The Taming of a Wild Child (4 page)

It was one thing to have no shame; it was another thing entirely to realize she had no pride, either.

That’s not true
. She did have her pride. The fact she’d gotten the information she wanted and was currently sitting in her car
alone
was proof she possessed a spine
and
self-control. Her dignity might be a little dented, but her pride was intact.

If feeling a little shaky.

In a way, she should be glad that Donovan was at the center of this debacle. It wasn’t as if their paths crossed often—they traveled in different circles—so she wouldn’t have to face him repeatedly, knowing the whole time that he was able to picture her …
Ugh
.

Time would work its magic, and probably by the time she saw him again this would be an even fuzzier memory—and hopefully she’d be past the chemical reaction he seemed to cause.

Her mom’s ringtone sounded again, and this time she answered. “I’m sorry I haven’t had the chance to call you back. I’ve had a busy morning.” That was true; panic had kept her quite busy.

“Where
are
you?”

“I’m on my way to Connor’s studio.” That wasn’t a lie, either; the St. James Media building was sort of on her way. “I’ve got some work to catch up on.”

“And are you going to tell me what that comment about you and Donovan St. James is about?”

Lorelei forced herself to laugh. It sounded fake and hollow to her ears, but her mother didn’t seem to notice. “There was an after-party and we were both there, but … me and Donovan St. James? That’s insane.”

That wasn’t a lie, either.

“B
UT YOU SAID YOU’D
stand in for Vivienne while she was on her honeymoon. They’re expecting you to be there.”

That was before I knew what I was getting myself into
.

Standing in for Vivi had sounded like a good idea—it would give her a chance to show that her sister wasn’t the only one with saintly, service-oriented tendencies
and
get her out there as Connor’s representative—but she hadn’t had a full understanding of what Vivi’s life was really like when she’d hatched that plan. Oh, she knew in
theory
that Vivi was busy and involved in everything, but actually inheriting even part of that schedule had left her wondering how Vivi had time to do anything else. Like sleep. She sighed into the phone. “I know, Mom, but I think I’m getting a migraine.”

“You’ve never had a migraine in your life.”

I never had Donovan St. James turning up everywhere like a bad penny before, either
.

She’d finally read the emails from Vivi about her schedule. After her shock at how dense that schedule actually was had passed, she’d nearly choked when her preparations for those events had informed her that Donovan was also all over that schedule. Somehow she’d missed the memo that outlined how he’d gotten neck-deep into the city’s business. No wonder Vivi and Connor had invited
him to the wedding. If nothing else, it was professional courtesy.

“Well, it’s a killer headache, regardless.”

“Your father and I have tickets for the ballet with the Allisons. You’ll have to solider through. It will be a challenge, but—”

“LaBlancs love a challenge,” Lorelei finished for her. “I know.”

“You’ll do fine, darling. Even with a headache.”

Her mom’s words brought a smile to her face even in her misery.
Finally she was getting somewhere
.

“Just be friendly and gracious. Stick to club soda and remember to think before you speak.”

And there was the dig
. Lord, it was hard to live down a reputation.

Eventually, though, she’d live it down. Even if it killed her in the process.

Her mother hung up and Lorelei leaned her head back against the couch. In reality she was pretty much ready to go—and early, at that—but panic had set in, causing her to call her mom for a way out of this mess.

The headache, while not as debilitating as she’d claimed,
was
real—and it was named Donovan. She thought longingly of the bottle of Chardonnay in the fridge as a solution. But even if she hadn’t sworn off drinking, hadn’t she already proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that she, Donovan and alcohol were a bad, bad mix?

Of course she probably shouldn’t worry about Donovan’s part in that cocktail. Her personal humiliation was bad enough, but Donovan had to be wondering who’d given her a day pass from the asylum. Just the thought of facing him again … And so soon after the last debacle …

Suck it up, kiddo
. The third time
had
to be a charm. She was a LaBlanc, for God’s sake; she needed to start acting
like one. If she had to channel Vivi, or her mother, or even the Queen of England to get through this with poise and class, she would.

She knew what she had to do; she knew she could do it. Her plan was solid—even if the execution wasn’t a sure thing.

Her dress hung on the closet door: a deep blue to match her eyes, with a modest but not matronly neckline, and a hem that hit just above the knee. It was age-appropriate—youthful without being trashy—and stylish without falling into the “trendy” trap.

It was also Vivi’s. But she’d told herself that if she was going to do Vivi’s job she needed Vivi’s wardrobe. Right now it looked like a suit of armor, ready to protect her from herself.

Yes, the dress was completely appropriate, and Lorelei suddenly hated it. She might need to channel her sister, her mother and the freakin’ queen to do this right, but she wasn’t going to betray herself, either. She was letting Donovan have way too much control of her mind, letting him shake her already shaky confidence in herself.

She wasn’t stupid, and she wasn’t
that
much of a screw-up. She had the manners and the experience to get through this, but if she tried too hard to be something—or someone—she wasn’t, everyone would know she was faking it.

And she didn’t want to fake it. She didn’t
need
to fake it. She could do so much more than anyone assumed; she just needed the chance to show them that. She wanted to be accepted on her own terms and for her own merits—not just because she was a LaBlanc. She had an uphill climb, though. She’d broken or flaunted every rule and edict ever laid down, and the old guard was not exactly
forgiving. She couldn’t just reclaim her birthright—she was going to have to earn it back.

But she could. She just needed to find that happy medium.

And it started with a different dress.

Donovan had never quite outgrown the sick kick he got out of attending events like this.

As much as they might try to deny it publicly, New Orleans society was an old, established hierarchy, and it galled many members of that hierarchy to open its ranks even the tiniest bit. But Old Money wasn’t quite what it had used to be so, like it or not, those ranks had had to make exceptions. Even for a family like his that many still considered to be only a step above carpetbaggers. Oh, they had to respect his money, and his money bought influence—even if they didn’t like it one little bit.

The truth was—and it had taken him a while to figure it out—that the Old Guard were scared of that influence, scared they were losing their monopoly to upstarts and the trashy nouveau riche. If anything, they were closing the ranks even tighter and drawing very clear lines in the sand.

For him, though, it was more than just his New Money and lower-class roots that they disliked. With him, it was personal. He’d brought down some of their own. He was a social pariah—but not one who could be ignored. And they didn’t like that at all.

He’d admit he still got a bit of immature glee sometimes over the situation, but the reality was that he really did support the mission of the Children’s Music Project and was more than happy to sit on the board. “Nouveau riche” might not be a title he’d shake anytime soon, but he and his nouveau riche friends were the prime check-writers
these days. Times really were tough all around—especially for those who’d lost a bundle in the market crash. Genteel poverty in the upper classes was a New Orleans tradition that dated back to Reconstruction—which only underscored the fact that the right DNA was more important than a healthy bank balance, and the lack of that DNA would forever keep certain doors locked tight.

He went to the bar to refill his drink as the CMP’s executive director took to the small stage that normally contained the house band. There were general thanks, a rundown of the year’s successes, plans for the future …

Jack Morgan, a partner in the law firm that represented St. James Media and an occasional racketball partner when no one else was available, joined him at the bar and signaled for a refill, as well. “How long do you think the speeches will last?”

“Why? Got a hot date?”

“Would that get me out of here?” Jack slid a bill across the bar and then rested against it with a sigh.

“Make a run for it. No one will notice you’re gone.”

“My mother will.”

Donovan snorted. Mrs. Morgan was a true dragon of the old order. “Sucks to be you.”

“Tonight it does.”

“… Lorelei LaBlanc,” the director announced.

That
got his attention, snapping his head toward the stage so fast his neck cramped. His first thought
—What the hell is Lorelei doing here
?—was rebutted by remembering the remark she’d made Wednesday about stepping in for Vivi and Connor while they were on their honeymoon. Still … he’d seen her more in the last week than he had in the last five years.

Then Lorelei emerged from the crowd to climb the
steps to the stage, and he nearly dropped the drink he held in his hand.

Wrapped in a curve-hugging deep purple dress, she looked like a princess addressing the motley masses. Lorelei was the epitome of elegance, style and class, a product of extremely good breeding. She wore it easily, confidently. That black hair curled around creamy shoulders and tendrils snaked over her breast like a caress. Want streaked through him like a flash, and the low whistle he heard from beside him proved he wasn’t the only one feeling it.

“Damn,”
Jack muttered. “Little sis grew up nicely.”

He considered Jack more of an acquaintance than a friend, so it was tough to allow him to keep his teeth as the compliments continued.

Lorelei’s smile was blinding as she took the microphone from the director. “Vivienne hasn’t missed one of these events in years, and she didn’t want to miss this one, either, but she hopes you’ll forgive her since it’s her honeymoon.” Lorelei paused as polite applause moved through the crowd. “And before you ask … yes, I do know where they are. But, no, I won’t tell you where they went. You’ll just have trust me when I tell you it’s fabulous and they’re having a wonderful time.”

A laugh rippled through the crowd. He had to admit Lorelei knew how to command a crowd’s attention.

“I’m not just here tonight on behalf of my sister. I’m here for Connor and ConMan Studios, as well.”

At the mention of Connor’s name the low rumble of conversation in the crowd died instantly.

“As you can imagine, music and music education is a cause very close to Connor’s heart. CMP has focused, by necessity, on in-school programs for younger children …”

Lorelei looked comfortable up there, and if public
speaking was one of her fears it certainly didn’t show in her speech or body language. She had that same presence that Donovan had seen in her sister—that confidence that could only come from the security of knowing exactly who she was. Unlike her sister, though, Lorelei had a low, hypnotic timbre in her voice that sounded like pure sex to him.

It did bad things to his equilibrium.

“It’s my great privilege to announce tonight that ConMan Studios is partnering with the CMP to expand its summer programs for the area’s youth by providing not only funding, but space and access to some of the city’s best musical talent.” She paused for the applause, and then said with a laugh, “We have big plans in the works, so rest assured you’ll all be hearing from me very soon. And often.”

There was shock that Lorelei was going to be so involved with whatever plans Connor had cooked up with Vivi for his project, but it didn’t cancel out the slice of desire that cut him at the sound of that husky laugh.

In broad strokes Lorelei outlined the basics of the plan, preparing folks to open their checkbooks. It took a moment for him to realize she kept saying “me” and “I.” She’d started this speech as a Vivi substitute, but it was now becoming clear that Lorelei would be playing an active role.
That
was new. Lorelei hadn’t had much involvement with anything beyond the periphery until now. And she seemed genuinely excited about it, as well. The universe was slightly askew.

To more applause, Lorelei handed back the microphone and left the stage, quickly being swallowed into the crowd.

Jack let out another low whistle, jerking Donovan’s attention back since he’d long since forgotten Jack was even standing there. “I never had a thing for either of the
LaBlanc girls back in high school, but I’m rethinking that now.” He pushed away from the bar and patted Donovan on the shoulder. “See ya.”

“Where are you going?”

Jack grinned. “To gather my thoughts, of course.”

There was that need to punch Jack again. It made no sense whatsoever, but he was starting to get used to the feeling.

Why do I care?

“Well, hello there.”

He turned and found Jessica Reynald flashing a broad smile and ample cleavage. He did not need this now. After listening to Lorelei’s straight-sex voice he was primed—but not for Jess Reynald. He’d been caught by her smile and her cleavage in a brief moment of insanity six months ago, and it had been nothing short of disastrous. Jess’s family had made their money in commercial properties, and they’d initially bonded over their similar still-not-good-enough circumstances. But Jess was desperate to eventually break into those circles that excluded her, and that desperation to be accepted had turned him off. Jess, though, wasn’t one to give up. She was looking to marry into the upper class—he wondered how long it would be before she realized that just wasn’t going to happen—but until then she was willing to make do with him.

“I was hoping to find you here, Donovan. It’s been a long time.”

Now the universe is just screwing with me
.
“Not really. Only a couple of months.”

“Where’ve you been hiding?”

“In plain sight. I’ve been really busy.”

“But all work and no play is not good,” she purred as she stepped closer. The heavy rose scent of her perfume nearly choked him. “I heard there’s a great new jazz club
that just opened over off Tchoupitoulas Street at Poydras. This is getting boring. Why don’t we go check it out?”

“Not tonight, Jess.”

She pouted and moved even closer, letting her breasts rest heavily on his arm. After his salivating over Lorelei’s elegance and class, Jessica seemed overblown. “So when, then? I’ve missed you.”

He heard a snort—quickly covered by a cough—and when he looked up he saw Jack and Lorelei at the bar, close enough to have heard Jess’s purr and invitation. That snort had come from her.

“Well, Donovan?” Jess rose up on to her tiptoes, her lips only inches from his ear. “Haven’t you missed me even a little bit?”

Lorelei rolled her eyes before turning back to Jack with a smile and letting him lead her away.

Damn it
.

Lorelei smiled at the doorman as he opened the door and offered to call for a taxi, but the smile felt stiff on her face. She’d done nothing but smile all night, whether she wanted to or not. Her cheeks might never recover.

She
should
be happy, she reminded herself. She’d done well in there, and though she’d officially been standing in for Vivi and Connor, she’d talked to enough people to get the word spreading that she was stepping up to the plate in her own right, as well. She had several commitments of support for next summer’s workshops, and when Connor got back they’d have lots to follow up on. She’d seen and been seen, shaken all the right hands, and she hadn’t done anything that would even raise an eyebrow.