My Father's Best Friend Page 7

  She strode over to us, making my palms itch. God, to touch her. She probably felt like silk and not only on her lips but all over.

  “Hi. You guys came.” She smiled first at Raven and then at me. Long, dangling earrings swept against her neck, kissing the spots that should have belonged to me.

  Dragging my gaze back to Lanie’s face, I saw her smile fading. She wasn’t the only one looking uncomfortable. Raven stared at me as well, her upper lip curled.

  “Yeah,” I quickly said, pulling myself back to reality. “We’re happy to be here.”

  “You must be Raven,” Lanie said. “I’m Miss Jacobs, the new counselor at school.”

  I held my breath as Raven connected the puzzle pieces. The thought had slipped my mind before, but me bringing her to a place without letting her know a teacher would be there was a recipe for disaster.

  “Oh. Nice to meet you,” Raven said, but that was all. No blow-up. No attitude.

  Lanie smiled at me as if to say, See? It’s working.

  I grinned back, willing to do anything to see that gorgeous face glow.

  “Raven, do you want to ...” My questioned died before it was fully out. At some point, while I’d been staring at Lanie, Raven had wandered off. She now stood a few yards away, inspecting a colorful painting.

  “She seems happy,” Lanie offered.

  “Yeah.” Seeing Lanie still watch Raven, I took the opportunity to quickly look her up and down. She was petite but just the perfect size. The top of her head probably came to the bottom of my chin, which meant her laying her cheek on my shoulder would be no problem at all.

  “Thank you for inviting us,” I said.

  Lanie blushed and bit down on her luscious bottom lip. “How is she doing?”

  “Tonight? A little better than usual.”

  “Good! That’s great!” Lanie’s eyes sparkled, showing she meant it.

  “How are you?”

  “Oh. I-I’m good.” She tugged at her sleeves. “Thank you.”

  “Dad!” Raven called. “Come here.”

  I glanced at Lanie.

  “Go ahead,” she nodded.

  “You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

  She took an audible inhale, making the beast in me roar with pleasure. “No,” she whispered.

  I kept my eyes on her for a purposeful amount of time. “Good.”

  “Look at this one,” Raven said when I approached her. She pointed at an abstract painting that I guess was supposed to loosely resemble a giant flower.

  “Hm,” I commented. “Kind of Georgia O’Keeffe warped.”

  Raven looked at me in surprise. “You know who that is?”

  I laughed. “What kind of art did you think I know about?”

  “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Old stuff.”

  “Cause I’m so old?”

  “No.” She laughed, and it took me a second to realize the sound came from her and not someone else in the gallery. It had been that long since I’d heard Raven’s lighthearted giggle.

  It felt damn good to have it back.

  Unexpectedly, my eyes burned, filling with tears. I quickly looked away and blinked fast. Holy shit, Lanie had been right. All Raven needed was a little one-on-one time. What a dumbass I’d been not to see it before.

  Glancing across the gallery, I tracked Lanie. She stood near the front, talking to some hipster guy in plaid. Jealousy burned its way up my esophagus.

  “That one’s pretty,” Raven murmured, almost to herself.

  I followed her to the next painting. I’d deal with hipster guy in a minute.

  We made our round along the walls, giving each painting a moment. At the refreshment table, one of the artists loitered, telling a mini-audience of a few people a story about one of the pieces. Raven hung at the edge of the group, her head cocked in interest.

  Seeing my opportunity to claim my turf, I poured two plastic cups of wine and carried them to where hipster still talked Lanie’s ear off.

  “Here you go, babe,” I said. “Got your wine.”

  Lanie’s mouth fell open, and the guy looked at me in surprise.

  “How’s it going, bro?” I asked, using a word I might never have uttered.

  “Good, good,” he nodded. “Just checking out the scene.”

  “Nice.” I took a sip of wine and gave him a long look.

  “Nice talking,” he told Lanie, giving her a little wave and walking off.

  Lanie was all pink. “Um, thanks for the wine.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Now that the guy was gone, the full realization of what I’d done hit me. I’d never been the jealous type. Ever. But seeing that guy making his move on the one woman I’d been curious about in years had my blood boiling.

  Lanie popped her lips. “That was interesting.”

  “Sorry. I just really wanted to talk to you. That wasn’t your boyfriend, was it?”

  “No,” she breathlessly answered.

  I pierced her eyes with mine. “Good.”

  Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “How is, um, how is Raven enjoying the show?”

  I glanced over my shoulder, at where Raven now talked to the artist from earlier. It had been a long time since I’d seen her interact with anyone other than Karen or me, and it seemed to signify a real step.

  “She seems to like it a lot,” I answered. “I was thinking about something.”

  Lanie nodded eagerly. “Uh-huh?”

  “What do you think if I got her one of these paintings? For her room. She said a while ago that it’s a little kid room. It still has the wallpaper she got when she was five.”

  “That sounds like a great idea to me. Why wouldn’t you do it?”

  “I want to make sure I’m not ...” I dropped my voice, not even liking saying the word. “Spoiling her.”

  Lanie smiled. “I don’t think giving Raven some control of her space will spoil her. It might make her feel more empowered.”

  “Right,” I agreed. “She might enjoy redecorating it.”

  “Yeah,” Lanie softly said. Our gazes were attached again as if an invisible string linked my eyes to hers. Looking away became impossible.

  “Which one do you like?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” she murmured again.

  I burst into laughter, and Lanie, realizing what she’d said, covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh god. Sorry. Uh. That one.”

  She pointed at the pink and red painting. It was another of the kind of abstract ones. From what I could tell, it mostly resembled a pink rose covered in dew. Though I didn’t quite understand it, it did make me feel calm.

  “That’s my favorite too.”

  “Really?” She looked at me in surprise.

  “Both you and my daughter.” I smirked.

  “What?”

  “You don’t take me for an art man?”

  Lanie smiled and rolled her head. “Mr. Marx—”

  “Andrew.”

  Her lips parted, and a heavy beat followed. “Andrew,” she softly said, sounding like she was testing the name out.

  “Yes?” I evenly asked.

  “I forgot what I was saying.” She frowned.

  “Don’t worry about it.” I chuckled.

  She dropped her face, looking into her wine, and I looked for something else to say but then realized there was no need. The silence, surprisingly, was comfortable. Standing around with a beautiful woman, surrounded by the murmur of other people, was simply nice.

  “Dad.”

  I jumped at Raven’s voice, coming from only inches away. When had she gotten so damn stealthy?

  “I’m tired. I wanna go.”

  “We just got here.”

  “Yeah, but I’m exhausted.”

  The bags under her eyes told the truth. I checked my wristwatch. Almost ten. How had the time gone by so fast?

  “We need to go,” I apologetically told Lanie.

  “Of course.” She smiled. “See you at school, Raven.”


  “See ya,” Raven unenthusiastically answered.

  I lingered for a moment as Raven went out the door.

  “Thank you. Again.”

  Lanie’s brown eyes went soft. “Don’t mention it. It’s my job.”

  “Dad,” Raven complained.

  “Go,” Lanie encouraged. “I’ll see you, Andrew.”

  With my name coming off her tongue, each inch of my skin came to life in a new way. I was born again, pulled into the light I didn’t even know existed. I still hadn’t gotten the straightforward information I’d wanted about Lanie Jacobs. Was she the kind of woman who would date a man for his money? Did she care about success more than deep connections?

  From the small amount of time we’d spent together, the sense I got was she wasn’t that kind of person. The young woman was sweet, sincere.

  It was enough. That girl was who I’d been holding out for. She would be mine. Soon.

  Chapter 11

  Lanie

  “Lanie Jacobs?”

  The knock on my open office door drew my attention away from the computer screen, where I’d been looking up resources to help a student applying for weekend classes at community college.

  “Yes?” My jaw dropped at the sight of the giant package the delivery man had leaning against the wall opposite the door. “I’m sorry. Who is this for?”

  “For you. Sign here.” He handed me the little device, and I quickly signed my name.

  With him gone, I stood in the hall and gaped at the long, thin package. Who would send something to me at school? And what could it possibly be?

  Nearly shaking with excitement, I carefully ripped a corner of the brown paper. The edge of a black frame came into view. More delicate ripping and pink appeared.

  “No,” I gasped.

  But, yes. It was the painting from Saturday night. The one Andrew had also said he liked.

  Noticing the little envelope taped to the far end of the frame, I ripped it open, unable to read fast enough.

  Dear Lanie,

  Thank you for a wonderful night with two special women. I hope you will accept this painting as a token of my appreciation.

  Sincerely,

  Andrew.

  Shameful and girlish as it was, I couldn’t stop myself from pressing the card to my chest.

  “Oh my god,” I whispered.

  I glanced down the hall, checking to make sure no one had seen me freaking out. The coast was clear. It was the last period, and the bell would be ringing in a few minutes.

  Wanting to get the painting into the car before I had to lug it through a sea of students, I kept the rest of it unwrapped and carted it outside. Luckily, it fit across the back seat.

  Standing with the car door open, I took a moment to stare at the painting. I still couldn’t believe it. No one had ever sent me such a gift before. Fake jewels and flowers, those were the only things men had ever sent me. But Andrew Marx had shipped over a painting, and we weren’t even dating.

  Not yet, anyway.

  I bit down on my lip to stop the squeal from escaping. No way had I imagined the chemistry. It was there, completely real and begging to be paid some attention. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the memories of Saturday night and the way he’d brought over wine and chased that guy away. It had only been a friendly chat. The man wasn’t my type at all.

  But the attitude Andrew sent had been clear. He wanted me. He showed it the other night, but this painting was confirmation. Not even a self-deprecating, self-doubting, ball of nerves such as myself could deny it.

  Behind me, the last bell rang. I turned and watched from across the parking lot as students spilled through the front doors. She probably wouldn’t appear, but I looked for Raven anyway. Her file had said she rode the bus. Those were in the back of the building, but sometimes the students walked around the side to get there.

  A smile tugged at my lips. Andrew Marx, a self-assured billionaire who put his daughter in public school and had her ride the bus. That simple act made me like him twice as much. But those eyes and that firm jaw certainly didn’t hurt my feelings toward him either.

  Since I’d brought my purse with me, I climbed into the car, ready to go. One thing had to be done first, though.

  Speed-dialing Erica’s number, I put her on the car’s speakers.

  “Hey, you,” she answered. “Speak to me.”

  “Guess what?”

  “You’re on your way to Hawaii,” she snapped back.

  I didn’t even stop to address that. Erica had a witty response to everything. “Andrew Marx gave me one of the paintings from Saturday night. He had it delivered to the school.”

  “No,” she gasped. “You’re kidding.”

  I turned around in the seat to look at the painting again, just to make sure it truly was real. “Nope.”

  “Which one?”

  “The pink one, by Anna-Maria what’s-her-name.”

  “Anna-Maria Rawlins! Those are fucking expensive.”

  “Yeah.” I slowly realized. “They are.”

  “Like, several thousand dollars.”

  “Yeah.” I bit the side of my thumbnail. “Do you think it means—”

  “That the picture of a giant flower means he wants to pollinate your flower? Yes. Absolutely.”

  As stupid as the way she put it was, the thought had a tingle going from my head to my toes.

  “I hope he’s not trying to impress me with money,” I said.

  “Who cares? I think it was just a nice gift. Something to thank you for what you did.”

  “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

  “Oh, and to subtly let you know he wants to bang you.”

  I sighed and dropped back against the headrest. “You should have seen him. He’s even hotter in person.”

  Erica groaned. “God, why does Matt have to take so long in the shower? I swear he’s the chick in this relationship. I’m in and out in five minutes, and it’s always an hour for him.”

  I laughed over that, thinking about Matt taking his sweet time shaving and using Erica’s fruity body scrubs. They’d arrived at the gallery not long after Andrew and Raven had left it, but Erica already knew close to every word that Andrew and I had shared.

  “Did you call him yet?” she asked.

  “No. I just left school.”

  “Call him. Don’t wait.”

  Anxiety wound its way into my heart. “And say what?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “And yes, when he asks you out.”

  “You don’t know that’s going to happen,” I protested, though another smile already made my cheeks sore.

  “Uh-huh. Yeah. Talk to you later.”

  She hung up, leaving me with a silent car, a giant painting, and one shit-eating grin.

  On the drive home, my pulse pounded in my ears. Thankfully, I had a ground-floor apartment. Trying to get the painting up a flight of stairs would have been awful.

  Once inside, I set it against the living room wall and finished ripping off the rest of the paper.

  Gorgeous. Amazing. Perfect.

  There weren’t enough adjectives to properly describe it.

  I’d have to get some nails into the wall later, but right then, a more pressing issue commanded my attention. Drawing up Andrew Marx’s number on my phone, I gave him a call.

  I’d already programmed his digits in earlier that morning, just in case there was a disruption with Raven and I needed to get in touch quick and, also, maybe for other, more personal reasons.

  As it rang, my breath stalled in my throat, terrified to go up or down.

  “Hello?” came the smooth, deep answer. My legs shook, and I quickly sat down on the couch.

  “Andrew, hi. It’s Lanie Jacobs.”

  “Lanie.” His tone changed right away. The deep timber was still there, but a hint of flirtation entered his voice as well. “How are you?”

  “Good. Especially since I’m looking at my brand-new paint
ing.”

  “You don’t say?”

  “Yeah. It looks great in my living room.”

  Maybe it was because we were on the phone or because I was sure at this point that he liked me, but a confidence I’d never before felt had entered my soul. Gone was the shy, uncertain Lanie. Thriving in her place was a person who felt capable of anything.

  And how could she not? Andrew Marx, a perfect package of a man, was showing me attention. The world felt like a ball of putty in my hands.

  “I hope the delivery went all right,” Andrew said, “and it wasn’t damaged.”

  “No, it looks great. Thank you. Really, really thank you. This wasn’t necessary at all.”

  “Of course not, but I wanted you to have it.”

  Him not being able to see me didn’t stop me from blushing and pressing fingers to my lips.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t get to stay long on Saturday,” he continued.

  “That’s all right,” I quickly said. “I’m so glad you were able to come. How is Raven doing now?”

  He hesitated. “It’s hard to say. She hasn’t spoken to me much since Saturday night.”

  “Teenagers are surly,” I pointed out. Feeling like I was getting too much into counselor-talk, I looked for a new direction to veer the conversation. I was at home, not at work. As much as I loved my job and cared about all the students, this phone call was about something else entirely.

  “I can send someone over to hang up the painting,” Andrew rumbled.

  The sweet act touched my heart. “That’s very nice, but you don’t have to do that. I can handle it. Thank you. I know I keep saying that, but wow.” I looked over at the painting. “It’s that beautiful.”

  “Maybe I’ll get the chance to see it sometime.”

  My heart literally skipped a beat.

  “That would be nice,” I croaked.

  “I can even put it up for you if it’s not on the wall by then.”

  “Okay.” I sounded like a robot, but my normal voice had up and vanished. Andrew was outright flirting with me. Not smiling at me, or telling me it was nice to see me, or sending me a painting. He wanted to come over to my place.

  “What are you doing Saturday night?”