plumber. Now that would have made him a most valuable cog in this family today.”

  Amanda marched over to his desk and placed her hands flat on its polished surface. “We need to talk now, Father.”

  He tipped back in his large, leather chair and regarded her mockingly. “Father, eh? How formal. Must be serious.”

  “It’s about you and me—you and me and Trevor!”

  “Then it can wait until Trevor returns.”

  She smiled thinly. “Maybe he won’t return, after the rotten time his parents had here.”

  Lowell’s tone was hearty. “Oh, he’ll be back—and soon. I made that directive abundantly clear.”

  “Guess there is no order he won’t follow, is there?”

  “He does exactly as I tell him.”

  “You told him to chase me, didn’t you?”

  Lowell was again listening to his employee on the line. “Eh?”

  She pounded the desk. “Eh, who, Father? Carl or me?”

  “Carl, keep Jonesy on the other line a minute.” Again he spoke directly to his daughter. “What is this about, Amanda? More money?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Cash. C-a-s-h. It usually is.”

  “No. It’s about love. L-o-v-e. Do we Pierponts know anything about it?”

  Her plaintive cry made him shift uncomfortably in his chair and clamp a palm over the mouthpiece. “You said it was business.”

  “Yes! Family business!”

  He became flustered. “This isn’t the time for riddles.”

  “It isn’t the time for me, you mean. Never is.” Amanda began to wrench the huge diamond off her ring finger. “When your errand boy returns, tell him the wedding is off.”

  Lowell was flabbergasted. “I just don’t get it.”

  “You aren’t even trying to get it!”

  His eyes narrowed. “Leave it to you to go crazy under some nonsensical pressure. Wreck the only sensible plans you’ve ever made.”

  “That’s me. Going crazy again.” She plunked the ring in his ashtray. “Care to stop me?”

  Lowell was momentarily torn between his two conversations. Ultimately he removed his hand from the mouthpiece. “What’s that, Carl? Okay, good. Now put us on a three-way line.”

  Amanda stalked to the door. “Goodbye, Father.”

  He didn’t even seem to hear her.

  Chapter Two


  Retreating to her bedroom, Amanda sat at an Edwardian writing desk and buried her face in her hands. The office scenario with her father was very similar to ones played out in the past. Lowell on the phone with someone far more important than his closest blood relative, his own little girl. Everyone else always came first. Always.

  It was true that he hadn’t answered her direct question about whether he’d ordered Trevor to chase her. But the odds seemed unbeatable. At twenty-nine Trevor was extraordinarily young to sit at Lowell’s right hand. He was still in the process of paying his dues. Made sense that marrying her was part of that debt.

  Her father had finally crossed the line with this setup. But what to do about it? What she needed most right now was space to think things through without his interference. For that she needed the support of a good friend.

  Sliding open the top drawer of her desk she removed a thick address book. It was little more than a keepsake these days, with everything that mattered to the Pierponts stored in a massive computer system. She began to riffle through the book’s loose-leaf pages, smiling over small remembrances the names evoked.

  Alpine ski trips with Lindsay Alden. London clubbing with Paige Covert. Paris fashion shows with Madison Fuller.

  The bottom line wasn’t pretty, however. Her father had ingrained in her a distrust in both sexes, so like her romances, most of Amanda’s female friendships were surface experiences only. It was a sad revelation to accept that most of the names in the book were mere acquaintances.

  When was the last time she’d felt truly close to someone? Had a trust thing going that stood the test of time? If it was her late mother she was in deep trouble.

  Her thumb stalled near the end of the book. In the W section. Ivy Waterman. There’s a name she hadn’t heard in a good long while. Five years, anyway, since their time together at Berkeley. They’d met freshman year in the dramatic arts program and clicked immediately. Ivy was a debutante like herself, who always had plenty of money and inventive ways to spend it. They’d been thick as thieves for several semesters, sharing an apartment and escapades too numerous to mention.

  With the onset of senior year, Ivy had abruptly bailed out of their cozy lifestyle. She’d traveled abroad that summer and opted to finish her studies in Europe. Points of contact faded away, except for the obligatory Christmas card.

  Amanda rarely gave her relationships serious thought, but she was assailed by a strong rush of feeling for Ivy. Their friendship had been a rare and good thing. They’d completely understood one another, trusted one another. Suddenly, Amanda missed her terribly.

  She traced a manicured finger down the page, tracking Ivy’s addresses over the years. About eighteen months ago she had settled in an Oregon town called Fairlane. In her last Christmas card Ivy had called it her heavenly little burg. Amanda reached for her laptop computer and logged on to the Internet and a favorite map site she often used in her work. Fairlane was a mere dot on the landscape, just outside Portland.

  Perfect. Just perfect. No one would think to look for her there. And look they would. When Lowell came to realize that she wasn’t coming home for dinner tonight or any night soon, he’d be frantic. After all, how could he hope to acquire a son-in-law and grandchildren without his daughter’s help?

  On impulse, Amanda rushed to the closet, hauled out a large piece of Coach luggage and flipped it open atop the bed. A practiced traveler, she flicked through her elaborate wardrobe and began tossing clothing in the suitcase, expertly choosing pieces that would mix and match well.

  In the midst of this task she opened her small, royal-blue cell phone, called information in search of Ivy Waterman’s number and allowed the operator to connect them.

  “Hello?” a feminine voice croaked.

  “Hey, Ivy Divey.”

  There was a startled intake of breath. “Amanda? Amanda Pierpont, is that really you?”

  “Yes! How clever of you to realize.”

  “Well, no one else on earth calls me Ivy Divey.”

  “Oh, sweetie, I’m so glad you’re home.”

  Ivy yawned extravagantly. “It’s a sure bet, being only seventy-thirty in the a.m. here. And it’s a Sunday. Fairlane, Oregon, is pretty much closed up on Sundays.”

  Closed up? Amanda frowned in puzzlement but let the remark slide. “It is so wonderful to hear your voice again.”

  “Has been quite a while.”

  Encouraged by Ivy’s warm and familiar lilt, Amanda got right to the point. “I need you badly, Ivy. I’m in a real tight spot.”

  “Oh, how many times have I heard that refrain? Who is it this time? The cops? The press? I still catch your name in the society pages on occasion. Appears you’re still up to all our old tricks.”

  Amanda thought she caught a tremor of surprise in Ivy’s observation and wondered about Ivy’s current circumstances. But her own problems were center stage right now.

  “It’s Dad. Screwing up my life. The same old story you know so well. Caring more about the family image and that damn newspaper than he does for me.” Amanda marched to her dresser, yanked open her lingerie drawer, grabbed a handful of panties and tossed them in the suitcase. “I’ve really had it with him and need some space to relax and think.” There was a sudden rap on her bedroom door. Before Amanda could stop her, a maid in a black uniform came barreling inside.

  “I am busy right now, Helga.”

  Placing hands on ample hips, Helga glanced sharply at the bed. “You are taking a trip?”

  “Never mind. Just leave me alone.”

  “But this is the time I clean your room, Miss Amanda. Every day I clean right now.” There was a touch of consternation in the old German woman’s voice. She’d been with the family a decade and though an excellent worker, she complained over any variances in her schedule—and was far too nosy.

  “You’ll have to come back later. Just this once.”

  “But Miss Amanda—”

  “I am on the phone, Helga! Go.”

  With a disgusted huff she bustled out in a rustle of nylon.

  Amanda spoke into the tiny phone again. “Great. Now that snoop has seen me packing. She’ll tattle to Dad the minute he comes out of his office. I really must get out of here fast.”

  Ivy tsked sympathetically. “I’m assuming you want to come here.”

  “Please say yes, Ivy.”

  “By all means do. Only thing is, I won’t be able to put you up in my apartment. It’s a small studio above the local photographer in the business district. He lives in an adjoining apartment and has a stern rule about no pets and no guests. Says it disrupts his artistic flow or something lamebrain like that. The only accommodations I can recommend are a couple of decent motels on the highway near the edge of town.”

  “That will do if necessary.”

  She hesitated. “Just be prepared for a rather quiet time of it.”

  “Quiet time? Studio apartment? I expected you’d still be living it up in the grand style of the Bostonian Watermans.”

  “I pretty much cut loose of my legacy, Amanda. I’ll explain it all when you get here. But in the meantime, whatever you do, don’t mention my link to Cornerstone Jewelers to anyone.”

  “Okay. Now all I need to do is to figure out how to get out of this town without a trace that my father can pick up. Used to be easy, flitting under the radar as Mandy Smythe. But airlines, trains and car rental companies are all keeping more careful records these days. My false ID from college would never be accepted anymore.”

  There was the sharp intake of breath on the line that Amanda recognized as vintage Ivy.

  “You have a suggestion, Ivy Divey?”

  “Yes. But you’re gonna hate it.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  So she did.

  “The bus?” Amanda shrieked. “You can’t be serious!”

  “Luxury coaches, they call them now. It’s about the only way left—short of hitchhiking—to travel without leaving an obvious trail.”

  “
I bet a trip like that will take days.”

  “Several. But it’ll give you a chance to unwind in peace and quiet.”

  “MATTY, put that gun away!”

  “But the funny lady likes it.”

  Amanda glared across the bus at the small boy with the big cap pistol seated beside his flustered grandmother. She’d been the “funny lady” for the better part of a week, since her luxury coach had picked up the pair in Pittsburgh. The tag was due in large part to Amanda’s head gear, a pair of sunglasses and a brimmed hat large enough to conceal her hair.

  One day out of Manhattan, she’d discovered her engagement had, at the very least, made the big New York papers. Scanning the society sections over a fruit cup and coffee at a chain restaurant called Denny’s, she happened upon a few mentions and some color photos.

  Did it increase her chances of being fingered? She didn’t know. But before the bus pulled out again she dashed into a drugstore and bought a hat, huge, outdated sunglasses and a package of hair dye. She immediately donned the first two items, tucking away her blond mane as best she could. The last piece of disguise was a bit trickier. She was already a curiosity piece to the occupants of the bus with her nervous movements, but she might appear downright criminal if she went as far as to change hair color midtrip. She opted to use the color the minute she was settled into her motel.

  Since that first night her cell phone had been ringing off the hook. Lowell and Trevor, over and over again, appeared on her caller ID. She was keeping her phone on only for the sake of her efficient assistant at the newspaper, Jen Berry, who was handling her column for the time being. As anticipated, only the men clogged her voice mail. Lowell sounded gruff, then annoyed, then outraged. Trevor sounded puzzled, then wounded, then scared.

  The members of the dynamic duo, each handling the crisis in his own way.

  “Bang-bang-bang!” Since Granny had confiscated the kid’s caps, he now made do with verbal sound effects.

  But it was all right. They were well into Oregon and had even passed through Portland. Fairlane was next.

  It was midafternoon on Sunday when the bus pulled off the highway into Ivy’s proverbial backyard.