His Uptown Girl. Liz Talley

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СКАЧАТЬ you already forgotten so quickly?”

      “How could I?” Eleanor purposefully made her tone light...for her daughter’s sake. Blakely never saw past her grandmother’s veneer to the controlling nutcase beneath the cashmere sweater sets. Years ago, after a heated discussion with the Theriots, ending with Blakely in tears, Eleanor had promised to tolerate Margaret’s meddling, if only to keep the peace. “My shop was vandalized last night, and I’ve been quite literally picking up the pieces.”

      “When will you let that store go? It’s been nothing but trouble—a complete money pit—and Skeeter left you more than comfortable. Why don’t you spend your time more wisely, working with the family charities and taking care of your daughter?”

      Eleanor gritted her teeth and begged her temper to take a hike.

      “What’s that noise?” Margaret asked.

      “What? Oh, nothing. We’ve been over this before, Margaret. The Queen’s Box belongs to me. The insurance money and Skeeter’s trust have been set aside for Blakely when she’s of age. I can earn my own living.”

      Barely.

      “Stubborn mule,” Margaret quipped.

      “Meddlesome cow,” Eleanor returned, slapping a hand over her mouth.

      “What did you say?” Margaret squeaked.

      “Oh, I didn’t mean you, Margaret. Sorry. I was talking to Pansy about an item someone wants to buy,” Eleanor said loudly, hoping like hell Pansy would hear and save her.

      Like an angel, Pansy appeared in the doorway, holding up a finger to whoever stood at the counter.

      “I found the cow creamer set! Sorry to bother you,” Pansy yelled.

      “That’s okay. You didn’t know I was on the phone with my mother-in-law,” Eleanor said, pointing to the phone before slapping her hand once again over her mouth, this time to prevent laughter. Pansy grinned before ducking out. Sometimes it was a blessing that Pansy was nosy.

      “You talk very loudly, don’t you?” Margaret said with ice in her voice. Eleanor wasn’t sure the older woman had bought her white lie.

      But did it matter? Blakely was no longer living at home, and thus, the uneasy peace she’d kept between herself and her former in-laws seemed not as important. The Theriots made her unhappy, and she was tired of allowing their machinations to affect her outlook. Margaret knew how to suck the joy out of the happiest of occasions. “I wanted to discuss Blakely’s upcoming debutante season. I’m taking her to New York over spring break to shop for her wardrobe. I’ve already purchased airfare and secured a room at the Seasons.”

      Eleanor closed her eyes and counted to ten. Margaret knew very well Eleanor was taking Blakely and a few of her friends to the beach over spring break. She’d told the woman last weekend when she’d dropped by to help plan a bridal brunch honoring one of the Theriot cousins. Margaret’s presumptuousness was another attempt to gain control of Blakely’s life.

      “If you remember, Blakely and I already have plans. The cottage in Seaside I booked for a long weekend? I can’t—”

      “You’ll have to cancel, of course. The parties will begin in the summer, and since I’m chairing the benefit for St. Jude’s this year and Justine’s getting married, I won’t have another chance to get away. We must have Blakely looking her best. She’s—”

      “My daughter,” Eleanor finished, steel creeping into her voice. Eleanor knew very well Blakely was a Theriot and didn’t begrudge her grandparents that disclaimer, but Blakely was also a Hastings. Eleanor’s family was intelligent, hardworking and didn’t suffer put-on airs. Eleanor would be damned if she let Margaret turn Blakely into a soulless, snobby bitch. “I don’t mind you spending time with your granddaughter, but I’m standing firm on this. Ask Blakely about the last half of the break. Perhaps you can work something out.”

      For a moment there was nothing but cold silence on the line.

      “I should have called Blakely in the first place,” Margaret finally said with a sniff.

      “No, you were right to call me.”

      “But she’s old enough to make her own decisions, isn’t she?” Eleanor knew there would be trouble. And probably a new Valentino handbag on Blakely’s arm as part of the bribery.

      “Maybe so, but we have to keep what is best for Blakely in mind.”

      Margaret sniffed. “I always keep what’s best for Blakely in mind, Eleanor. It takes a village.”

      What should have sounded reasonable sounded snide. Margaret liked to be thought a strong Christian woman, a philanthropist, a most judicious person, but beneath her well-moisturized skin was a despot, tripping on her own power and determined to organize the world according to her wishes. Eleanor had learned long ago Margaret got what she wanted.

      “I have to go now, Margaret. Pansy has her hands full.”

      “Really? I heard you had little business these days. The antiques market isn’t what it used to be,” Margaret said, feigning camaraderie but driving her barbs in all the same. “I’ll give Blakely a call. Bye.”

      Eleanor didn’t bother saying goodbye. Just clicked the button to disconnect.

      “How’s the devil incarnate?” Pansy asked from the doorway.

      “Still alive,” Eleanor said, grabbing her keys. She needed a drink and then maybe a walk down the back of the Target store to shop off the bargain end caps. Retail therapy and booze cured anything. “Can you close for me today? After last night and dealing with family, I need a—”

      “Afternoon in bed with a hot guy?” her friend teased.

      The image of Dez Batiste popped into Eleanor’s mind. Good gravy, she was deranged to think about the hunky pianist.

      But was deranged such a bad thing anymore?

      Last night while lying in bed, she had mulled over Dez’s words about seeing life from a new angle, and had decided that she would burst out of her safe box built of tasteful linens and blouses that covered her from throat to waist. Of course midnight decrees looked different in the light of day.

      “So order him up,” Eleanor cracked with a smile. “Until then, I’ll console myself with vodka and extra olives.”

      * * *

      DEZ HAD SPENT the entire morning and half the afternoon working on the tile in the bathrooms, stopping only because he’d run out of black tile. Which was just as well since his stomach growled with the intensity of a wolverine.

      Dropping the boxes of alabaster tiles he’d need to return on the bar, Dez brushed off his shirt and searched for his cell phone. Across the street a flash of color caught his eye so he moved toward the newly installed thick-paned glass. Never before had he looked for movement across the street.

      But then again never before had he known a beautiful woman that ran an antiques store across from him.

      Eleanor Theriot had been on his mind for the past twenty-four hours, and he couldn’t figure СКАЧАТЬ