Footloose

“Margaret, darling, would you please get Mr. O’Connell some coffee? Would you like a cappuccino or latte?”

“Black will work,” he said, studying her. She had a fluid natural grace and at the same time she emanated good breeding and energy. Despite the fact that she was impeccably groomed, her facial features were anything but fixed. He would guess that she could be charming when she felt inclined.

He also knew she could get hostile when defending her turf. Talking with Amelia had given Jack a big advantage. He knew Lillian’s sore spot—her crushing disappointment that the heir she had produced for Bellagio had thumbed his nose at the family company and headed west. Worse yet, from what Amelia had told him, Junior only visited Lillian every other year at the most.

Margaret delivered coffee, tea and pastries on a tray. “Thank you, dear,” Lillian said and fixed her cup of tea. “That may still be a little too hot,” she murmured, then looked up at him and took a deep breath.

He felt her gaze travel from his hair to his eyebrows, lingering on his eyes, over his cheeks and nose, down to his mouth, chin and shoulders. Her expression was cool and assessing.

“You have the Bellagio hair, eyes and mouth.” Her mouth twisted in a half smile. “You did better in the height department than your father.”

“My mother’s brother and father were both over six feet tall.”

She nodded. “Then I suppose you can thank her for those genes.”

“A little late for that since she’s dead.”

She nodded, her smile fading, her mouth tightening. “So she is. Please accept my condolences.”

“I might,” he said, feeling a nick of impatience. “If I thought you were remotely sincere.”

She parted her lips in a half breath of surprise before she recovered. “My lack of affection for your mother is understandable.”

He nodded. “Is it understandable that you kept me from meeting my father?”

She looked down at her lap for a long moment. “Understandable, perhaps.” She picked up her cup and set it down. “Not forgivable.”

That was when he knew he had her. Lillian Bellagio felt guilty and needed to assuage that guilt. Jack knew exactly how to help her.

She took a small sip of her tea. “From what I’ve heard, it appears you may have inherited some of Dario’s business acumen.”

“I don’t know much about inheriting anything, Mrs. Bellagio, but I do understand hard work.”

“Jack, many people work hard. Very few reach your level, especially coming from your circumstances. Before I supported Marc Waterson’s proposal to the board that Bellagio agree to your offer to provide venture capital for the redesign of the men’s activewear shoe line, I made a few calls. I know your net worth, the deals you’ve made, your business associates, your friends and enemies and your real estate holdings.”

“What made you decide to vote in favor of accepting me as Bellagio’s money man?”

“Because I know you’re not nearly as detached as you present yourself. You’ve bought and sold a South American shoe company, I suspect for learning purposes. You’ve purchased an accessory line that has the potential to complement Bellagio’s existing products.” She smiled. “You also attended a workshop on how to make shoes. How did yours turn out?”

He shouldn’t have been surprised at her thorough investigation of him. “Not bad. I wear them around the house. Did you also learn how many cavities I’ve had filled?”

“If the gene gods were good and you brushed your teeth when you were a child, then you probably don’t have very many. Bellagios have great teeth. I don’t apologize for investigating you and your background.”

“What do you apologize for?”

She looked down, and the life seemed to drain from her face. “I could apologize that you didn’t benefit from the million dollars I gave your mother to go away. I thought she would give you up for adoption.”

“A million?” he echoed in disbelief. He’d known his mother had been paid off for Dario’s indiscretion, but he’d never known the exact amount. He vaguely remembered moving from a nice house to an apartment. A couple years later they’d moved into a worse neighborhood.

“She blew most of it the first three years, didn’t she?” Lillian asked.

He nodded. “I think so. She had some bad habits.”

“How did you manage to stay away from those habits?”

“I saw her crashing off the high often enough to know I didn’t want any part of it.”

“You could have announced who your father was a long time ago. Why have you waited? Why the secrecy?”

“Because I want to be more than an empty suit in those board meetings.”

“You want respect,” she concluded.

He shrugged because there was more involved than respect, but it wasn’t something he had ever said aloud.

“I’m ready to accept the consequences of the fact that my husband was your father.”

“You sure about that? The questions, the gossip and speculation.”

She lifted her cup of tea and sipped. “I don’t spend a lot of time in Atlanta these days. Aside from my charity work and attending board meetings, I spend most of my time here.”

“What about your reputation?”

She gave a wise woman’s smile. “You’re too young to know this, but upholding a reputation can be a strain at times.”

At that moment, he almost liked her. Almost. “Why didn’t you tell your husband about me?”

“I was young and terrified. Incredibly selfish. I couldn’t see past my fear. In some ways, vision improves with age.” She met his gaze. “What do you want from me?”

Part of him wanted to say nothing and let her simmer in her guilt for the rest of her life. But that wouldn’t serve his purpose, and Jack had learned through observation and experience that things turned out better for him when he let logic instead of emotion rule his choices. “I want a chance. You have a reputation for allowing different members of the board to vote your shares, depending on your mood. I imagine Marc Waterson or Alfredo Bellagio call you up and state their case and you decide which direction you’ll send your vote. I want a chance to win your vote.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “Fair enough. You have your chance.”

THERE WAS A DOMESTIC disturbance at the Bellagio estate and its name was Brooke Tarantino. The DD was currently in the bathroom suffering the effects of multiple lectures and a terrible hangover.

Before she’d left, Lillian had given Amelia her assignment. “Watch over her. Make sure she doesn’t hurt herself.” Amelia glanced at her watch. She hadn’t heard any moans or groans for a few minutes.

Amelia wasn’t exactly sure of the proper etiquette for watching over an heiress while she was in the bathroom. She knocked quietly on the door.

“Go away, Lillian!” Brooke yelled from the other side of the door. “If I get one more lecture from a Bellagio about what a disgrace I am, I’ll disgrace you all even more by jumping out the window.”

Whoooo, baby, Amelia thought. The DD was definitely alive. “Sorry,” Amelia said. “Not Lillian. Just checking to make sure you’re okay.”

Silence followed, then the door opened and Brooke, her auburn hair extensions matted on her head, mascara smudged beneath her eyes, her skin pale, stared at her. She looked Amelia up and down, her scowl softening only a millimeter. “Sorry, I thought you were Lillian.”

Amelia nodded. “Can I get you something to eat or drink?”

Brooke made a face. “I won’t be eating anytime soon.”